If I could turn the clock's proud hands around,
And make the past a silent, yielding clay,
What single thing would be my hallowed ground?
What solitary debt would I repay?
Not Caesar's fall, nor some forgotten war,
No grand design upon the human stage,
But just a little moment, nothing more,
A single, unremarked, forgotten page.
I'd find the day the friend-thread started thin,
The one I broke with words of careless spite.
I'd go to the spot where pride won the grin,
And chose the bitter shadow over light.
While with my power used to hold my tongue,
To bite the lip and let the anger cool.
To choose the path of love while we were young,
And not to act the self-important fool.
The world would turn, the stars would still align,
No empires built, no new philosophy.
Albeit, modest, subtle world of mine,
A broken thread would mend, eternally.
And I would trade history's roared acclaim,
I'd bid that one small change, so soft and low,
To keep a bond from ever knowing blame,
And watch the seeds of understanding grow.
One small change is all I made
One small sacrifice was made
I gave an inch and got back a meter
I gave God a bow and got an army
A small gesture can have a giant impact
A little love can have the greatest effect
I didn’t know I could reap so much from so little
I didn’t know another soul could respond so deeply
I think I’ll continue down this path of progress
I think I’ll take a minute to show gratitude to God
Seagulls
Seagulls only paint portraits of
the sea out of
intrigue, and
never for
small change.
The trails of fog like cold entrails
that wind and slither through the copse
which shiver at the touch and sops.
A chance at vision clearly fails.
Each jutting rock: a sentinel.
A greying headstone stands alone
against the tones of verdant cone.
My heartbeat sounds like a death knell.
A silver coffin bell from ditch.
As I am trying t’ place the hums;
direction clear from whence it comes
in variant beseeching pitch.
A hand that reaches up from grave
implores me for small change to buy
a warming nip of hooch as I
surrender will at being brave.
The line between brilliant consciousness
And the darkness of oblivion
Is thin, is faint.
The physical is simply a host;
But does it contain a ghost?
Why are we here?
What we do,
Does it have any effect on, who are you?
And what about when we are not?
We are but once a simple dot;
A spot stuck
To an orb with blue hue.
The light is faint;
In the large night.
What about when we are not?
Into the darkness do we go?
Or is it dawn
At the start of night?
Vanish into the air
With a flutter of the eyes.
Up into the skies?
Those must all be lies,
Where to when we rise into flight?
Once that light comes;
Once it will go.
It should not be so,
That it would depart
And leave no glow.
Is it a portal?
Or does a shuddering rhythm;
A reluctant silence turn out the lights.
Such a small change in the end;
Were we ever here?
No one will ever know,
Where we will go.
The battles we fought.
The laughs that echoed around,
The smiles brought from somewhere beyond the sound.
Who will know?
No you and I;
Perhaps the sky.
Just saying,
Just about to,
Just going out,
Just been out,
Just been thinking about you,
Just think about it,
Just thought about it,
Just remembered it,
Just came up short,
Just in time,
Just out of time,
Just made it,
Just put the jug on,
Just not working,
Just finished,
Just started,
Just getting changed,
Just small change,
Just give me a chance,
Just won the lottery,
Just got my license,
Just threw it out,
Just got it in,
Just worked it out,
Just checked in,
Just checked out,
Just try one,
Just don't lose it,
Just don't tell mum,
Just make the call,
Just a small mistake,
Just the beginning,
Just a small piece,
Just give it to me,
Just be honest,
Just do it,
Just be yourself,
Just friends,
Just a moment,
Just be nice,
Just be quiet,
Just go away,
Just kidding.
We were tight — we were thick as thieves
Only we didn’t quite know it then
Isn’t it true that a friend in need
Is your only kind of friend
And we band of brothers
Went marching through the streets
Ready to take that dirty old town by storm
And we band of brothers,
Whoever we did meet
Became unwitting belligerents in our war
In Pikersville —
We were small-time
But we had big ideas and big words
In Pikersville —
Strictly small-time
The chosen steer marked out from the herd
Now, a generation or more is passed
And we’ve reared up our own
To take up the Piker mantle, once again
To walk the casual hallways
In our glorious institutions
And glow like stars in a constellation of friends
And we band of brothers
Went marching through the streets
Ready to take that dirty old town by storm
And we band of brothers,
Whoever we did meet
Were drafted as belligerents in our war
Small town — small change — full of big ideas
When you're forced to live on the street;
you feel depressed, hungry, and beat,
begging for coins and scraps to eat:
while you're obliged to smile.
