Best Haggling Poems
Battle of the Sexes??
Amorphous metrosexuals haggling over who’s going to hold the bags.
Sight seeing
Never ask directions of a man standing naked in a kayak
Hick up
Whiskey never asks permission of the permissive.
So sew
Thirty-three thimbles teetered on the table top.
Knothead
He drove the nail from one side of town to the other.
John G. Lawless
12/10/2015
submitted to – One liners 6,7,8,9,10
sponsor – Bev Smith
'Fragment of the soul'
A mighty unpleasant zephyr,
Slivered my soul into
fragments,
And blew away my most
valuable fraction.
Macrocosm became his
hostelery,
Having gained altruistic
radiance,
His silence became my
tribulation.
Snookered by lot of malarkey,
Hoveled in dismay and haggling
for aquittance,
I died a silent death every
moment.
Now that time promulgates my
totality,
As I rediscover that fragment of
my soul,
My mind rests in serenity and
content.
Just as I regain my thunder,
And manage to rise in bravado,
To live a life that I would
evince,
Now a denizen of desires and
aspirations!!
Written on 14/9/13
I thought to when my mother took my hand.
We skipped the cobblestones and shopped for wishes,
(toys which I could ill-afford;
a Batman cape,
a red fire engine.)
The lanes were thick with merchants and the joy of life,
haggling, chattering like crazy seabirds,
loud, and mouthing their
wants and wares,
and then we wandered home exhausted.
I never lost my youthfulness, my
joy at seeing herons gloating, eagles floating
high on zephyr'd breezes free as spring;
hallowed times,
in Jesus' presence,
I measure now my moments as the hours shift by,
thirty years and blissful, regrets are slight and few,
I count my blessings,
feel content
that tribulation never came to trouble me.
A birthday cake is waiting for me,
candles flicker, frosting beckons, hope eternal;
my wish the same, for peace on earth,
to all men
greetings and goodwill!
I lie down in the close and holy quiet
while the village sleeps and slips toward a new adventure,
safe in His keeping,
perfect day
with promise of a bright tomorrow!
The noise broils over in the heat
And spread out like wares along the street
The haze of crowd, the jungled feet
Fresh scent of soil and the aroma sweet
I see the bright cloths, and the fashion shows
The haggling voices and their temptations
The big Trelawny yams that twin footed grows
The paltry cents of private hesitations
The market is abloom and abundance tease
The native hunger from its native ease.
There is guinep, the same we cracked
At school, a single seed to feed a twenty pack
The hog plums and the apples red, stacked
Like a lean-to shack, melons dripping and the sack
Of cherry tomatoes besides carrots on the mat
Two orange in bags and the eggs in their flat
Cabbages plump and green callaloo fresh and fat
Mangoes early, and seasonings for the pot
The magic of eyes the sleright of nose, the taste
That tells us how much to know goodness we haste
And among all this passion of colors, this fragrance
Of fruits, I see a richer, sweeter elegance
Our people bright giving this place its romance
Women subtle of eyes, whose bodies dance
Like fireflies around a shaded lamp, and men bold
Though bent beneath their unforgiving loads, hold
Work sovereign and do not crringe from sun and sweat
The building is dingy with crumbling walls and parapet
But like the lustered fruits that in cadence to the call
Rise above the struggle turning back the ancient fall
7th October, 2023. Israel.
“Shabbat Mourning”
the War commenced
with morning, rudely awakened,
unrest.
some say,
it has arrived,
the biblical Apocalypse.
some say,
not war, just another
haggling loose rabble skirmish.
Hamas
says,
“God is Great!”
Netanyahu
says,
“we are at War!
And we will
win
this War!”
everything over
before begun;
Winter is coming
harsher than
before
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
“Our enemy will pay a price the type of which it has never known,” Netanyahu said in a video statement.
April 26, 2018 Thursday 9:10 am A COMING APART OR A COMING TOGETHER
WHEN WILL I HAVE YOU?
I ask
oh, anything to get you to focus on us
Think about
Talk about us
but, the bait isn’t taken
You must forget how much this love seeks
to validate
to commeserate
to be
When will you be all mine? I whimpered, I wondered, I asked, I begged
Oh Love you stupid creature of myth
Why did you come to my doorstep in such a hideous way?
