Best Auction Poems
When fate pulls at my haiku of heartstrings,
I curse the syllables of my poetic musings.
If I do not express my sorrows,
how will petals blossom in my garden?
Upon the midst of bewilderment,
lost without a bosom for a sanctuary.
Life can cause confusion;
seem somewhat an illusion;
when the mind only sees disillusion.
Upon the depths of despair;
placed upon the ledge of melancholy -
legs dangle, eyes stare into random space.
Absent thoughts have no demand,
yet the soul is insistent,
but, all that is seen is darkness;
charcoal horizons with no guiding stars,
with the moon obscured by dull smoke,
jaded eyes simply wonder why.
What has become of me?
I despise the voices controlling my head.
I'm afraid of the images they've created.
Who will save me from this ludicrous lucidity.
Can anyone prevent vicious vines from suffocating me?
Vertigo seduces the mind,
influencing it to leap - but it has no faith.
Below lies an endless void,
a collection of human delusions;
an abyss of crushed expectations.
Heaven's broken arrows rain down,
blood dripping with fragments of broken dreams.
A reminder of another false pledge -
the final episode of a heart's connection.
Flames of hell prepare to scorch me.
Sometimes growth is like a stream,
that has lost itself in an ocean.
No identity, misplaced and alienated,
so it dies a slow death.
A sigh can only become deceased,
when a heart does not beat.
So, why do so many die
when the water of existence is in your hands?
In the marketplace of life,
each merchant will give you a different price.
Some will try to sell you dreams,
others, goods on false pretences.
Be careful, not to give all your emotions
away to the first bidder;
life is an auction -
don't let the auctioneer play with your heart.
Sometimes love is an unpredictable enigma.
I'm tired of living around gambolling gambits,
who's games condemn a soul to suicide.
But, little do they know,
I am a master of self deprecating.
The greatest of all pretenders,
suffering from a poison mistake
that lives with me forever.
The little girl
set free the red balloon
it flew over a certain death
free from the pain
of auction
the little girl
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This is the last piece to go. All the others are sold.
I hate to part with it, but now that I've grown old
I need to find the right home for it before I die.
I'll explain its importance if you're wondering why.
You see, it's been a treasure since before I was born.
My father found it buried in a city that was war torn.
He marveled that among all the rubble and concrete,
no scratch marred its beauty nor was it burned by heat.
It graced our living room with the status of a Queen,
Most beautiful Brazilian Rosewood vanity ever seen.
Father had to have it to match the great beauty of his wife,
Adrianna, was fragile and giving birth to me took her life.
Father gave me the vanity, a priceless piece, an heirloom.
One rainy day I was bored and was dancing around my room.
I bumped into the vanity and from behind a drawer fell a note...
"Who ever finds this, look for the secret," my Mother wrote.
That was seventy years ago, and no secret did I ever find.
Age has taken my strength away and now that I am blind,
I can no longer search for the secret within this vanity.
I want it to belong to someone kind while I still have my sanity.
It's being auctioned by verbal bid so I can hear the voice
of the one I deem worthy of my treasure. I'll make the final choice.
Money is no longer important so the auctioneer will look to me
when that special voice I hear, I'll nod and that bid will be the fee.
I've set no starting bid and no reserve for it's time to let it go.
Come, take a look. Rub your hand across the wood grain's glow.
I hope you will find the secret my Mother hid so well inside,
perhaps a young man will take it home, as a gift for his bride.
The value to me is priceless, and I would sell it for only a cent.
If I hear something in your voice, I will know for you it's meant.
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February 24, 2016 " The Auctioneer Contest by Mystic Rose
going once
going twice
i wince at the
thought of my future
being gone
i look around
and ignore the rich
in the room
lifting up my right hand
to bid all i have left
silently pledging
with my dreams
my joy
my heart and
my hunger
to remain diligent
never ignoring
possibilities
with teary eyes
i stare and stand
my right hand still
lifted high
feeling like
another number in the
crowd fighting for my life
i cant help but notice
the silence in the room as i
plea for another chance
i look to the left
of me
no one is standing
i look to the right of me
no one is standing
i look in front of me
my future looking bright
and appreciative of my pledge
then "SOLD" is what he said
to the woman who believes
i still have my future
Written: October 18, 2023, For Ink Empress Dodoitsu Contest
________________________________
soul auctioned out to mirage
hostile and harmful hardship
cunning, for the devil, grins
In pursuit of fame
Based on a poem by an unknown poet and written for a friend who bought a club at a golf auction!
It was old and scarred and the Auctioneer
Thought it scarcely worth his while
To waste much time with the old Mashie.
So he held it up with a smile:
"What do you bid good folks," he cried,
"Who'll start bidding for me?
