Bazaar Poems - Poems about Bazaar

The Sightless at a medieval bazaar

The sightless amass daily at dawn; a pilgrimage 
Arms outstretched clutching away; the sightless. 
A winding trunk grazing away to appease the pangs of hunger; the calloused skin of a leg, a cauliflower shaped ear, a skinny tail swaying restlessly 
We know not what this is they echo in chorus; mouths voicelessly ajar at the

In the Bazaar

In the bazaar
Works and willful stacks of gold.
I grant thee one reticent 
Knod, just for show.

There is no real fauna
In our new world.order, 
We whet our fangs
And fight for the final time.

In glaciers cool but melting,
I greet the gods of Greenland mourning.
In glaciers hot and freezing
We leave the demons plotting. 

Smokey Filled Speak Easy

In the dim-lit alley of the soul's bazaar,
Were jazz and jive spill from ajar,
We tap our feet, snap fingers, under stars,
And speak in verses, raw and without pause.

The city breathes, a living, pulsing beat,
Its heart a drum, its voice a saxophone,
We weave through streets, our words a rhythmic feat,
In its sync with life yet distinctly

the bazaar season pt2

I could not relate to the carols;
about jolly, happy snowmen,
when I sculpted in the sand.


I could not relate to the carols;
about riding sleds through the snow,
when I was riding my bike, in the sun.

I could not relate to the carols;
about sitting by a crackling open fire,
when I was sitting by an air-conditioner.

I could not relate

the bazaar season

it all seemed bazaar to me;

that Santa wore a thick fur lined coat,
but our sun gave off a blistering heat.

xmas characters wore overcoats, beanies and gloves,
but I was wearing shorts, T-shirt and thongs.

ice and thick snow covered the festive ground,
but I looked upon a dry ground covered in dust.

sky`s were cloudy, grey with no shining

The Plea Market

The sky appears to be the only ceiling,
As this bazaar stalls fair weather in exchange.
And while sales are all important, a lot of
Begging & bartering seems popular to interchange.

            Admittedly, my fascination is endless, as
         

A Sunshine Bazaar

A lively church bazaar is on the avenue today,
In the house of the Lord, happy children play,
So much is going on, there is so much to see,
Like many hues flowing, in the house of memory.

Hot lunches and baked goods are here for sale,
Like myriad summer days, vivid blossoms prevail,
Old and young enjoy the raffles and

Bazaar

Vendors ply their trade in open air without an air or grace,
the velvet chocolate slabs so neatly laid,
suitable for vegans but a salve to pointless guilt  the label said,
my texting fingers drip
with honeyed scruple,
Like dates?
give us this day our daily bread is how we earn our corn,
a corny line no less,
pumpkin seed in barrels

Bazaar

World of colours twinkling like stars,
I really wonder, how mesmerising could be Bazaar.

When one is low, 
When one is free,
When one wants to have some fun,
Going to bazaar would be awesome.

Wow! See that shop.
Don’t you feel, we should stop!
Tinkling chimes,
Hanging in line.
I want to stop here for a while.

Those sequinned cushions,
All in white.
Could there be

Bazaar

Bazaar
 

The nights’ chest opens up -
strings of illusions
rattle in palms
the knowing buyers haggle
for a dream
while the fascinated women
try on 
toles of princesses or odalisques.
In the shell of hope
genuine perls are priceless.

Silk labyrinth
of amber and incense,
amulets of shamans hidden in death,
a mirage in golden cases,
the drug of success
paths and passions
unknown potions
scaffold question.

Merchants with epheb faces
skillfully

Sweat Shop Bazaar

Seaming in a sewing room, earning his copper coins in twos. With patterns, tools, & spools, fast pace so hard to do. Rusty fans that are always frozen, feed dog staying broken with a boss who's constantly smoking fine Cuban cigars. Just another day at Sweat Shop Bazaar.

Chor Bazaar

*Chor Bazaar*

Hidden in the forgotten alleys of burgeoning cities
the market is a guilty row of stalls on half a street
where lights are dim, voices are hushed and things are cheap

It had to hide somewhere, away from law and affluent glare
for it sells used, pick pocketed and stolen ware

The irony is that there is never a

The Bazaar Tale of Barry the Bar-Code Collector

Barry was a simple man
Who had a simple plan
He would be the greatest collector there has ever been
Of all outstanding Barcodes anyone would have seen

So he collected them from sun-up to sun-down
He was seen sniping these line patterns around the town
And his walls and ceilings were all covered
There was no Barcode that was undiscovered

But alas

Bazaar Sales

Rest for the weary
From cash and carry
Not now dreary
From odd worry


Fond taste speaks well
As sales splurge dwells
On choice that spells
Just what stuff tells


Sound motifs bind
Such vivid finds
In touch that binds
A willing mind


Feed find fancy
With sales crazy
In choice dizzy
Dressed as happy


By bazaar street
Pure fancy meets
Stuff that now greets
Your curious feet



Leon Enriquez
14 October 2017
Singapore

Bazaar

BAZAAR

Can you call it a bazaar
Where only one vendor
Her face strained
'Looks' pale, apprehensive
As if caught in a snakes' chamber
Yet searching for a potential customer
Desperate to sell products unheard of
Of human species, bizarre more bizarre

The seller in her early thirties
Skinny as an empty nylon bag
Frail as a TB patient
Seemingly double her age and malnourished
Sat at the

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