Get Your Premium Membership

Famous Shop Poems by Famous Poets

These are examples of famous Shop poems written by some of the greatest and most-well-known modern and classical poets. PoetrySoup is a great educational poetry resource of famous shop poems. These examples illustrate what a famous shop poem looks like and its form, scheme, or style (where appropriate).

See also:

by Frost, Robert
 And he said, "Why not?"

In casting about for a corner
 He thought of an idle bit
Of walled-off ground where a shop had stood,
 And he said, "Just it."

And he said, "That ought to make you
 An ideal one-girl farm,
And give you a chance to put some strength
 On your slim-jim arm."

It was not enough of a garden,
 Her father said, to plough;
So she had to work it all by hand,
 But she don't mind now.

She wheeled the dung in the wheelbarrow
 Along a stretc...Read more of this...

by Moody, William Vaughn
That I have striven, striven to evade? 
Gazing on him, must I not deem they err 
Whose careless lips in street and shop aver 
As common tidings, deeds to make his cheek 
Flush from the bronze, and his dead throat to speak? 
Surely some elder singer would arise, 
Whose harp hath leave to threaten and to mourn 
Above this people when they go astray. 
Is Whitman, the strong spirit, overworn? 
Has Whittier put his yearning wrath away? 
I will not and I dare not yet belie...Read more of this...

by Bidart, Frank
...s so much at the center of my life
I write this poem to record my discovery of it,
my reconciliation.

 It was in Bishop, the room was done
in California plush: we had gone into the coffee shop, were told
you could only get a steak in the bar:
 I hesitated,
not wanting to be an occasion of temptation for my father

but he wanted to, so we entered

a dark room, with amber water glasses, walnut
tables, captain's chairs,
plastic doilies, papier-mâché bas-relief wall ballerin...Read more of this...

by Aldington, Richard
...early as dingy. 
There were the big College 
And the pseudo-Gothic town-hall. 
There were the sordid provincial shops -- 
The grocer's, and the shops for women, 
The shop where I bought transfers, 
And the piano and gramaphone shop 
Where I used to stand 
Staring at the huge shiny pianos and at the pictures 
Of a white dog looking into a gramaphone. 

How dull and greasy and grey and sordid it was! 
On wet days -- it was always wet -- 
I used to kneel on a chair 
...Read more of this...

by Chatterton, Thomas
...t'rer twirls his circling mop: 
Swift sudden anguish darts thro' alt'ring corns, 
And the spruce mercer trembles in his shop. 

Now infant authors, madd'ning for renown, 
Extend the plume, and him about the stage, 
Procure a benefit, amuse the town, 
And proudly glitter in a title page. 

Now, wrapt in ninefold fur, his squeamish grace 
Defies the fury of the howling storm; 
And whilst the tempest whistles round his face, 
Exults to find his mantled carcase warm. ...Read more of this...

by Brautigan, Richard
..., blood and whisky.

"What the **** you do that for?" he said.

 Now in his late thirties Pard works at a print shop for

$1. 35 an hour. It is an avant-garde print shop. They print

poetry and experimental prose. They pay him $1. 35 an hour

for operating a linotype machine. A $1. 35 linotype operator

is hard to find, outside of Hong Kong or Albania.

 Sometimes when he goes down there, they don't even have

enough lead for him. T...Read more of this...

by Whitman, Walt
...ords of the sweating Methodist preacher, or any
 preacher—impress’d seriously at the camp-meeting: 
Looking in at the shop-windows of Broadway the whole forenoon—flatting the
 flesh of my nose on the thick plate-glass; 
Wandering the same afternoon with my face turn’d up to the clouds, 
My right and left arms round the sides of two friends, and I in the middle:
Coming home with the silent and dark-cheek’d bush-boy—(behind me he
 rides at the drape of the day;) 
Far fr...Read more of this...

by Whitman, Walt
...iads of thy young and old mechanics! 
Mark—mark the spirit of invention everywhere—thy rapid patents,
Thy continual workshops, foundries, risen or rising; 
See, from their chimneys, how the tall flame-fires stream! 

Mark, thy interminable farms, North, South, 
Thy wealthy Daughter-States, Eastern, and Western, 
The varied products of Ohio, Pennsylvania, Missouri, Georgia, Texas, and the rest;
Thy limitless crops—grass, wheat, sugar, corn, rice, hemp, hops, 
Thy barns all fil...Read more of this...

by Dove, Rita

an anachronism, the brooding artist's demimonde?
Near the rue Princesse they had opened 
a gallery cum souvenir shop which featured
fuzzy off-color Monets next to his acrylics, no doubt,

plus beared African drums and the occasional miniature
gargoyle from Notre Dame the Great Artist had
carved at breakfast with a pocket knife.

