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As stores of value, two titans stand
One old as time, one new in the land
Gold gleams with an ancient lore
Bitcoin opens a brand new door

Yellow metal, mined more each year
Still has too much inflation, we fear
Its authenticity, hard to prove
By ship or plane, it’s forced to move

Bitcoin, child of a digital age
Finite and quick, enters the stage
At light speed, traverses the globe
New frontiers of freedom to probe

Choose the one that you think is right
Gold from the earth, or digital light
Or some of both, for each in their way
Stores up value for a future day
You can see this poem on a background here - https://www.bitcoinpoems.pro/delivery118TwoTitans.html
Amanda Kay Burke Jul 2023
The saddest thing is state of this world
In eerie indoctrinated paralyzation
Beautiful globe that once triumphantly twirled
Now in serious need of proper navigation
What has society become? :/
M Solav Mar 2022
Paved roads of cars that roam
Are sure to grow weary on my bones.
And there’s a high hill close to home
Onto which I seldom venture alone.
How I recall those many days of yore
When we’d go fresh out in the morn;
And up that hill now far across the globe
Would stare for short eons into the fog.
Written as photopoetry on February 9th, 2022.


— Copyright © M. Solav —
www.msolav.com

This work may not be used in entirety or in part without the prior approval of its author. Please contact marsolav@outlook.com for usage requests. Thank you.
Lalaouna Amina Jan 2022
Trivia Snippets?
Garlic, Onion, and Potatoes
  (Small List in The Kitchen)
Thyme or Mint
  (Every Night Drink)
Full Names of Poets
  (Long list on The Desk)
at midnight
neth jones Nov 2021
overcast

i pull on the day brightly
mine it at the maternal sources
        and form a radiant :                    
               a bloom from within fledgling elements

illuminant grenades                          
             and the sky is peppered with characters
it's a wild play of childness              
an old world whimsy        
of 'here be monsters'    
            and shiny scrapbook havoc

the compass steps in              
       and with the turn of the globe
                          scores the horizon
clouds and the aviators          
         are combed into the soft crust
     a spiral quilting                          
       to cover the gift of a dream
      given by one thirsty visitor
   who stole it lightly
     from the prism
   of another travelling dreamer

God knows what'll grow
        if there's a pillow fight
a deranged rain of innovation
perhaps some fiddly creation
will fast take over this world
         and it's lover other

with the sky allied and fraudulent
we can host an early night
the stars (in strand)
prattle the ocular sense frontier
all constellations are like a single ribbon eel
never quite nourishing
             upon its own thoughtless loop

a corduroy display
overcoat
Chris Chaffin Jan 2021
At high tide, the sea ejects
foam and glass fishing floats.

We wait for the waters to recede,
tiptoe around anemones and *****;
I spot a small green globe.

She says it belongs to a Japanese goddess,
her eyes plucked out by a vengeful lover
and cast into the deep.

I see only an old sake bottle
crafted into a sphere,
etched with sand and netting patterns.

Tomorrow, I will look for agates
while she searches for the goddess’s other eye.
Norman Crane Oct 2020
The tall young woman in a golden dress
spins a globe upon her desk and waits,
and waits till calloused finger comes to rest
upon an unknown wilderness. What spaces
lie yet undiscovered, like tabletops
to be uncovered / to be uncovered:
secret words within a foreign bookshop
under dust and under clutter—
Wiped clean! The tablecloth's pulled off! Now she
will be the first to glean their mysteries:
To see what no one else has ever seen,
To be where no one else has ever been.
Until nothing is obscured for her.
For hers is this world and she its explorer.
Norman Crane Sep 2020
The mountain grows much slower than your perception of the mountain growing taller, as the dynamics of the sea, which sculpts the earth beneath your feet, speaks—summoning the breeze: isn't it surreal, living on God's pottery wheel?
Emmanuel Davies Aug 2020
Time tells lately
Of a world gone bad
Mega bucks of destruction
Resulting in economy evasion
Unscaled and undeterred  
Nature draining and global warming
A coherent of capital dished round
Consumed largely by corrupt deities
Bhill Jun 2020
who really knows
who really understands
how is it true
or not
does the homeless person know what time it is
did the ant you stepped on feel anything
the sunset shared by millions across the globe, was it appreciated
was it valued
desert winds, stirring up the ancient sands, is it admired
is it honored
waters in the clouds, falling with raw force to the earth, is it glorified
is it
how do you know
how do you know

Brian Hill - 2020 # 168
Well, is it?
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