"nickle" poems
We live in a cycle
my name is Michael
little kid rides a tricycle
while a grown up rides a bicycle
I have a sickle
to my right ventricle
some kid found a nickle
some grown up is being fickle
the red flood starts as a tickle
and ends at a trickle
little kid believes in a miracle
a grown up only sees an obstacle
my name is Michael
We live in a cycle
Mar 18, 2012
Mar 18, 2012 at 6:41 AM UTC
lets make a love out of our past,
lets make a love that is forced to last.
together we can make poetry;
I promise to never let you down,
I’ll never let you frown.
Together, we can make poetry;
A peom of smooth words, smooth verbs,
Stayin in a room together, do not disturb.
Together, we can make poetry;
So what do you say, Baby?
Don’t make me get down on one knee.
I just think that, together, we can make poetry;
I write a word, its your turn, then mine,
If we each think she’s a nickle, together she’s a dime.
you see? Together, we can make poetry.
In love with the words and the rhyme on a page,
If we share the same love why not let it out of its cage,
If we can make poetry, the whole world can change,
So, what do you say Baby?
Lets make poetry.
Jan 23, 2012
Jan 23, 2012 at 10:16 AM UTC
hung in black cobwebs
wrapping the ceilings
hot water cylinder
rusted to usless
old nickle plated
green tarnished teaspoons
food scraps that lurk
on ancient linolium
a sprouting of mushrooms
under the cooker
bin bags all spilling
jumble sale clothing
death a relief
only imagined
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 1:26 AM UTC
gotta head full of mischief
legs on the move
time left due
as we come watch you
pass through town
spend past us
im trying to hear feet
the sound on your phone
too loud
because we speak
reality,
whats present but your too proud
love is ignorance
you were hoping
id say bliss somewhere in this next sentence
only because it is what is coincidence
with other times youve had since
like our currency nickle dimes to cents
things youve heard before just make more sense
******* raicest
ebola killed the first
nurse then dispersed
other mother ******* worst
idea airplane burst
taking month to curse
our ****** curse
human
over population
thirst
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 5:07 AM UTC
Have you ever had a pocket full of change?
so much change you need a belt just to keep your pants up?
so much change you could pay the mortgage in pennies, bury the twenties and pay them in coins.
because you dont need fat stacks to cover the cracks in your imperfections let them show,
like coins in your wallet.
if i had a penny for every petty penny thrown to the curb for its worth i'd melt them down and show the world that everyone can be part of something bigger.
So next time you see a procumbent penny lying face down on the ground remember.
every penny needs a pocket in which to preside,
every nickle has a name if only you'd ask remove the ask of class and realize that
no matter whether you're a penny, a nickle, if something more.
we are all just change.
So next time you find yourself in the club, don't make it rain, Make it hail!
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 12:36 PM UTC
They call him "Tweaker"
Those in the neighborhood of Spring Mountain
and Desert Inn, those who pace
the same streets and sleep in the same block.
He's ironic and contradictory,
calling everyone he happens
by "Slim"
his emasciated smile
black potholes and pyrite
is as genuine as his intentions
shaming traffic with his sadness
cardboard paper signs
"Just trying to get something to eat"
There should be a question mark
My exclamation point
No excuse not to give...
So here you are "slim" collecting the guilt
All the dollars a day in your concrete quilt
and your own red Target
shopping cart...
Caught red handed behind 7-11
In the alley (cats avoid)
with a dub, a dime, or nickle sac
god smacked...
carrying conversations
With / a / no one...
Dec 9, 2016
Dec 9, 2016 at 2:54 PM UTC
So tired of playing
The same old worn out games
With a nickle and a song
Lifting my own name
Thinking out loud
That I can save myself
You see if not me
Then I ask who else
I'd be rich if I could
Sell off all this shame
Bottled tight up inside
But can't give any of it away
I keep holding out
One of the proud
Jesus is for losers
That's what I'm all about
He takes me just as I am
Down upon my knees
Jesus is for losers
And yes that would be me
I show up right on time
To my own open grave
Stinking to high heaven
Where sin has me its slave
Find I'm drowning in
My own wishing well
Thought back then that I could swim
These days not so well
Got it all locked up tight
Yet I myself have no key
In which to open up
This hardened heart in me
Randomly beat
Facing defeat
Jesus is for losers
I'm pointing fingers at me
Wondering at how
I became part of the crowd
Jesus is for losers
I'll take all that I'm allowed
Never much
On push and shove
Jesus is for losers
When you've had enough
Just as I am
Least we forget
Jesus is for losers
Are we not all there yet...
