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Skaidrum Oct 2018
and all the wishes stuck in their throats.

(i.) when i throw quarters
i wish i knew
what the universe tasted like
in my tea; and then i wished
that i could hug my babushka
& dedushka again for the last time
before their hourglass ran out.
i wish i could still witness the way
the light dribbled like honey in
that foreign land familiar street.
Back then I was taught that love
was contagious by nature,
that love was unconditional-
---maybe that’s what the universe really
tasted like to begin with.

(ii.) when i throw dimes i-
wish that my antidepressants were more
like leftover echoes
that i’d eat for dinner.
i wish i hadn’t said that but it’s too late
‘cause this ode is too busy
tripping over it’s own shoes;
i wish my poem knew how to tie it’s own shoelaces,
and knew how to say grace.
but most of all...
i wish there was a softer metaphor
to lower me into this hurting;
just like the leftover echoes

(iii.) when i throw nickels
i wish i could erase the murals of flashbacks
behind my eyelids;
before i fall asleep.
i’m convinced that they’re to blame
for my eyesight that acts more like
a broken compass than a disability.
i wish i was blind to the way
the world spoon feeds us the dark;
like it’s a requirement for us
in order to flower into people.
i wish i could fish my name
from infinity’s belly.
please just never wish for

(iv.) when i throw in pennies
i wish i wasn’t their daughter.
i wish i didn’t have russian strings
and american footsteps for bloodlines;
i wish i was born a moon somewhere,
orbiting or worshipping the the color of
space, which is coincidentally the color of poets
the color of ink.
i wish my forbidden fruit was poetry,
i’m glad it isn’t.

(v. ) and i think,
i will always wish
for quicker deaths.
I don't write like I used too,
and I miss the dark.

© Copywrite Skaidrum
Kim Essary Aug 2018
Have you ever wonder what is at the end  of a rainbow. Or do rainbows ever end?
Believing or not believing that would all depend.
The Irish, such as myself have always believed at the end of every rainbow, a  little man called a leprechaun awaits protecting his *** of gold.:
If the rest of the world can see  UFO's and green little men called aliens,  then why is it so hard to believe in a leprechaun and stories our ancestors told .
The magic of the rainbow is it is  caused by the sunlight,  yet always appears on the opposite side of the sun.
The colors, an array of beauty as it's pattern always has seven.
They say in Ireland if you sit and listen you can sometimes hear the sound of the leprechauns gold coins hitting hos iron pail.
Beware of trying to find him or ask from him his gold because he will never tell .
But there is one thing he will do to make you see his trickery and play you like a fool
He will grant you three wishes but before you know it he will run off  to never be seen again because leprechauns live by only the leprechauns Rule,
Some call it a myth some believe it to be true
Me , aw yes I believe in leprechauns and his *** of gold too
Heidi Franke Apr 2018
Millions of coins
Tossed into the air
then time stopped.
And began again, slowly
while all the sides
turned and flipped
side to the other side
The wind churned and
the coins landed one
way or the

Birth was given
when they landed
In the order
that chance gave them
Until they stopped spinning.
The rain came
The water broke
the baby was born.
One way or another
How was the landing?
Chance and choice
Flipping coins again today.
cher Jul 2017
a fun ball of words setting fires, unleashing
a world of endorphins and adrenaline, yet
seen to be shamed, a shameful act indeed,
so much in fact that we rectify these acts with
a payment of change and coins in jars.

****, ****, ****, ****, ****, and *******.

six entire dollars, gone to the swear jar, a
jar holding value for every 'mistake', mistakes
meaning freedom of speech, creative, raw, and
honest expression, and despite how there's no
difference between them and 'clean' words.

that's utter *******.

another dollar falls in, the sonorous ring of metal
falling into this closing container now silent, coins
cushion and muffle, marking my clearly abundant
profanity, a loss for worth and value to my poor
wallet and poor name, the money simply pooling.

oh, this is freaking hellish.

a couple of bucks lost now, the last ones losr for i
shall now shatter this glass, nicks and cuts on my
shaking fingers from the shards as i pick my coins
back up, knowing i shouldn't have to have to pay
for mistakes that aren't at all mistakes, just simply
i don't know guys, i like to swear and i don't see whats wrong with it at all.
Colm Jun 2017
Stashing them everywhere
I store such coins to pay away the could've beens
To keep my bones and alabaster skin covered until the rainy day need not appear

At which time I can and will, take you by the hand
And show you either the former Winding Way, or create anew
By pulling coins out of the thin air, like a magic man

For this is how I make my way into the world of words
It is...yet it isn't. An act after all.
Poetic T Mar 2017
I will not crave the admiration of others on the reflexes
of what I verse, incomplete metaphors  are a valuation
of what you perceive in what is collected in the vaults
of my indiscriminate imaginings.

I will throw a penny in the fountain of what I spill in
unprecedented flurries. Would you catch what I scatter
into the pond of vacant words. Would you catch what
I throw? or watch the ripples of what it could become.

I will always throw a stone in to the white to see what
splashes on the verges of mind. I'm more deep than I
know, how many coins will you throw to see my depth.
Will all sink not  showing the shimmer of my words.
Ceyhun Mahi Feb 2017
At night, after having paid
Money coins we just had made,
We enter the gates of fun;
Playing games of the arcade.

We're covered under neon,
Until the bright times of dawn,
Surrounded by beeps and peeps,
Playing games of the arcade.

How beautiful is this night!
Where each thing glitters at sight,
Fueled by the gushing coins while
Playing games of the arcade.
Ceyhun Mahi Dec 2016
Beyond that bitter, grudging and vile lip,
Who only spews and is covered with pride,
There lies more when you make it with love flip,
Like an old coin who has another side.
The first few verses I wrote after I woke up from an inspiring dream.
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