V-Day haiku
Valentine’s Day—
formerly held hands count money
by a hard bed
Digte om emnet: money
Digte om emnet “money” på Poets.by.
Funeral instructions
Call up a merry rump
to carry to the grave.
Dine below the buttery
church of money.
Dine at a secluded grave
on the horse of the house.
Downer
The old man brought porridge and nothing else.
The swan, in little hopes about down,
got £60 for her neck and lodgings in the field
and would not give bedding like a fool.
Frost Soldiers
Frost soldiers receive dark company: that dead lady, Money.
They all called home and found me.
Partisanal
heart carried in a basket
lest it should break
or ease my burial
we are displacing ourselves with money
we close hands and continue
as factions
against the children
against one another
and away to bed
Coin
of the realm
real
even when plucked
from a magician’s ear
or exchanged
for better weather
its very ununiqueness
gives it value
its modularity
makes it fit to toss
edged in ridges
like a worn gear
it’s what one does
to new phrases
hoping they’ll
gain currency
Rat Catcher to His Rats
You lady’s purses, you tack-toed
wallops of white silk, you grim grins,
I have you on my string as good
as legal tender for my room & board
at any inn, my dog & I
welcome there only so long
as you are not, my beauties—
& so we’re tied together in a way.
This broad-brimmed hat wards off
two kinds of yellow, sun & scorn.
How dare we subsist on the hard-
won crumbs of brutes!
But the trap is a good teacher.
Somewhere you must have
your own canny king, making free
with all the best morsels of dark
A Piece of Paper
What you work for,
What you all need,
Unable to fully function,
Unable to live without me,
To go out and eat,
Drink at a bar,
To rent a house,
Own a car,
To raise your kids,
Provide them education,
To give them shelter,
Provide them opportunity,
Causing you great stress,
Providing you tremendous joy,
Able to destroy your life,
Able to make you see another day,
The Window
It's almost like torture
A feeling that I can't escape
And it's only getting harder
Have I really made a mistake?
Staring through the window
Drooling at the pretty toy I see
But I just don't have the money
I have to have it, it has to be for me!
And yet I see someone else
Through the glass with a gleam in their eyes
I refuse to let them have it
They can't take what is mine!
And as I pound on the glass
Oblivious to my demands
They take the toy away from me
How dare they mock me so!
Death of a Banker, foretold
Drowning, choking, slowly killing
Myself
In the swirling waters of currency notes
Beneath the debris of credits and debits
Settling down
Into the mud of greed, of breach of trust,
Of bribes and frauds and distrust
Sinking
Into the quicksand of speculations
Hopes of life bursting like bubbles of my breath –
I dream -
Of snow-capped mountains…
Dream Substance Dissolved
lie head eye closed
see down dark
lanes of wish
running light
ever away ---
in the clothes
of dark shades
some income-
subtracted rainbow appeal
to reason where wear is
black odds
exposed to red
herring soup
black chips
fortune's coup
black blues
Sleeping Ace in Texas
Sleeping Ace was sad in Texas with his wife. Money
can save you said his wife. And days, weeks of soli-
tude will strengthen your hair as you make it grow.
But that was disappointing really, because Sleeping
Ace already had millions. They were located high above
the earth's atmosphere where no one could wake them,
The brightness of these little critters was sense it-
self. How frail they are, wondered Sleeping Ace. He
did not say it though, because he was talking to his
wife on the telephone about education, I'm getting an
education just moving my car said Mrs. Sleeping Ace.
Sleeping Ace sat around and did nothing. Texas is too
hot, they used to complain. That was before Sleeping