Sunday, January 6, 2008


Shimmering silver,
Coins in my pocket,
my thigh they sting...

Feeling wretchedly rich
I walk the street,
Thinking candyfloss
would be such a treat...

Crafting large pink clouds
The large old man,
Stands with a grin
at the candyfloss-van...

. . .

My coins are gone,
in exchange that morn
for that fluffy pink thing
that can't jing-a-ling!

Coins we fling,
Evening and dawn;
Would we value anything
If coins were gone?


Anonymous said...

lovely words...the words have a musical rhythm in them...beautiful poem!

little boxes said...

thou art the master of philosophical rhyme...

Angika said...

It took me some time to figure out the idea behind this! The idea is nice, but it doesn't flow.