Full of lack
Full of insinuation
Full of stark days full of unrequited everything
The touch of you, the long drawn out harm derived
if it isn’t going to last
like forever promised
Full of holes is this love
nasty implications
this whores nest
a flipped over contamination of heart
two that want but won’t be
won’t be what’s wanted
you sit in holy non matrimonious bliss
as I wait in sanctimonious kiss
what kind of love is this
this blessed event soured in tentured history
you and your best flaunted
by me in daily horror
while I guess
is it fool or not
to keep you
when you show up
even daily is the promise
and you do
still I suffer the wages
paid to keep us apart
it wasn’t my idea
to have it like this
i put up with it
because like I said before
love is stupid
shot full of holes
blinding
binding
habitual
pissy
I’d like a hiatus
from this
though I’d miss
the interaction
in my mind
an intelligence dwells
the heart doesn’t partake though
it too, idiots up
at this rate
even if it comes
I may not take it
May forget the whole escapade
go my own way
without
without hoping it will turn out
I may let doubt override
I loved being a whole, one together
With you, I’m neither
barely a quarter, if that
so how come we’re still haggling over the details
why still together
got me
that’s all I know
is you still do
have me
When will I have you?
Ah, when men are men not mere fools
Then to be men means more than just
Dangling biological tools
Wise young women must hunt for clues
To find those few whom they may trust
Wise men who do not punt with fools
Care and crave those family jewels,
But palm them off if pawn you must,
Haggling the cost more handy tools
Don’t treat asses like they’re good mules
Asses get thrashed while mules stay trussed
Young women must know men from fools
Hearts and hands may both be cruel
Hard or soft likewise they may crush
Be wise: bad workers blame their tools
Beasts may prey, so may Beauty fool,
Betray their love, give in to lust…
Men and women may both be fools
Poor hearts, poor handling, blaming tools.
22/07/2016
Africa my Africa!
When shall you gasp air of peace?
Until all your children perish?
Tears, I will always shed for you
To God, still I will pray.
Africa my Africa!
When shall you stop starving?
Until millions are no more?
For you, I will bitterly cry
To God, still I will pray.
Africa my Africa!
When shall you stop haggling for power?
Until tribes are absorbed?
For you, deeply concerned I always am
To God, still I will pray.
Africa my Africa!
When shall you not be corrupt?
Until your economies are nothing?
For you, still worried I am
To God, Still I will pray.
Africa my Africa!
Fight for peace not power
Kill starvation not salvation
Grind corruption not reaction.
desire, food, leadership, truth, word play,
Greed On A Platter©
I cannot say, what is there to say
Where to go, sleep, eat, or if I stay
What to do or I don’t want 'it' to stop
I don’t need to or have to eat slop
I like vegetables, meat and sour dough
I will, I want, and I see that you want also
My name is hunger, and you 'crave' to be leader
I’m not fat nor am I slight but I am a feeder
It is in ‘all’ to gain a win; as game-pieced players
Necessitating begging or haggling for prized favours
Time spent in, time spread out and timed whatever for
Trying to 'jilt' the rich, one 'earns' to be made forever poor!
Welcome to the market place of the best in all mankind
buy paintings of imaginings with brushstrokes of the mind.
Words of vivd colour, tapestries of rhyme are shown,
your ears filled with the consonant sound of verses being sewn.
Watch as pots of raw emotion, mixed before your eyes
intelligently kneaded, put aside and left to rise.
Heated with strong passion piping hot straight from the bowl
with floating alphabet croutons to fill your hungry soul.
The Haiku makes a three course meal
and Senryus as well,
Acrostics you'll find satisfying, only for a short spell.
These artisans a hearty bunch, the kind you can rely on,
their aprons used to dry your tears, and
shoulders you can cry on.
The clanging from the wordsmith's forge, as new verses are pressed,
fragrant couplets blossoming, the nectar of the blessed.
A vibrant buzz in alleyways and shadowy secret places,
a warm and friendly welcome to the boatloads of new faces.