A pound, a pound" then "Two only two?
Two pounds and who'll make it three?
Three pounds once; three pounds twice;
Going for three" but no:
From the back of the crowd an athletic young man
Said, "Please let me give it a go."
Then wiping the dirt from the old Mashie,
And placing a ball on the ground,
He hit it as far as the eye could see,
And said, "I guess it's worth more than a pound."
The ball came to rest and the Auctioneer,
With a voice that was quiet with awe
Said, "What am I bid for this old Mashie?
You all know what we just saw!
A thousand pounds so who'll make it two?
Two thousand and who'll make it three?
Three thousand once, three thousand twice;
And going and gone!" said he.
The crowd all cheered but some of them said,
"We do not quite understand?
"What changed its worth?" Swift came the reply;
The touch of the Master's hand."
Break bad ‘n -a bid it anna bump it anna level um bum,
Twenny dolla bid ‘n all in an all done?
Well there’s five and twenny gimme twenny five!
Thirty! Be a thirty five anna forty dolla bid!
Forty beat about a forty ‘ n bout a forty…..five?!
Gimme gimme bidda atta fifty dere Sid!
Na dey’s sixty.. no sebbny!..land sakes alive!
Eighty bidditat eighty? bumpin abiddida biddida eighty?
Goin’ once goin’ twiced -SOLD to the front row lady!!
Whad in tarnation she buy, Joe?
Good question ..I don’t rightly know…
….She looked happy though!
Thank all you poetry soupers
for heppin' me call dis one out!!
Come back nex week, heah?
--Auctioneer -Joe
An unsophisticated feller attending an auction could find himself in a pickle!
The nuances, subtleties and gestures used in bidding could cost him a pretty nickel!
A city feller decided to attend a farm auction to see what it was all about.
Alas, he accumulated a heap of needless stuff before he could figure it out!
He was fascinated by the tractor, manure spreader, horses, hogs and cows,
And the chickens, goats, manure forks and hay to be auctioned in the mows!
The auctioneer began his alien spiel and the feller couldn't understand a word,
But farmers in overalls and John Deere caps knew exactly what they heard!
Bidding began on an old steel-wheeled 1925 Model D over-used John Deere.
The feller watched others offer their bids as he reached to scratch his ear.
The auctioneer yelled, "SOLD to the man scratchin' his ear over by the fence!"
He was the stunned owner of a tractor - it happened so fast he didn't have a chance!
Next up for bid were a fancy chamber pot, two horse collars and fifty feet of hose.
The feller in all innocence swatted at a pesky fly that had landed on his nose!
The auctioneer yelled, "SOLD to the guy who swatted his nose for fifty dollars!
Son, you got a steal! That's an antique thunder mug and so is them there collars!"
The auctioneer opened bidding for twenty bales of newly cut alfalfa hay.
The feller was distracted for a moment and waved at a pal across the way.
"SOLD" said the auctioneer, "Please write a check for this stuff to my able aide!"
The hapless guy was wondering how he'd explain to his spouse the purchases he'd made!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
The room was filled with everything
the auction had begun
I took a seat way in the back
I think row thirty-one
A lady sitting next to me
her hair a silver grey
Smiled and touched my arm, and said
"you've come a long, long way"
"How could you know?" I asked surprised
never being here before
But the Auctioneer, drowned out my words
"will someone close that door!"
Being closest, I obliged
then returning to my chair
Thinking now, how odd it was
it looked so dark out there
The Auctioneer began to speak
"your numbers are assigned
as I call your name and number now
please step into the line"
"Hey wait a minute" I jumped up
now shouting to be heard
"What kind of auction is this here?
the whole thing seems absurd"
"How can you even know my name?
I just now came to town!"
"Before you take your seat" he said
"please slowly look around"
So many faces, hard to tell
and then they caught my eye
John Bascomb and his family
and Joe and Lily Fry
"Oh no, this can't be happening"
I heard my own voice say
These people had all disappeared
ten years ago last May.....
The auction began ------------
Black, bronze, yellow and other girls were there,
Only the most lovely and fair.
They were brought in from everywhere.
Shackled,
They formed a human chain.
Baffled,
Their eyes revealed their despair,
And tears their pain.
Mothers separated from daughters,
Their screams of protest were a waste.
They could only watch,
The greedy man take them to be sold.
He took them in haste.
No tears,
The man shouted,
They'll ruin your pretty face.
Welcome to the auction,
Here,
Beauty is a good as gold.
The girls looked at each other and whispered,
This is an awful place.
They came in one by one.
Nude, of course,
They couldn't sell a girl with cellulite.
It wouldn't be right.