"Tourists love us.The Parisians, of course"--
she blushed--"are amused, though not without
a certain admiration . . ."
Th...Read more of this...

by Lowell, Amy as clinging as those found
Sucking about a sea nymph on the frieze
Of some old Grecian temple. In the breeze
The shops and houses had a quality
Of hard and dazzling colour; something sharp
And buoyant, like white, puffing sails at sea.
The city streets were twanging like a harp.
Charlotta caught the movement, skippingly
She blew along the pavement, hardly knowing
Toward what destination she was going.
She fetched up opposite a jeweller's shop,
Where filigre...Read more of this...

by Masefield, John out, ticking slow 
To men and girls who'd come and go, 
And how they ticked in belfry dark 
When half the town was bishop's park, 
And how they'd run a chime full tilt 
The night after the church was built, 
And that night was Lambert's Feast, 
The night I'd fought and been a beast. 
And how a change had come. And then 
I thought, "You tick to different men." 
What with the fight and what with drinking 
And being awake alone there thinking, 
My mind began to ca...Read more of this...

by Marvell, Andrew my mind.

Here thou art painted in the dress
Of an inhuman murderess;
Examining upon our hearts
Thy fertile shop of cruel arts:
Engines more keen than ever yet
Adornèd tyrant's cabinet;
Of which the most tormenting are
Black eyes, red lips, and curlèd hair.

But, on the other side, thou'rt drawn
Like to Aurora in the dawn;
When in the east she slumb'ring lies,
And stretches out her milky thighs;
While all the morning choir does sing,
And manna falls...Read more of this...

by Lowell, Amy
...nlight down the rue du Mont Thabor.
Ten o'clock striking from all the clock-towers of Paris.
Over the door of a shop, in gilt letters:
"Martin -- Parfumeur", and something more.
A large gilded wooden something.
Listen! What a ringing of hammers!
Tap! Squeak! Tap-a-tap!
"Oui, M'sieu."
"Don't touch the letters. My name stays."
"Bien, M'sieu."
"Just take down the eagle, and the shield with the bees."
"As M'sieu ...Read more of this...

by Aiken, Conrad
...but it was not the street—
The street was just the same—it was himself.
Puddles flashed in the sun. In the pawn-shop door
The same old black cat winked green amber eyes;
The butcher stood by his window tying his apron;
The same men walked beside him, smoking pipes,
Reading the morning paper . . .

He would not yield, he thought, and walk more slowly,
As if he knew for certain he walked to death:
But with his usual pace,—deliberate, firm,
Looking about him ...Read more of this...

by Tebb, Barry
...’s escritoire

So thoroughly bourgeois, Charlotte’s crinoline evoking ‘Ooh’ and ‘Aah’.

I sat outside the tourist shop, watching the families pass,

Still reeling from the news of our son’s loss,

His life-in-death and death-in-life.

The crowds gone, the shops closed

I browsed over rock and lichen,

O sleeper in the earth

Would that you might listen.


Would that you waken and tell me

Why young girls’ beauty no longer moves me?

Their innocent glances ...Read more of this...

by Khayyam, Omar

Listen again. One Evening at the Close
Of Ramazan, ere the better Moon arose,
In that old Potter's Shop I stood alone
With the clay Population round in Rows. 

And, strange to tell, among that Earthen Lot
Some could articulate, while others not:
And suddenly one more impatient cried --
"Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?" 

Then said another -- "Surely not in vain
My Substance from the common Earth was ta'en,
That He who su...Read more of this...

by Lowell, Amy
...y was a storm, the rain
Whispered and scratched at the window-pane.
A grey and shadowless morning filled
The little shop. The watches, chilled,
Were dead and sparkless as burnt-out coals.
The gems lay on the table like shoals
Of stranded shells, their colours faded,
Mere heaps of stone, dull and degraded.
Paul's head was heavy, his hands obeyed
No orders, for his fancy strayed.
His work became a simple round
Of watches repaired and watches wound.
The s...Read more of this...

by Tebb, Barry
...itter, as I circulate among the crowd, 

Being complete in itself and out for a good night out,

A relief from factory, shop floor and market stall

Running from the reality of the ward where my son 

Pounds the ledge with his fist and seems out to blast

My very existence with words like bullets.

The need to anaesthetise the pain resurfaces 

Again and again. In Leeds City Square where 

Pugin’s church, the Black Prince and the Central Post Office

In its Edwardian ...Read more of this...

by Swift, Jonathan
And in his place my good friend Will!
Or had a mitre on his head,
Provided Bolinbroke were dead!"

Now Curll his shop from rubbish drains:
Three genuine tomes of Swift's remains!
And then, to make them pass the glibber,
Revised by Tibbalds, Moore, and Cibber.
He'll treat me as he does my betters,
Publish my will, my life, my letters;
Revive the libels born to die;
Which Pope must bear, as well as I.

Here shift the scene, to represent
How those I love my death ...Read more of this...

by Angelou, Maya
...I've got the children to tend
The clothes to mend
The floor to mop
The food to shop
Then the chicken to fry
The baby to dry
I got company to feed
The garden to weed
I've got shirts to press
The tots to dress
The can to be cut
I gotta clean up this hut
Then see about the sick
And the cotton to pick.

Shine on me, sunshine
Rain on me, rain
Fall softly, dewdrops
And cool my brow again.

Storm, blow me from here
With your fiercest ...Read more of this...

Dont forget to view our wonderful member Shop poems.

Book: Reflection on the Important Things