Re Issue – Thumbing the Gelt

Poetry, Re Issue

Thumbing the Gelt

I am the King of Coins,
wherever I go they listen.
I can’t resist the smell of burning,
It reminds me of home.

A coin fresh from the mint
feels like a brand new day,
a token of promises made
with double-crossed fingers.

Each wet wad is worthless
Lips speak of bribes. Each mouth
shaped by want. This
pretty paper is imaginary.

How I love that shiny gold,
a party dress dollar, each
element of a measured exchange.
I pass the time by counting

what I have. Three thieves
died of thirst in Death Valley
their dollars could not buy them water.
A cocksure wind blew 

their bucks away.
To know it is to lose it.
No one rules. But this.

© Copyright Naomi Woddis 2008

Inspired and taken from answers to the the following questions:

What is money ?
Who rules ?
How self determining are we ?

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Re Issue – an introduction.

Re Issue

It’s been a while since I’ve written any poetry but I thought I would go through two of my old projects Poetry Mosaic and Moments of Chaos and Nostalgia (a poetry/photography project with photographer Dan Wesker) and in addition to this some of my unpublished work and share the poems here in an online collection called Re Issue.

I’m still very proud of Poetry Mosaic. This is how I described it on the blog initially.

Poetry Mosaic is the online poetry invention of London based poet, Naomi Woddis. I find that my writing process is changing rapidly and I am using found text in my work. Sometimes I will do an extended interview and this will form the basis or springboard for a poem. I mix some extracts of the conversation with my own writing. 

Poetry Mosaic goes a step further. The responses to specific questions will be the starting point for the poetry on this site. Short phrases from these replies will be cut and pasted with longer pieces of my own work and the finished poems will be posted on the Poetry Mosaic blog. Each respondent will be fully acknowledged at the end of each poem on the Poetry Mosaic blog. I will retain sole copyright for the poem that I create out of the responses.

Sometimes I created the poem using only the replies and at other times I would include my own contributions to the final piece.

On Time

The oldest knew the mountain.
As children they had
all the time in the world,

watched the hourglass empty,
caught in the glint
of the rising sun’s eye.

*

My greying hair, the shrinking
human brain, skin products
gathering on the bathroom shelf.

An antelope runs
across a lonely desert,
its shadow speeding.

*

Tornado time whirls.
Monks meditate on stillness
at the fulcrum.

Everything that has happened
will happen.
It is always Now.

© Copyright Naomi Woddis 2008