People scoff, tossing you small change,
labeling you as weird or strange,
treating you like you had the mange:
till each day's a trial.
You beg strangers for a handout;
seeking souls that won't scream and shout;
imploring them to help you out;
and go that extra mile.
An angel sometimes smiles at you
and offers up a coin or two,
recognizing all you've been through:
love shows, once in a while.
Trudging around our town,
This man is really down.
In his eyes see despair -
“Some small change can you spare.”
To eat, for cash he pleads,
But he’s more pressing needs.
There’s free food-bank nearby
On which he can rely.
He must play begging tricks –
He needs to buy his fix.
He’s a pawn in the game –
The shame, the pain, the gain.
The tallyman he pay
Lurks in that alleyway.
the sounds of a world which once rang
with the magical rhythms of rhyme
from sheep being shorn of wool
to remedies given by the spoonful
magic lie in the ticking of clocks
nonsensical like hickory-dickory-dock
sugar coating the process of learning
lessons came with a cadenced adorning
sailors at work on their ships
sea shanties sprang from their lips
cowpokes alone on the range
clerks counting out the small change
uncrowned royalty without retinue
pouring forth all the things which they knew
beauty came with words which were said
as if laughter and precision had wed
abandon in the scramble for time
the long lost realm of rhyme
Lost Property
If I collected all the lost keys –
the ones on rings, or chains,
that drop into drains,
unclaimed,
and squat there,
sequestered out of sight,
rusting behind bars,
far below blue sky,
in dank, stale beds,
just beyond light;
all the buttons, hanging by a thread,
that fall, unnoticed,
and ***-ends, and bits of cotton gone astray;
credit cards,
slipped slyly from shallow pockets;
lipstick, abandoned by a sink-side;
drawing pins and tacks that nestle in soft pile
poised to pounce,
and pierce the flesh of hand or foot
like nails,
evading hammers,
spiralling from empty shelves
dropped down loudly
to swearing curses;
under sofas, between cracks,
rogue staples worked free,
sending loose leaves
scattered to the wind;
If I could gather these,
place winking silver coins
beside the rest;
create small change;
collect them in a shiny tin;
then I might thread the needle,
mend the holes,
pay my debts,
unlock all the doors,
and let the world back in.
AS I GROW OLD
As I grow old
I'll never miss another boat, or train, or flight
Because
Silence becomes a pocket book of fat cash
I know where to put small change.
As I grow old, I behold
The bigger picture in life is the eye
Not that eye stuck on itself
Not that eye color blind
Not that eye afraid of depth and height.
Women are the eyes that weep for humanity
When we're together; though far apart, men conspire we're rich
What makes women rich?
We are forgiving, nurturing, and
When all else fails, we are flashlight in the dark.
As I grow old, it appears
My age won't bury a heart so young
Who would confound a butterfly?
And what is a home without the breath of God?
As I grow old, I behold
The bigger picture in life unites
The core of man cannot stand alone, and
For that reason, we have two eyes;
One of depth and faces forward.
*
It may be time to exchange the stock exchange,
for an information exchange,
It may be time to exchange information for a change,
if we are looking at what to change.
It may be time to exchange what we exchange,
for the sake of fair exchange.
It may be time to exchange more ideas for a change,
if we are looking for the climate to change.
It may be time to exchange the rate of exchange,
for more oxygen to exchange.
It may be time to exchange our small change,
for freedom to change.
Get
Original!
Feel
Optimism
Rising. . .
Inspire
Triumph!
Oct. 2, 2019
for Bobby May's 'Three Word Acrostics ' Poetry Contest
(small change in last part to avoid some readers' confusion)
BRING ON THE DANCING BEARS
IT'S YOUR CIRCUS.....AND THEY ARE YOUR MONKEYS.....
Tedious, dull, and lacking little interest
Unfortunately, pressed and cracking for the best
Laying a brick then another, just come gather
As there is one more to make it merrier
Not a grand feat breaking the arid barrier
Just a little intelligence to jump the fence
Everything you want today not a boring sense
With a small change to keep the dramatic suspense
4/15/2019
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.