Money poems

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Seven Seals

© Gary R. Ferris

But the world was asleep and never shed a tear.
*****
As the second seal was broken the second beast began to show,

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Two Betrayals

© Gary R. Ferris

And told them where to go.
*****
The first was filled with sorrow,

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The Four Horseman

© Gary R. Ferris

And charming as a doe.
*****
The rider was awesome,

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Evil’s Fate

© Gary R. Ferris

As if no eyes can see.
*****
Lie and cheat your neighbor,

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The Walk

© Gary R. Ferris

And began to know the cost.
*****
My troubles seemed so hopeless,

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What You Mean To Me

© Gary R. Ferris

Shining like a stone.
*****
I asked you if you’d like to dance,

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The Gift

© Gary R. Ferris

And my soul begins to strife.
*****
For money, I don’t have any,

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Hymn 23 part 2

© Isaac Watts

Must all the charms of nature, then,
So hopeless to salvation prove?
Can hell demand, can heav'n condemn,
The man whom Jesus deigns to love?

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These Things

© Charles Bukowski

these things that we support most well
have nothing to do with up,
and we do with them
out of boredom or fear or money

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Working Out

© Charles Bukowski

Van Gogh cut off his ear
gave it to a
prostitute
who flung it away in

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The Poetry Reading

© Charles Bukowski

at high noon
at a small college near the beach
sober
the sweat running down my arms

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We Ain't Got No Money, Honey, But We Got Rain

© Charles Bukowski

call it the greenhouse effect or whatever
but it just doesn't rain like it used to.
I particularly remember the rains of the
depression era.

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Poem For My 43rd Birthday

© Charles Bukowski

To end up alone
in a tomb of a room
without cigarettes
or wine--

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O, We Are The Outcasts

© Charles Bukowski

ah, christ, what a CREW:
more
poetry, always more
P O E T R Y .

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A Man

© Charles Bukowski

George was lying in his trailer, flat on his back, watching a small portable T.V. His
dinner dishes were undone, his breakfast dishes were undone, he needed a shave, and ash
from his rolled cigarettes dropped onto his undershirt. Some of the ash was still burning.
Sometimes the burning ash missed the undershirt and hit his skin, then he cursed, brushing

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To The Whore Who Took My Poems

© Charles Bukowski

some say we should keep personal remorse from the
poem,
stay abstract, and there is some reason in this,
but jezus;

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Dream On

© Edward Taylor

Some people go their whole lives
without ever writing a single poem.
Extraordinary people who don't hesitate
to cut somebody's heart or skull open.

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Twenty-Four Years

© Dylan Thomas

Twenty-four years remind the tears of my eyes.
(Bury the dead for fear that they walk to the grave in labour.)
In the groin of the natural doorway I crouched like a tailor
Sewing a shroud for a journey

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Work for Immortality

© Emily Dickinson

Some -- Work for Immortality --
The Chiefer part, for Time --
He -- Compensates -- immediately --
The former -- Checks -- on Fame --

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Larry Levis

© Larry Levis

My poem would eat nothing.
I tried giving it water
but it said no,