Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 405

For today’s prompt, write a money poem. The poem could be about currency, having money, not having money, wanting more money, etc. The poem can just mention money in passing or take place somewhere that money is changing hands. Like usual, feel free to get creative with your interpretations of the prompt.


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Here’s my attempt at a Money Poem:

“Lemonade Stand”

Margaret stirred and Agnes poured
before Delilah added ice–
their lemonade more sweet than sour,
everyone agreed it was nice;
and the girls were nice and sweet too
as if they were made of honey,
but the boys found nothing to do
except fight over the money.


Robert Lee Brewer is Senior Content Editor of the Writer’s Digest Writing Community and author of Solving the World’s Problems (Press 53). He loves a good lemonade stand.

Follow him on Twitter @RobertLeeBrewer.


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68 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 405

  1. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    the money tree
    by juanita lewison-snyder

    been shaking the money tree
    for as long as i can remember,
    waiting for gold, silver, or green
    (i’m not picky)
    to rain down lady luck confetti
    from the boughs, limbs, branches
    (any branches)
    and glitter stick to my hair,
    brows, thinning lashes
    just like in the movies.

    but lady luck had other ideas
    when she placed the copper penny
    in my path that morning
    to be planted like a seed,
    come what may.

    and i’m still waiting…

    © 2017 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  2. Walter J Wojtanik


    Ventures into mining for gold
    had left her cold and empty.
    Her redemption came in investing
    in a new currency. No urgency
    on her three year mission;
    her condition has greatly improved.
    Suitors within grasp had left her
    with little or no return. She would
    yearn for a value to banque upon.
    She found a new worth in a northern turn.
    The rate of exchange has added much value.
    Gaining a new son-in-law
    will be indeed a welcomed dividend.

  3. Uma

    Another day’s toil
    is finally done
    I lie knackered
    on the plank of wood
    that is my bed

    A sore arm pillows
    my weary head
    but sleep evades
    burning eyes

    I count the coins
    I have earned
    They are not enough yet 
    to bring me home to you
    I fear they will never be

    The black dust of the mines
    is embedded in my limbs
    I imagine it is your dark hair
    entwined around me

    The whites of my eyes gleam
    like your fair skin
    In the red I cough up
    I see the rich earth
    I used to till

    Just as I watched the crop
    grow tall and strong
    Do you watch
    over our little one
    Are her eyes are as green
    as the bushes I planted
    around our little house
    her hair as red 
    as the bricks I used
    to build it

    Do you tell her daddy
    will come home soon
    Does she sit with you
    and gaze at the path
    that winds its way 
    through the fields
    hoping to catch
    a glimpse of me

    A veil is drawn 
    gently over my eyes
    I am striding through
    the lands that once were mine
    soaring on the wind
    through the blue skies 
    I know so well 

    I can see the blossoms
    framing our humble abode
    You are standing by 
    the little brown gate
    I see the love shining
    in your steadfast eyes
    as you try to hold on
    to the writhing tot
    straining to escape 
    your grasp 
    and run towards me

    I drop to my knees 
    hold out my arms
    so I can hold 
    my little one close
    for the first time

    As the  breath leaves my body
    The coins tumble unheeded
    from my lifeless hands
    It doesn’t matter…
    I am back where I belong
    I’ve finally come home

  4. Jane Shlensky

    Penny for Your Thoughts

    I found a penny head-side up
    and looked for anyone nearby
    who might have dropped a shiny coin.
    No one but me and my old back
    protesting every move I make,
    making me think before I bend,
    assess if this is worth my time
    or if hope clings to tiny things.
    I think of all those rhymes and myths
    of finding coins that bring good luck
    or flinging coins to fountains, each
    longing thrown into wishing’s well.
    Oh, make me well and glad of heart.
    Oh, let us all be kind today.
    Oh, let’s forget what makes us sad.
    A penny teaching me to pray.

  5. Bobabob

    I’m allowed to pass through the gates
    Of palatial sprawling estates
    The owners much wealthier than me
    But whose faces I rarely do see

    They rarely enjoy these rewards
    They have new goals they work endlessly towards
    I seems kind of stupid to me
    To not use their home by the sea

    Don’t knock off one petal of flower
    The video gives them much power
    You can feel the eyes upon you
    With every thing you do

    The grounds crews work every day
    and keep meticulous in every way
    So much beauty they rarely do see
    It doesn’t make sense to me.

  6. taylor graham


    Crow rattled from a cottonwood losing its leaves.
    Tarnished coin, it sounded like a handful
    of dimes. On the fringes, someone’s green tent,
    a makeshift home. Always moving, Crow said,
    reciting a history of migrations, myth as bedrock
    of history. Centuries of dust over bone to find
    where you came from, where you’re going.
    Legend makes fools of you all, he said in Crow.
    These campers gone by morning. Cottonwood
    losing its leaves. Wind made wood-song
    of their fall. Crow flew off to a piney ridge.
    A green we spend, that comes again, won’t stay.
    From wander-camp a recorder’s wavering song.