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 8:04 AM UTC
I found a man of great Tilly stock,
And asked him for a frilly walk,
Unto which he said he’ll tell
The way to Heaven and the way to Hell.
“Pimply weaves of basket bread,
And a golden goose upon the head;
Let it squawk with plumpy feathers
With that you’ll relinquish worldy tethers.”
Frowned up in loofy days,
“Sir tell me of your ghangly ways!”
I loosed and cried; simply confused
“Worry not my sun and moon your muse!
For water is a half-penny to a tree,
And snickle-snacks don’t sell for free.
Yet if you must know of my tale,
Then sit there yonder and make a trail.”
However Sir, I am not meek
I have no cunning for the week.
“Your tale I do not wish to know,
Simply tell me which way to go!”
Crimpets high and yellow traps,
“You’ll lose yourself with the bats.
Go up; go down with nickle fritz,
Beware to lose yourself upon the blitz
For in rush and haste there in gleeb,
Wear ignorance for the trancy steed.
I let loose of many brumble yunk,
To sail for seas I never thunk
Yet wax and wane for waves ah-do,
And loose bracknees in multitude.
Traverse tall grass and shundy groves
And you’ll lose those things you thought you loathe.”
“My oh my old man I sigh,
For those things be near nor nigh.”
And with that I give my sullen reply
And turned and a bid a fair goodbye.
Yet upon reminiscence I bade in lye,
And whim my eye not to cry.
For in the tall tale of thy,
Taught I was to live; not die.
Question not a method sly.
But he mumbled and grumbled,
Though he never stumbled.
Living for him he never frumbled.
Many days he spent catching geese,
Upon a head knit with fleece.
OH! I should have let him talk; not cease
For to iron a book you can use yeast.
Heaven to Hell dived by two,
Heed the old man and crux with yew.
And ewe and ewe will catch the flu
Sheep don’t lead in a society so true.
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 1:08 PM UTC
No...more...bickerin,
your eyes flickering you're nickering
your nit pickin' lost it quick as the Dickens
My tracks a hell of a kickin'
you're just the next feckin victim,
of the flow bound Hurricane of sense and rhythm,
The Sensemilla Sensei Kempei of verbal Kempo's home,
Like Alladin and Saladin mixed with a Party Boobytrap a Paladin of Palindrome...
The Storm rider glider blasts you through the other side of the Thunderdome
My - Spitfire drips Ire as ********* ***** fire Surprise in your eyes quick blast from the past from a .50 Cal Microphone-
Fiend in me soul under control you failed your roll,
will check failed-I check wills,its a Checkmate mate you-best quill your will and will to build some soul
Its a dill of pickle you're in - you're a nickle worth of Nickleback stickleback sticklebricking best Lego
I let go last, I'm the Legolas of the fast pass in the underpass stick you fast now you're stuck fast I buck fast at your glass of Buckfast
the Truculent, ever vigilant-words are Succulent got you diggin' in
diggin' out a liddle bit of Lidl in a stolen digger,move quicker stop the friggin' in the riggin' little Pigpen Pigeons time to drop the bridge in...
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 6:08 PM UTC
I can't find my pockets
There
Is change
Maybe
A quarter or a nickle
Or a dime
For gum
My bike waits
Leaning
Outside with the old Gum
Of others who lost
Teeth
Or pockets
While my teeth
Smile
At the old guy
Waiting
For my money
Left in lost pockets
As my bike topples!
Jan 23, 2011
Jan 23, 2011 at 8:07 AM UTC
Falling smoothly into chaos
Dancing with The Devil's twin
Staying out to all odd hours
Play to play but not to win
Holding onto little numbers
Clutching at the threes and twos
Tossing all the Jacks or better
Nothing left to really lose
Pony up my hidden nickle
Lay my hand down, easy breeze
Watch the other gamblers crumble
As I win with twos and threes
Rake in all my ill-begotten
Dust the prayer-dirt from my knees
Pocket up my lucky nickle...
Jesus loves those twos and threes.
Apr 12, 2011
Apr 12, 2011 at 12:30 AM UTC
I was dreaming lucky
But woke up cold in hand;
I dreamed I had a dollar
But woke up cold in hand.
Woke up this morning
Feel around for my shoes.
You know about that?
They took yours too?
Sometimes I feel
Like walkin'.
Sometimes I feel
Like cryin'.
Sometimes I feel
Like a motherless child.
Sometimes I feel
Like I ain't no one at all.
Say brother,
I can't make change
For a nickle.
Say sister, oh sister,
Can you spare me
One thin dime?
"When a man gets the blues
He grabs a train and rides."
I know
I ain't no man.
"When a woman gets the blues
She hangs her head and cries."
I know
I don't feel
Like no woman.
