#coins
With the fiat system of money printing
It’s possible to receive money without
The creation of any value for anyone.
These messed up incentives entice
Some in politics and power realms
To get close to the printing of new
Money in order to steal this wealth
Therefore
Let’s move to a money system with
Aligned incentives where people only
Receive money as they create real
Value and wealth for others in the
Free market, leading to prosperity
Based on hard work and creativity.
Bitcoin is this aligned value solution
Aug 9, 2024
Aug 9, 2024 at 9:09 AM UTC
The
sun and moon
don't
always
align.
It's alright
if
expressions
don't ring!
the
bells and chimes.
Spinning
coins falling
heads
and
chasing tails
still
prevail.
Dimes for lemonade
Bittersweet
rhyme
penny a drop
well!
ain't that a crime.
It's
alright
wait for it
there is always
a light at the end of time
?
Jun 23, 2022
Jun 23, 2022 at 1:49 PM UTC
This is tyranny,
this is malicious,
this is undeniably done out of contempt.
The ire of this man cannot be expressed.
This is gluttony,
this is sinful,
take your coins and feed on the poor.
Sleep at night.
In the peaceful hours of dawn,
don’t blink and eye,
for I have ****** of my mind.
Mar 23, 2021
Mar 23, 2021 at 9:12 PM UTC
my painting teacher once told the class
"you'll never miss it if you don't know about it"
he said some paints weren't good for us
& even though they looked better, with richer, more brilliant colors,
they weren't safe for us.
too much exposure to them could poison us;
for they included a toxic component.
we never used these paints,
and so we never missed them.
i wish i could say the same about you.
~a poem about cadmium colors
Nov 27, 2020
Nov 27, 2020 at 6:52 PM UTC
There's a giant disparity
No economic parity
Or intellectual clarity
When they're scaring me
So I'll collapse invariably
Under coins they're barreling
They nickel and dime me
So I'm pinching for pennies
No peace I'm finding
Working at Wendy's
For the money lending
Capitalism bending
Sharks that are trending
We coin those with stacks of cash
As successes
Even if their heart's black as ash
It impresses
Money doesn't grow on trees
But it seems to float in the breeze
The direction these people please
Or happen to sneeze
I scrape
And claw
But those apes
Are frauds
Playing God
No sin absolved
Without their call
Because I don't put up with their torture
I haven't made a dime this quarter
Because of dollar hoarders
Ruling through law and order
Creating tribalistic borders
Nobody's paying my bailout
I'm too small to fail now
My life's become stale, how?
The **** of a male cow
I tear apart my only couch
Looking for a coin pouch
To get me out
Of this drought
I cut my fingers
And bruise my knuckles
My fatigue lingers
Until I buckle
My stock tumbles
As I scream uncle
We allocate all our resources to a few
While the rest of society turns into a zoo
Where people die to pay their dues
And are given a pocket of coins to use
Which ignites their fuse
But their obfuscated views
Are swayed by the news
Teaching trivial truths
Change starts jingling in my pocket
When I get on a revolutionary rocket
So they buy a gun and **** it
To preemptively block it
They use marketing to stop it
Like it's just another stock tip
They have the guns
They have the money
I have to run
If they start hunting
Because those that say something
Are the edges they're blunting
With coins they're dumping
To protect one thing:
The profit margin
Like social Darwins
They say the hard win
With unholy marred sin
By collecting the coins of their foes
To help economic hostility grow
Until coins are all we know
Sep 9, 2020
Sep 9, 2020 at 7:59 PM UTC
I ran towards the door
not so they could let me inside
I pushed through the crowd
not so i could buy
I thew a coin to the wishing-well
not because it was a transaction
I said nice things to my reflection
not for him to reply
I ran towards the door
not so they could let me inside
I wanted to feel the option
to be kissed by lips
not the curb of the pavement
I hoped I knelt I prayed
I never asked for a reality
just the right to dream
for a reason to live isn't needed
when i can make a million reasons not to die
May 15, 2020
May 15, 2020 at 2:15 AM UTC
I saw you in Roman Holiday years ago
but you are much thinner now
today is Monday
both you and your master have a day off
the sea horses make no waves
nor the Triton and the chariot
Wishing for a happy return
I stand with my back toward you
as done in the movie
and quickly toss
three five-hundred-lira coins
Hoping they won’t devalue too badly
before they hit bottom
Jan 30, 2020
Jan 30, 2020 at 6:52 PM UTC
I walk through the park every day.
Sometimes I squeeze through the crowd and toss a coin into the fountain, longing vibrating through every molecule of my body.
I’ve done it maybe twenty times now. I wish for the same thing each time.