  7. lsteadly

    Finders Keepers

    just the smallest
    thrill to find change
    spilled amidst rocks
    on the trail a quarter glinting
    there turns on a dime
    with lots of pennies waiting
    for picking along
    the spring climb promises
    luck to those
    searching for what skiers
    lost on winter slopes
    even Lincoln waved once
    from his place
    fastened to the grass

  8. rlk67

    Poems for Nothing

    ‘Take it and run,” Steve Miller did sing,
    Cyndi said it ‘changes everything’.

    Knofler wants his ‘chicks for free’,
    Madonna went on a ‘material’ spree.

    ‘Know when to fold ’em’, warned Kenny tonight,
    Donna? ‘You better treat her right’.

    The ‘taxman’ is loose, the Beatles discover,
    Lionel found his ‘penny lover’.

    All sound familiar? Put in your two cents,
    There’s lots I left out, ask Trump or Mike PENCE.

  9. tripoet

    para, novac, l’argent, geld, raha, peningar,
    flus, bani, soldi, denar, dinero, arian, געלט

    Money, by any other name,
    its benefits are just as sweet.

  10. De Jackson

    Camels, Eyes & Needles

    It’s hump day, and she’s gotta say
    the piling up challenges of this desert place
    are starting to make her crazy. She’s

    dotted all the i’s and crossed more
    than t’s and tried to please the masses
    and the mob. She’s sobbed a little and

    prayed some, too. Pricked herself
    silly trying to sew contentment and
    hope into the s(t)eam of her own skin.

    She’s worn a little thin and torn a few
    too many pages from this burned-out sky.
    Give her a smallish dragon song, a way

    to bleed out hope. A penny (candy) for
    her thoughts. A rope of clouds to bring the
    scent of rain. A quiet sigh. A wine cork moon.


    1. Anthony94

      This just leaves me speechless!! Love the twists and turns with metaphors and the imagery is amazing. Sometimes I read your work and just have to sit back and summon up my courage to write for another day. So very wonderful your talent.

  11. grcran

    just stop it

    stop the money
    money wandered
    squandered laundered
    it shakes it quakes
    put on the brakes
    speak out
    unrelenting venting
    punctuating evacuating
    stop the money
    not that funny

    gpr crane

    1. grcran

      just stop it

      stop the money
      money wandered
      squandered laundered
      it shakes it quakes
      put on the brakes
      speak out
      unrelenting venting
      punctuating evacuating
      stop the money
      not that funny

      (darnit, could not make it indent…)

  12. Sara McNulty

    Lottery Woes

    How unnerved I would be
    to win a lottery.
    Instead of feeling free–
    One issue would be fairness,
    absolute awareness
    of who should have a share of
    these winnings I now bear.
    Many a worthy cause
    would give reason to pause,
    and decide–would I draw straws
    or just give it all to paws?

  13. Daniel Paicopulos

    How My Friends See It

    Life is too short.
    It might be too short for
    a lot of things, like
    worry and jealousy and regrets.
    Could be.
    So people say.
    The ones who are not dying.
    Not yet.
    My friends who are dying now know.
    Life is too short.

    Money doesn’t matter.
    It might matter if you’re short
    of food and meds and rent.
    Could be.
    So people say.
    The ones who are not dying.
    Not yet.
    My friends who are dying now know.
    Money doesn’t matter.

    Man plans, God laughs.
    It might help to have a strategy,
    with wills and trusts and next of kin.
    Could be.
    So people say.
    The ones who are not dying.
    Not yet.
    My friends who are dying now know.
    Man plans, God laughs.

  14. headintheclouds87

    The Number Game

    We dream of more zeroes
    At the end of dismal funds;
    Of the day digits can’t chain us
    To a forced, cautious hesitancy
    And a constant crippling uncertainty;
    Days where numbers don’t matter
    Nor can they label and divide us;
    But while they still define us
    We are tethered to the game
    Where everyone’s struggle is the same.

  15. SarahLeaSales

    What Money Bought Her

    It bought her healthy food,
    respectable clothing,
    safe and clean shelter,
    reliable transportation,
    and quality medical care.
    It paid for her college education,
    which paid off with a career she loved
    so that she could escape the job she loathed.
    It bought books the library did not have
    and toys for those who had little.
    It paid for the technology
    that connected her to the world.
    It gave her family the ability to see that world,
    unfiltered through a screen.
    It paid for the piano lessons
    for her autistic daughter;
    for the horse she rode
    to alleviate her anxiety.
    Whether the money came from herself,
    from taxes,
    or from charity,
    it was money that afforded her these things.
    No, it didn’t buy everything,
    but it bought everything else.

