Money is a kind of poetry.
- Wallace Stevens
Money, the long green,
cash, stash, rhino, jack
or just plain dough.
Chock it up, fork it over,
shell it out. Watch it
burn holes through pockets.
To be made of it! To have it
to burn! Greenbacks, double eagles,
megabucks and Ginnie Maes.
It greases the palm, feathers a nest,
holds heads above water,
makes both ends meet.
Money breeds money.
Gathering interest, compounding daily.
Always in circulation.
Money. You don't know where it's been,
but you put it where your mouth is.
And it talks.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Money by Dana Gioia )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
- Your, Umasree Raghunath
- coal on the asphalt, a mile away, Mandolyn ...
- Jostled here and there, Emmanuel George Cefai
- Over the seas Over the waves, Emmanuel George Cefai
- Reunion, Umasree Raghunath
- Over The Edge Over The Slippery Ledges, Emmanuel George Cefai
- World War One, P.D. Turner
- The Poet-Seer irresistible, Emmanuel George Cefai
- Slow Fast But sure, Emmanuel George Cefai
- My Mocking Jay, Aaron Waingrow