(I can’t say what it is, though— then it won’t come true. And I really need it to.)
Amid a cluster of intermingling people, I stand almost-alone;
Me and my coin and my one wish.
I wonder, sometimes, how much it matters.
If I’m just deluding myself and tossing
pennies nickels dimes quarters
Into the water, emptying my wallet splash after splash in naive pursuit of something I know I will never have.
Small children join me in tossing nuggets of wishful thinking, their parents laughing at the naivete of it all.
I imagine a world where I don’t rely on a coin to shift my luck.
I wonder if I know somewhere beneath this self-deception that it doesn’t matter.
That no matter how many pennies I toss,
No matter how many stars I wish on,
No matter how many dandelions I blow into the wind, eyes squeezed tight with desperate desire,
Sometimes wishes just don’t come true.
But I know I’ll toss another coin in tomorrow. I don’t have to wonder about that.
Jan 28, 2020
Jan 28, 2020 at 2:28 PM UTC
I pray my pen
Flows not with think
But with spirit embodied
As there is more to impress
In the ink of Christ
Than there ever was or will be
In this expression of me
Jan 19, 2020
Jan 19, 2020 at 10:45 AM UTC
There was always two sides of a story
But sometimes no connection could be made out of them
Because both were lies
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 11:01 AM UTC
☯ 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
infinity.
(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.
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 3:05 AM UTC
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
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 10:49 AM UTC
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
other.
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.
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 10:32 AM UTC
*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*
Jun 21, 2017
Jun 21, 2017 at 11:28 AM UTC
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.
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 6:13 PM UTC
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.
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 11:02 AM UTC
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.
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 2:55 PM UTC
This world is set of vice and virtue
Good and bad play their due part
In front of Satan say we do, we do
Good ones have their way to depart
All those who are servant of God
Uphold the verdict not to astray
They are fully protected by Lord
They travel like a clear light ray
Servants of devil take double death
They carry along deplorable plight
They carry death with every breath
Their eyes are blind not to see light
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Nov 26, 2016
Nov 26, 2016 at 2:16 AM UTC
All were silent as corpses as they laid
next to the campfire, listening to every
ill spoken word. Now silence has graced
this dimness of syllables that fed the fire.
There was a wishing well, others sent
for ill fortune had granted there lives.
"Wishing well please hear my plea,
"I was told you could solve issues for me,
Moments past and not a motion or spoken
word did seep from its depths.
*"I thought this was a stupid idea, ********
belief that a well could solve problems for me*
Then as footsteps echoed away, and repetition
was vaguely heard till sound birthed forth.
Feed me that which I desire, for metal has no
value where wishes are conceived and birthed.
"Tell me what you need, And whispers were
held upon there thoughts, and no other was
to no as a wishing well collects on everyone.
*"So our story is like a circle but one not get finished
but nearly complete in worth,*
Around the fire not a word was uttered, breath
was silent from one to another nothing expelled.
all were listening to his expiration of this stories
telling now eagerly undoing with each word.
Seeds were sewn for a wishes worth to come true,
Stories have endings of dreams and truth. but this
isn't one of those endings this is a certainty.
A story much have a start, pause and an ending unfold.
*"Now all you have heard my tale, you were good
listeners as the dead speak no words. I take a token
from each of you,*
*"The eye is a token of the soul, and it needed ten
tokens of worth,*
So as the fire lost is worth and syllables were replaced
by ten bodies now in rigor motis. All wept tears of
deaths embrace, as ocular openings feed upon the well.
"I give gifts, keys to ten souls, each of colour fresh not cold,
"Hear my plea of a wish I want in truth,
**"Your contribution has been upheld, let a spoken word
unfold, be it riches or youth,**
**"One wish is yours now speak but heed my words, once
uttered the deal is sealed souls sealed in word,**
"I want you to crumble to seal others ill fate,
*"Those that were killed had suffered before
due to your needing of donations of souls
needed effect,*
Crumbling fortunes to a gate of souls that
lingered at the bottom of a well. For all who
had perished had done so as retribution
for others lost to this curse. All who's eyes had
been taken and found no eternal rest.
He sat around the campfire and all was muted as
no words were spoken. Ten pennies in the well,
now it choked on its serving and all was silent.
Wishes are for fools, as a price is always asked
and unthinkable acts do not meet its worth.
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 12:19 PM UTC
We trade words like old coins,
Rattling them in our piggybanks
Until they clink past our teeth
And onto the floor between us.
Coin for coin,
They slide in exchange.
Fair is fair,
Each is stashed in the others collection.
And when we leave,
I know our sums have stayed the same,
But somehow I always feel richer.
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 2:00 AM UTC