If, entrusted were I, with a magical purse,
one that held what was needed, but not monies curse.
One that neither bulged, nor would ever be empty,
so when I reached down within, there I'd find plenty.
A handful of tolerance, I would pull each day,
to pass out to those in need, I met along the way.
I would take a fist full of hope, to toss aloft.
Scatter it among the throng, letting it land soft.
I would enter into the turf of gangs and their wars.
Trading peace for their guns, so they would kill no more.
I would go to Washington, there I would invest,
two handfuls of honesty, perhaps ten, would be best.
Charity, I would share, with those who live large.
Help them to give some away, so no one need starve.
I could change so many things and alter many lives.
But, I could also do harm and make so many cry.
As it is so easy, to think one self's above,
to take control of lives, forgetting about love.
So for myself, I'd take a bit to keep myself humble.
So that I and my purse, never, ever stumble
Velveteen and closed with slim metal clasps
Laying on the seat next to the edge of a dress.
Let me slip my hand inside to find
Nothing but a $100 bill that isn't mine.
The car comes to a lurching stop
I pay the cabbie and get out to walk.
A few coins and an aching heart
Linger with the clasp's top apart.
My silken dress swirls around my knees
At the bottom of the stairs of apartment three.
One single step leads right to the next
Velveteen catching my ragged breath.
The metal clasps held firmly closed
As I knock on the door to fill the hole.
Stolen bills and velveteen held close
And the door unbolts…
But metal clasps remain closed.
Never runs out of flour;
Never runs dry of oil.
Is full of comfort;
Is filled with loving kindness.
So much patience,
So much longsuffering.
It’s boundless and loose like the Ocean;
It’s bounteous as nature.
Raining on all; even the naughty,
Raining similes, a 1000 words,
Shines on the dark heart,
Shines on the weary and hurt.
Bending to the hurt of all,
Bending for the curse of all.
It could Satan's cohorts cause, what portly
Political figures earn, to forsake his camp
And anon join the fray to the fat fiscal treasury
Of the country squander; and that to a cramp.
The pay plus pecks in a year they receive
Will most citizens in their lifetime never sniff.
So some who covet crazily such a mega-cheque
Also seek the same office for the easy favours.
Since our paunchy purse will at their own beck
And call be, they thus make elections endeavours
A dagger thing;--that if they cannot God's gross
Gold get, they must anyhow have the devil's dross.
empty black purse
old love notes
damp and limp
boat trips and fancy dinners
airplanes and hangers
ocean views and hotels
one plastic ring
me and my quite room
and an empty refrigerator
empty black purse
wild goose chase
just a distraction
From the sea I bring you it's treasure's my love
the bounty I have is from Neptune's shallow domains
with his blessing I have a purse full of pearls
I will endeavour to find a merchant skilled
and he will make this adornment for me
proclaiming my undying love for you
I am your humble servant
with a purse full of pearls
to put around your slender neck
I have held all your letters to my heart
wishing year after year we would meet again
not just as lovers, but the best of friends
For I have travelled far and wide
with salt winds in my eyes
to give you a purse full of pearls
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
He carries her purse on his arm
His comfort shows he must have been caretaker,
for some time.
Yet awkward she does feel.
He carries her purse on his arm
as if it belonged there.
Just another parcel to be handled
with care; yet not a care
to what this stranger thought.
This old woman hobbles
a footfall - thrusts her forward,
one more step.
Doesn’t he understand she wants to go forward -
no more? One step closer
to the grave,
she can sense.
The cane catching
and holding her steady;
The pain, catching
and holding her firm.
She follows his lead; always hitting the mark
with her blue veined hand
wrapped around that staff
in her grasp.
Her gait, unsteady,
wobbly at best
As he carries her purse on his arm,
She follows his lead
one step at a time
A crooked cane
her only assist for the
ambulatory impairment she bears;
as he carries her purse
on his arm.
© 2010 Marlene Dunham
My Grandma had a purse shaped like a cobbler.
It was Blackberry and soap with a good dose of thyme.
She kept it close to her side, but behind her
so as not to impede her graceful march.
At some point the original strap had been lost
and replaced with a cherry red confection
that swirled around her arm and latched
onto the top crust that is always the most crunchy.
A few buttons were picked up along the way
and dotted the top layer like ladybugs dancing.
The zipper was never fully shut and there was often
a receipt sticking out, or perhaps her pink comb
that waggled in the air like a tongue in delight.
It wasn’t a big purse; just enough to satisfy
a healthy craving but big enough to care
were you not to see it present at dinner.
I have almost forgotten the healthy craving,
the smell of Blackberries, and why the ladybugs
should ever want to dance.
You see I have this problem:
I want to travel the whole entire world,
But night terrors have left me with bags under my eyes that would just
Cost me a pretty fortune to check.
At the very least, more than my plane ticket,
More likely though, the last bit of sanity I hold within my soul.
I do not carry my illness like a purse
Trust me if I could, I would.
I'd fill it with bandaids and mended memories of the times I was never brave enough
With love and strength and courage.
I'd stick it into a time machine, send it back to a littler me
But, my illness is not a purse. Not something to simply be set down when it becomes too heavy,
It's more like a backpack
Filled with rocks
And duct taped to my abdomen.
Night terrors and ghost pains have consumed my body
Leaving me standing here with what feels like
A fifty pound weight
Holding me down.