So when I get me back
My walkin' shoes,
Those worn out, old walkin' shoes,
I'm takin' this suitcase
Full of blues I got
And ride the boxcar blinds
Past Boogie Street
All the way to
Johnson's Crossroads.
Lines in Quotations are direct from Train Whistle Blues by Jimmie Rodgers, 1929
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 3:24 PM UTC
Shannadoa, laquadesh. Batta-anna, mlick ka dek.
Philly fickle ******
Nickle dime dash,
Dangle ****** bongle,
Bickle bockle bash,
Sunny sun sunshine,
Beady brain bright,
****** lovey Mondays,
Matthew mum might.
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 10:49 PM UTC
in the shop window
the mannequin contorted
into a parody of summer beach living
even with the martini glass dusty and cracked
the hawaiian shirt, the flip-flops
the mannequin's long deep gaze forever painted blue
behind cheap sunglasses
sealed away behind faded curtains
straw beach hat tilted against
the harsh glare of a lightbulb for a sun
now this lifesized gaudy imitation of summer
is only the conversation starter for the old couple
who owns the store
with brighton beach memories
photographs of nineteen fifty eight
the heavy scent of cheap perfume
the shuffling of the old man bringing a cup of tea
this is where memories are bought and sold
where a piece of nineteen seventy six
could be had for two dimes and a nickle
its old men who hold the worlds histories
in their wrinkled hands
careworn baubles of a different age
its old men who have in their eyes loves lost and found
who have endless summer days in her arms
forever there back in sixty seven
this old man in his dusty store has more riches
than all the banks in the world
in his heart
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 3:09 PM UTC
I made this skirt from
Pierre Cardin's spring collection
Where a thief stole a pound, and I paid a nickle.
I made this shirt from
A pretty curtain
That I ripped out of a groovy bungalow
I made this bracelet from
Beads drifting down river Arakawa
A child's beads, probably thrown in a tantrum.
I made this pendant from
A glass marble from a goldfish bowl
In the small classroom of an elementary school
I found my socks in a dumpster.
I found my shoes in a runaway train.
I found my coat on the shoulders of a model.
And so I plead not guilty.
Mar 2, 2019
Mar 2, 2019 at 2:01 AM UTC
its not work if youre playing
youre using all ten
but me?
me?
im doing two thumbs
what im doing
practicing being articulate
literally ornate
is so much like the melody
that you bang out with ten
the creativity ratio
ten to one and two to one
but yours is extensive
and mine
mine is too plosive
sharp
dissected
and yours lofts
and swoops
tricks the ear
and swirls
nothing pushes us this way
in this direction
not a person directs my fingers
or yours
and yet there is something to be assimilated
something to take home
a bit to stick under your pillow
the fairy will trade it for a nickle
take off that ring
its clicking on the keys
thats what we said to each other
the click gets agitating
but i tie a knot on my side burn
a ribbon really
and grin
welcome back
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 1:21 AM UTC
I was alone, but not too lonely.
You were strong, but that was only
When your brothers were around.
Brand new, seemed like something better.
Pretty scars, eyes like leather.
So much different than we’d seen.
We made love with a choking hand.
We stayed drunk on a million plans.
We were running out of time.
Even the cruel get worse than they deserve.
Even the cruel get worse than they deserve.
Even the cruel get worse than they deserve,
But baby, you deserve to have it all
I was sweating through fiberglass.
I got a feeling in my hands
I’d be apologizing to my dreams.
Tripping slow, spit in the glass,
Blood on the pillows, falling fast,
Choking on a nickle in the dark.
Laughing happy with manic moon,
Melted glass in a broken spoon.
We were the spirit of the times.
Even the cruel get worse than they deserve ... etc.
I bent down on a blizzard day
To find out what was in my way.
It was you, you were praying to nothing at all
I lit a candle to the ghost of magazines.
I burned down a strip club with kerosine.
I was wondering why I felt so bored.
I woke up on the rooftop.
I was making sure there were no cops,
Alone, but not too lonley, staring down at the street.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 9:14 AM UTC
I've got five pennies in my front pocket
A bag full of broken dreams
I'm on a road to no where
Looking for my place of belonging
Sliding penny after penny in the vending machine
Their semi-green oxidization stains my thumbs
Hoping dollars would sprout from their compound
Hitting "return cash" on the vending machine for every time I've been told I won't make it
This time a nickle drops to the bottom
I've got a nickle in my pocket
A future full of promise
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 1:28 PM UTC
Skipping class, ****** off his ***
Never showed and never passed
Teacher was teachin' it
But Dylan never needed it,
Writ to his own beat
And now he's free wheelin' it
On down the road
A heavy moss laden load
Sixty-one routes
And that stone keeps a-rollin',
The times keep a-changin'
The river keeps flowin'
Rainy day women
And legalized growin'
Bob cantcha spare,
A nickle or rhyme?
