Friday, 30 September 2011

Another poem with the word 'token' - this time by the Dutch poet Menno Wigman


Heaven consults no bible, and no star
spells the koran. But the good reader sees
each token as a blessing from on high.

Once you have visited a skinflint’s pad.
He wasn’t bad, poured draughts of air, served stones
and gladly toasted all his charms away.

Once you have shared drinks with a millionaire.
His laugh was loud, his gaze was solid, as
the money was that paid his fancy’s bill.

Don’t rest. Don’t rest until your pocket burns
with stars of granite. Lead your bank a dance.
Squander away. Follow your fancy. See

each token as a blessing from on high.

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