The New World
An old man’s toothless smile
as his street organ plays a
wild-xylophone lament.
The daily grind with only
a monkey to keep the company,
while he tips his hat –
hoping others will too.
As the century turns on there is
a Fortune to be made.
Tea, silkworms, kumquats and peonies
are the new Gods,
and the street falls silent.
V.C. Linde has been writing poetry for most of her life in a wandering variety of styles and now writes custom written poems . She has been published in the anthology ‘Dark Currents’ and won the 2012 NYT found poetry competition. This is her blog. Finder her on Twitter @vclinde