  16. taylor graham


    At the west gate, a smiling gun-slinger
    with six-shooter welcomed folks to the fair.
    I walked in and found their camp,
    a caravan cloaked in rugs and blankets, home
    away from walls, foundations, mortgages.
    I came to ask about gypsies here,
    on this land, in history. The answer is myth-
    tery, she said, we might be anywhere.
    Out of sight, someone played recorder,
    Romani music desperately sad or crazy-
    happy, she explained, so I wasn’t
    sure just which, as bells stomped the rhythm
    of a dance. Fair-goers kept passing,
    headed for the gold pavilion
    or stalls of vendors reaching out for
    currency and plastic. But here,
    I was penniless on cushions and carpets
    in ochre gold and scarlet, saffron,
    every hearth-warm color, every spell
    of fall like music underneath
    her words that wouldn’t let the feet
    stand still. Time to travel on.

  17. Anthony94

    Bouquet in a Coffee Can

    Flowers were her currency,
    spent like a miser to pay for
    her passage through the day.

    Bunches of pink lilies saved
    from bending to the ground with
    their weight of heady blossoms.

    The tiny spray of roses
    so precious after this blight year.
    The black-eyes Susans she knew

    would wither with the morning
    forcing her outside again with her
    fist full of large bills: weeds to be

    pulled, produce to be sorted, cats
    to be fed. But these flowers,
    her way of making change.

  18. thunk2much

    Free enterprise

    When I stretch into my old blue dress
    (so much softer, so much more “me”)
    the back-yard beckons in that way it has
    of calling me away from fake tweets and fear.

    So I grab a cold beer and follow the dogs
    outside to the forest, the city of birds
    and squirrels, the hustle-bustle drama
    of feeder lines forming and reforming.

    I let it wash over me in cresting waves,
    an ocean of chirrups to remind me again
    that this is real life, the stuff that matters,
    and this is the thing we keep missing.

    I close my eyes for just a moment
    imagining what it might be like
    to stay forever in my rightful place
    and never use the front door again.

  19. Walter J Wojtanik


    I have a cache of multi-colored
    plastic cash in my pocket.
    Like a rocket on the first of July
    its burns a hole in my wallet.
    Call it what you will, it is still
    legal tender where people spend
    twoonies like loonies. Her majesty
    graces a bill with her bling,
    Prime Ministers with sinister smirks
    work their way onto these cheques
    as well. Counting on Mounties to secure
    the pure nature of the Great White North,
    bought and paid for. My store of money
    is kinda funny when the rate of exchange
    is very strange , changing almost daily.
    Saving it for another day,
    another foray up Ottawa way,
    working to pay the way, eh?

  20. deringer1


    It was many years ago on a sunny day.
    It wasn’t busy; the lines were short,
    no hint of what the day would bring
    as the door opened and he walked in.

    He came to my window without delay
    wearing a hat and an old black coat.
    He looked ordinary and not at all daring
    but the first thing he said was, “I’ve got a gun.”

    I stared at him; what could I say?
    but I felt a catch of fear in my throat.
    While I made mental notes of what he was wearing
    I realized that I’d better begin

    to trip the alarm before he got away.
    So I pulled out some bills (the alarm was remote).
    When I gave him the cash out the door he went tearing.
    When a gun in involved, no way you can win!

    The alarm didn’t sound so he got away.
    Technology just didn’t work that day.

  21. PowerUnit

    The motivator of modern man
    is a bucket load of dreams, weighing down
    the flight to traffic-free highways
    and Saturday morning papers,

    The slapping of the hand, smothers
    the search for excellence
    among the garden weeds,
    a sharp hoe doesn’t have a price.

    Gold stars are their own reward,
    green fields belong on the other side,
    division, rusty barbed wire
    cannot contain the mind.

  22. taylor graham


    The currency of this realm is a silver
    coin slipped over a fire-golden disk. Gold
    disk hidden with its blazing light,
    silver tarnishes to black, and all around us
    dark. Just that golden ring of desire.

  23. Walter J Wojtanik


    Words are the currency spent
    in the expression of love
    in a true poetic heart.

    We start with an idea,
    a thought that permeates
    through to our very souls.

    It controls our feelings
    leaving us reeling with heat
    from that smoldering ember.

    We choose to remember it,
    to hold it in our hands
    and write the way it feels.

    Then, as our hearts reel
    it steals a bit of us
    to share with all present here,

    all are willing to spend their words,
    investing in the thoughts
    other words have inspired.

  24. PressOn


    A young miss who was terribly bold
    met a man who was wizened and old.
    When he asked her to marry
    she thought best to tarry
    and mine his great legions of gold.


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