Only at the auction,
Can a strange man,
Stamp a girls bare rump,
SOLD!
The girls sold big,
Some for work,
Others for play.
The auction was a great gig.
Scanty only did it for the pay.
Another day past,
Another bunch of girls sold,
To Scanty, they were merchandise.
I'm sorry if that sounds cold.
One day,
One of the girls came up to the auction block.
She was a beauty, needless to say.
Her loveliness was quite a shock.
He said,
You sure are one healthy, Ho.
She said,
If you like,
I'll be your, Honey.
Scanty asked,
What's your name?
Her name was, Money.
He was obsessed.
He couldn't let her go.
He bid for his baby.
He bid for her in gold.
In the end,
The auctioneer yelled,
SOLD,
To the man in the front row.
She cost him everything.
He spent all his dough.
He bought his baby.
Now, they'll be together forever,
Maybe?
She ran toward him.
Before they could embrace,
A man in a dark suit got in his face.
Pay me what you owe,
He said.
It was, Bill Due.
He was a business associate,
Scanty once knew.
Scanty said,
Maybe some other time.
I just bought, Money.
I'm broke.
I don't have a dime.
Bill looked Money over,
From head to toe.
He said,
You sure are one healthy, Ho.
I'll take her off your hands,
Mister Slave Runner.
She'll do just fine.
Your debt is paid in full,
As long as Money is mine.
Scanty said,
Bill, you're out of line.
She means more to me than money.
I'll pay you back somehow.
You can trust me.
Bill laughed.
Only at the auction,
Can a strange man,
Stamp a guy's bare rump,
SOLD!
Beneath billowing sack cloth tent
An auctioneer jibber-jabbers his words.
Below his red mahogany dais
Sit Fifty Amish American women and girls.
Black-bonnet-ed, bidder-number in hand,
they chirp for cowl or coat, yelp for yarn,
raise bid card for church books, wool hats, many lengths of linen,
plethora of patches to sew into quilts.
Each lady bides her time until she points or winks or nods.
Calling to mind a measure of a time past.
Suspender-ed men inspect implements laid firm against gray fence,
even to the unused chamber pot still pure and winter white.
Rake, hoe, watering can, all is offered, noticed, taken for a price by love.
Untimely winds spin dust from the fallow fields, through the tent.
Coarse black garments now dressed in manure brown.
The whole crowd moves down
at the last to the front yard to bid home the furniture.
Magnificent bed- one hundred years old-, mahogany desk,
cherry wood breakfront seven feet tall,
shaker chairs, porch rocker and a modern recliner are claimed.
Auction done, the cows, horses, dogs and cats are led away.
As Kate and I walk to our van, an old man speaks English to me
saying most items stayed in her family.
Leaving, we were only strangers looking for a bargain,
happy with a four dollar end-table we took from her friends .
Last summer
I gave to you
My tears
My blood turned blue.
Nervous perspiring
Neurons firing
My soul desiring
My body preparing for
Eternal warring
My heart flooding
With silent crying
The earth spinning
Gravity winning
The hem of my garment
Tearing.
Lucifer swearing
No one caring.
What it this attracting?
History's reenacting.
Eternal damnation
In constant deliberation.
The truth torn in two.
Does anybody know what to do?
Next summer day
I walk away
Hoping someday
If I give my heart away
I'll know next time who to give it to.
He watches the ebay auction
with greed acrossed his face.
I try to get his attention
but he's staring into space.
He just keeps on "refreshing"
the screen with patient care.
It worries me to see him
when he's got that wicked stare.
It's addictive and I know it.
It pulls you in a spell.
You try to get away from it...
but...is it doing well??
Will we reach the reserve?
Does it look just right?
No, I can't come to bed right now...
My auction ends tonight!!
Sky came with a hammer
To bid an auction of two colors
Green and blue to sell
Sea gained blue
Land signed for green
We had cried to the scorching sun
An expression of youthful forlorn
An orchestration to air our needs
Peaceful but firm were our deeds
Alas! the heralds of her arrival
Our mother ! A hope beclouding hopelessness
Together we scrambled around her entourage
Like wailing babes in need of a mother's massage
But our mama had renamed herself as barren
And turned deaf to the cries of her expectant children
We craved a rescue from our partial darkness
Only to be graced with permanent blackness
Our only crime was the belief in democracy
A misapprehension! A mirage ! A meticulous mockery !
Shots of bullets against our unarmed bodies
Battered,bruised and yet rebirthed as hoodlums
For where is the future of this shambolic nation
If the leaders of tomorrow are perishing today?
When shall justice be not portrayed as auction
Haggled and bought by only the highest pay?
By:Elizabeth O Adams
Lizdiamond world of poetry