Best Grocer Poems


My Grandfather's Grocer Shop

My Grandfather's Grocer Shop

I was born in Liverpool - England and
I remember back to when I was a child
how I marvelled at the way things were done
in my Grandfather's Grocer shop. in the early 1950s.
I saw him getting a portion of butter and
by using two paddle boards, knock up the butter 
to form a block of butter, then wrap it up in
white shop paper, and then he would go to this 
large bacon slicer which operated by turning 
a huge wheel with a handle, then removing 
the bacon from a butcher's hook and then 
carving large slices of bacon on it, he would then
hand slice the cheese and wrap it by hand 
then give it to the customer, eggs had no cartons 
back then, so they were just put into brown paper bags,
customers would often return over broken eggs
and want replacements, if children came in they 
would spend the pocket money on a bag of broken 
biscuits, straight from the large tins they came in
as there were no packets of biscuits during those 
early years of the 1950s, the shopkeepers would 
often give free samples out to promote new products
as advertising was very rare and visual advertisements
were often seen on counters or on walls, I used to go in
my Grandfather's shop and was given a large peice 
of cheese or some chocolate biscuits as a family gesture.
I watched in amazement as my Grandfather would count 
the days takings out of the old fashion till, he would 
turn a handle and the draw would pop out, it did not even 
have push keys like the more modern cash registers of the 
time, but it was vintage in every way, my Grandfather is 
now gone, his shop has been knocked down for redevelopment 
as many old businesses went the same way but 
I will never forget the wonderful memories of my 
Grandfather's Grocer Shop.

A Poem About the Curious Grocer Who Accidentally Summoned the Spirit of Poetry

Oh, poetry! Once summoned from the hell,
your ghost refused to leave. I can’t expel
the sweetest demon who possessed my mind,
my heart, my soul, my daily things, my rhymed
insomnia, my quill and my inkwell.

In time, I put up with the mademoiselle
who settled in my brainpan, but, to tell
the truth, I miss the times I left behind,
oh, poetry.

Nor charm, no chant, no hex, no magic spell,
a grocery, a loyal clientele,
everyday words for which I must not find
a rhyme, a rhythm, a form and all this kind
of things… And no qualms, if I misspell.
Oh, poetry!


7/19/2019
Rondeau Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: charles messina
P.S.: I know it's not a tetrameter, required by the contest, but let it be my tribute to a such devilishly difficult genre like rondeau)

Grocer's Store

A journey to the past,
For a weekly shop to last,
The grocer knew everyone,
When the baby boomers had begun,
We might get some biscuits broken,
Or an ice block, as a token,
Our olds did it on 2 quid per week,
Better times than this, they did seek.


Clout: Vital Elixir - Take Only as Prescribed

To make it on the stage, in this day and age,
I'm convinced, Contacts and Clout are what it's all about.
Woke up this mornin', feelin' all washed out,
went down to the local drugstore, for a bottle of Clout,
the druggist he said, 'Sorry son, we're all sold out.'
Woke up this mornin', feelin' all turned about,
went to my family Doctor, gotta have a bottle of Clout,
he said, 'Ya gotta go cold turkey, you'll have to go without.'
There's no doubt about it, I need a bottle of Clout,
gonna shout about it, 'What d'ya think I need?
'Well, yes indeed, I need me a bottle of Clout.'
Woke up this mornin', feelin' such self-doubt,
went to the nearby Grocer, said, 'Gimme a bottle of Clout.'
She said, 'I'd like to help ya boy, but now, ya just struck out.'
Woke up this mornin', feelin' all burned out,
went to the downtown Dealer, to score a bottle of Clout,
he said, 'You're outta luck man, there's none of it about.'
Yeah, it's an affliction, wish I could lose,
it's my addiction, I got them mean ol' bottle of Clout blues.

the grocer dreamer

The Grocer and Dreamer

The local grocer calls his shop
The best supermarket in town
Although his shop is small
He has big dreams, sells jam
tinned beans, bananas, lemon
and chocolate cakes
He also sells local wine made
on a plot, run by his brother
In the morning, he has fresh 
From a bakery that has few
Customers as it sells real bread
That is not packed in plastic 
A big supermarket nearby
Will open soon
Our grocer, harassed by health
Inspectors every week sold 
The shop to the new supermarket
They promptly closed his shop
The grocer who had big dreams
Bought a van and sells groceries  
In the countryside
© Jan Hansen  Create an image from this poem.

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