No haggling and waving hands, negotiating price,
from ABC to Villanelle it's all free (which is nice).
No chance of meeting Cobras here, so please don't be alarmed,
it's just the meter, rhythm and rhyme that leave customers charmed.
Enjoy yourself, feel free to roam, we're open every day,
there's space here for a stall for you, like us-
you're bound to stay x
I had an obscure feeling when I arrived
But I could not tell what was brewing inside
All around was complete darkness overshadowed
by a radiant glowing light forcing its way from behind
Surely it wasn’t a myth or a parable
They were spoken words written in plain language
positioned in the middle of sky for everyone to comply.
Two angels held a scroll in firm position watching
the deceptive world straining under its conceited weight
gazing steadfastly upon them.
One was weeping the other smiling
and a third moving around in circles
scraping residue from dried up wells.
I could barely make out those words
but the message was an explicit warning
to put away dissension and stabilize the crumbling world
It expressed that God is still in control.
The weeping angel took the scroll and landed on a rock
She dips the scroll in the tainted green sea water and wept
for hours in the middle of the sea on top of the solid rock
she tore up the wet soaked scroll and scattered it into the water.
Suddenly a portion of the sky turned brick red,
Forcing powerful men and women to fled
Heat penetrating their naked skins
melting their arrogance
tormenting their conscience
and pulling every substance from within.
Men haggling over men
women scrambling over women
powers dismantling powers
forcing the oppressors to comply
and throw their filthy garments aside.
The angles have spoken
multitudes of them robed in white raiment
appeared on land exchanging stones for sand.
©2013 Christine Phillips
The clocks upon the wall are stopped,
they haven’t worked for years.
It could be any time in Tokyo,
in London, Paris or New York.
It’s late, and deadlines, met or missed,
are past. The news is done, it’s fixed in print,
though muted televisions flicker out
the incremental day-long cycle.
The running strips across the screens
record trivia and disaster.
Aleppo’s in the news tonight,
A fabled city lies in bloody ruin.
It has been wrecked by earthquake, sacked
by cruel thugs, like Tamerlane the great:
this is not new, and here it’s hardly news,
just death in a far country.
But to Aleppo’s markets once the Silk Road came,
to reeking, fragrant, raucous sukhs and khans.
Imagine the exquisite cloth,
embroidered travellers’ tales
of fabulous ordeals from caravanserai
to citadel, to watchtower, wall and gate,
thin air of mountain passes under snow,
fantastic tales from the Middle Kingdom
whose emperor under heaven knew he was
the centre of the world. Aleppo’s traders knew
their precious wares went out as far as
Rome, Cordoba, Timbuktu and Zanzibar.
Imagine narrow lanes, braised savoury meat,
clothing, fruit and spices on display,
jostling animals and men, the public haggling
and secret treasures: silk, jade and porcelain.
Here the silent markets never stop.
A dumb Bloomberg terminal rolls out
the stocks and currencies all night,
though no-one’s watching.
Aleppo’s markets are in ruin tonight.
Starved people live in blood and rubble,
homes and hospitals destroyed.
I can’t conceive how they survive.
I must drive home now, through quiet streets.
There will be beggars wrapped in blankets
at the traffic lights. Money will change hands.
Bloomberg has no metric and no code for this.
At home there will be food and warmth.
Aleppo’s dying, and people in the street,
begging, on a night so cold, alone, so late,
I can’t conceive how they survive,
and Bloomberg has no metric and no code for this.
[Johannesburg, August 2016]
Mornings shrill with skylarks singing
o'er the greening meadow and the pliant pasture,
the ocean sighing, gulls aloft on wings of prayer.
A sudden shower would see me running
fancy free between the rain drops,
I cried 'Excelsior!' and set the hills alive;
I skittered, happy crisp and clear,
like God's first measure of a holy hymn.
The air alive with songs of praise,
the gentle winds a sacred message,
His grand prescription like a dream
that streamed out from the pillows of the heavens.
I liked to wander by the sea shore
skipping stones, disobeying laws of gravity,
as a lamb on shaky legs, and tumbling freely without care,
'til gasping, I would stop to catch my breath.
