If, entrusted were I, with a magical purse,
Paula Swanson
Paula Swanson
Dec 21, 2010

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

Sarina Kay Cassell
Sarina Kay Cassell
Nov 12, 2013

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.

Mothers Purse
Elonge Martin
Elonge Martin
Oct 15, 2013

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.
Mothers Purse
My delight.

a matching red purse
Rebecca McDade
Rebecca McDade
Mar 7, 2012

thinking thinking
never got better
thinking thinking
could have been worse
thinking thinking
a blue woolen sweater
thinking thinking
a matching red purse

with his blessing I have a purse full of pearls
Christos Andreas Kourtis

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
marlene dunham
marlene dunham
Jul 21, 2010

He carries her purse on his arm
without awkwardness;
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
ambling behind;
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

Since our paunchy purse will at their own beck
Folorunsho Obalugemo
Folorunsho Obalugemo
Jul 22      Jul 22

It could Satan's cohorts cause, what portly
Political figures earn, to forsake his camp
And 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 life's time 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 do or die";--that if they cannot now God's gross
Gold have, they must anyhow get the devil's dross.

Mellow Ds
Jun 3, 2011

Staring into stars, the lonely people drink their tears
And genuflect to empty car parks and swallow their fears
Like Ernest Hemingway, they grit their teeth and laugh
Fingering a pocket bullet, contemplating aftermath
And the shadows bend and grow…
And the embers shine below.

Geared for success, the lonely boy begins to starve
His chest heaving from stress, his wish for waterfall in cars
Freeways self-entitled, forcing ants into the gutter
While a lonely father cries and the boy freezes and sputters
And the doorway opens up
As the mouth is finally shut.

“I’m not mad, son, you’ve only disappointed me”
Father, point the way for me, where is my life leading?!
Should I sacrifice my happiness for a chance at succeeding?
Should these calloused hands be empty, do I need a beating?

You need to straighten up your tie and keep your noses clean.
My mother’s eyes in moonlight silently judging me
Inhumanity, why don’t you rule these streets?
I bite my bottom lip and gaze down at my feet
Lumped chunk of nicotine
Pushing itself out of me.

I want to stop blending rainwater with my leaking eye-sockets,
Crying for another with which to share my gold locket,
Tossing and turning, wondering where I will be next
And for God’s sake, can I do it, am I trying my very best!?

Why can’t I get up on time like every normal human being?
Why do I always get sick, why do my guts hate me?
Why are all my joints always crackling and aching?
I never want to live, don’t ever try to save me!

“I’m not mad, son, you’ve only disappointed me”
Father, point the way for me, where is my life leading?!
Should I sacrifice my happiness for a chance at succeeding?
Should these calloused hands be empty, do I need a beating?

Staring into stars, the lonely people sit and smile
Counting all the faces staring back, retracing miles
Celestial serenity, striving for an energy
Never needing inquiry, embracing the no thing!

Should these calloused hands be empty?
Do I need a beating?
Will these pruning hands deceive me?
This Universe is in me.

I do not carry my illness like a purse

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.

Becky Bergstol
Oct 11, 2010

quilted fabric
ensconds a wonderland
of capsule shaped escapes
to a comfortable haze

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