A solid gold medal,
Nobel poet sublime?
Sing us a song
Jingle jangle along
The Luckiest Wilbury
In the Wilbury throng
Singin' so right
It must be wrong
Keep doin' your thang
You'll never get gonged
May 22, 2021
May 22, 2021 at 11:34 PM UTC
I’ll do it in my own sweet time
don’t need a bribe
keep your nickle and dime
I don’t follow the tribe
I word my own rhyme
your politely worded scribe
caused me to mime
your simpering vibe
I’m swimming in slime
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 9:13 AM UTC
Too tall to know,
too small to see.
Too impatient,
to ever be free.
The escape hides,
and none will seek.
All who wonder,
lie too weak.
A silver-gold path,
to show my way.
If only. if only,
I knew night from day.
A nickle, a dime,
either way I've done time,
because of my crime,
to love too divine.
For I, so simple,
live a life of regret.
For I, so anxiously,
tend to forget.
"Life is but a dream," they say,
and I live in a dream everyday.
Now can those who hear my words,
understand my thoughts in thirds?
That, my friends, is how I see.
That, my friends, is how my mind talks to me.
It tells me what I wish to hear,
and that is what I often fear.
Does anyone ever see me there?
See me wishing to go somewhere?
For I, so awful, wishy-wash,
lose focus on reality.
For I, so awfully awfully lost,
don't know when I am being me.
For I, so tall,
never know.
For I, so small,
never see.
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 11:19 PM UTC
Have you ever been to San Francisco?
With no money?
It's like going to the Moon, Honey,
Without oxygen.
The Moon with palm trees
And a beach.
The Moon with tasty tasty treats
On all the streets
And pretty girls (?) all in a row
And Dark Delights
Even in the daytime
Waiting to take
That last nickle
You don't have.
Yeah, I left my heart there.
Just like the song...
Traded it for a bus ticket
Out.
Jun 20, 2011
Jun 20, 2011 at 8:39 PM UTC
Hot tar and a thirty-year-old nickle's scent
broke the evergreen air as the bleak moonlight bent
shadows into the semblance of a grated vent.
On my cell phone I repeated what I meant
to a man behind three to four months on rent.
"Three or four thousand, come on Kent,
I'll let it slide for even two. I've lent
and lent and there's a considerable dent
in my wallet." He said the check would be sent
by the next week and remarked, "Time went
out the window. It disappeared in the events
of yesterday and was spent."
A week later a check was present
in my mail. It was crisp and unbent
but was written for "172,800 minutes and no cents."
I called up Kent, that incredulous tenant,
and said, "What is this check? It's content
is silly and makes no sense." "Relent,
relent, it's for four months of pent-
up time that was spent." "Time? The rent
can't be paid with a check to augment
lost minutes!" "You agreed to it before, on my word, as a gent."
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 1:15 AM UTC
It's hard to tale
I'm the best when it **** to myself
She's loose change, he's my nickle
Hold me, As I lick how he felt.
I mean I liked how she melts.
I'm confused in this bed full of helps
I can't leave without my belt,
My dignity won't stay up without me.
Curious George they say I was a monkey
I like to see my piece like a wild beast
If I don't cage it the humans won't let me be...
Hello to the new generation, bye ****** is what I'm trying in me.
Don't grip it no more you don't have take a peek
I lived in chaos all my life now I'm dead in peace! Amen.... It means so be it.
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 1:00 PM UTC
I felt the rumbling
of the fire as it
burned,
mutilated,
my skin.
The fresh laid logs
glowed in their
own sort of
maniacal tension.
My heated flesh
denied the
existence
of the pain.
I drive myself
to pursue
new directions.
So let the comb
arrange the hair
and
let the face be
nice and clean.
I entered a place
of restless tomorrows.
Eyes dashing
left and right
to see if the
cups of promise
follow along.
Throw a nickle
into the wishing well.
Make a wish.
Meditating in
determined manner,
hot or cold does
not matter anymore.
I can only be the type
of person
I want to be.
What works
for others
does not always
comfort me.
Too many followers
and not enough
individuals.
The mystery to me
is why this
doesn't bother anyone.
I place my hands
out in front of me,
and let my fingers
feel the growing grass
as it comes through
the ground.
A crowd of one
with temporary
isolation.
A place of peace
where none
exists.
I rub away the
helpless hurting.
Gaining warmth
from the returning flame.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 5:57 PM UTC