Poems on the topic: money

Poems on the topic “money” on Poets.by.

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Dave Bonta

Owner ship

an ark in a white room like the heart in a king dead for all his anger bread and management so ungrateful as to put a wren out of work under the want of money is a place that disobliges people not able to do what they desire to it who chase a place like a world broken in pieces

Dave Bonta

Disaster capitalist

night comes at noon when I expected business but I am made captain of the ship of loss so at least I shall get a little money by it

Dave Bonta

Global weirding

water born from a cloud believes in us who eclipse the weather (so hot nowadays I cannot sleep) mixing money up with heaven

Dave Bonta

Compulsion

money makes me melancholy dinner will make me eat I will make the beautifulest world sing with the voice of my hard half bed

Dave Bonta

Template

expectation is an ore given to us all the round mouth engineers the plate seeing a safe we believe in money a thing as false as all fur a secret king can walk round difficult crags I read myself to sleep to get out of my head

Dave Bonta

Lockdown

little money coming in the people living only by shifts have to howl we are burnt by fear blue in the belly like a captain not at sea

Dave Bonta

Indentured

I break in pieces to make friends or money but who would take my hands before they were wed to a different use

Dave Bonta

Remembrance of things past

where is our lost and laced-up time we broke up about matters of money intricate as an ear my wife was within

Dave Bonta

Mutable

lying alone and thinking I could be anyone face like a cake or a clock great heart ready to give body in peace having money

Dave Bonta

Protestant work ethic

a blank for me to fill is a great venture to venture my service my brother my wife my God my profits my money my chest my life my sleep

Dave Bonta

Philistines

who having proved to be challenged by difficult art must be against it or profess that nothing ever is beautiful taking themselves for ordinary people like unpaid money whispering to me not to dance

Dave Bonta

Journaling

the ice on a road a moth wing the very me I am set down in my notes this day like clear money to be called for when I please

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