The halcyon days of youth came true,
when I would race forever 'neath the tawny sun,
bedaubed in Autumn's blood, the flame
a blend of hues the likes of which
would make a young boy doubly blind,
and lead him into kingdoms where the battlefields
would blister scarlet, happy times
that made me see my childhood clearly.
The weather turned again, and shanties
high atop the hillside loomed like castles drifting
in the sea-blown mist, the noise of boats,
their nets pulled, nudging at the jetty.
From the sand the village was a hazy spectre,
the chapel steeple peeking like Rapunzel's lair,
her hair a daydream falling soft,
O fanciful imagination!
I thought to when my mother took my hand.
We skipped the cobblestones and shopped for wishes,
(toys which we could ill-afford;
a Batman cape, a red fire engine.)
The lanes were thick with merchants and the joy of life,
haggling, chattering like crazy seabirds,
loud, and mouthing their wants and wares,
and then we wandered home exhausted.
I never lost my youthfulness,
my joy at seeing herons preening, eagles floating
high on zephyr'd breezes free as spring;
hallowed times, in Jesus' presence.
I measure now my moments as the hours shift by,
thirty years and blissful, regrets are slight and few,
I count my blessings, feel content
that tribulation never came to trouble me.
A birthday cake is waiting for me,
candles flicker, frosting beckons, hope eternal;
my wish the same, for peace on earth
to all men, greetings and goodwill!
I lie down in the close and holy quiet
while the village sleeps, and slips toward a new adventure,
safe in His keeping, perfect day
with promise of a bright tomorrow!
The morn's alive with skylarks singing
o'er the greening meadow and the pliant pasture,
the ocean sighing, gulls aloft on wings of prayer.
A sudden shower would see me running
fancy free between the rain drops,
I cried 'Excelsior!' and set the hills alive;
I skittered, happy, crisp and clear,
like God's first measure of a holy hymn.
The air alive with songs of praise,
the gentle winds a sacred message,
His grand prescription like a dream
that streamed out from the pillows of the heavens.
I liked to wander by the sea shore
skipping stones, disobeying laws of gravity,
as a lamb on shaky legs and tumbled freely without care,
'til gasping, I would stop to catch my breath.
The halcyon days of youth came true,
when I would race forever 'neath the tawny sun,
bedaubed in Autumn's blood, the flame
a blend of hues the likes of which
would make a young boy doubly blind,
and lead him into kingdoms where the battlefields
would blister scarlet, happy times
that made me see my childhood clearly.
The weather turned again, and shanties
high atop the hillside loomed like castles drifting
in the sea-blown mist, the noise of boats,
their nets pulled, nudging at the jetty.
From the sand the village was a hazy spectre,
the chapel steeple peeking like Rapunzel's lair,
her hair a daydream falling soft,
O fanciful imagination!
I thought to when my mother took my hand.
We skipped the cobblestones and shopped for wishes,
toys which we could ill-afford;
a Batman cape, a red fire engine.
The lanes were thick with merchants and the joy of life,
haggling, chattering like crazy seabirds loud,
and mouthing their wants and wares,
and then we wandered home exhausted.
I never lost my youthfulness,
my joy at seeing herons gloating, eagles floating
high on zephyr'd breezes free as spring;
hallowed times, in Jesus' presence.
I measure now my moments as the hours shift by,
thirty years and blissful, regrets are slight and few,
I count my blessings, feel content
that tribulation never came to bother me.
A birthday cake is waiting for me,
candles flicker, frosting beckons, hope eternal;
my wish the same, for peace on earth
to all men, greetings and goodwill!
I lie down in the close and holy quiet
while the village sleeps, and slips toward a new adventure,
safe in His keeping, perfect day
with promise of a bright tomorrow!
The morning soars with skylarks singing
o'er the greening meadow and the pliant pasture,
the ocean sighing, gulls aloft on wings of prayer.
A sudden shower would see me running
fancy free between the rain drops,
I cried 'Excelsior!' and set the hills alive;
I skittered, happy, crisp and clear,
like God's first measure of a holy hymn.
The air alive with songs of praise,
the gentle winds a sacred message,
His grand prescription like a dream
that streamed out from the pillows of the heavens.
I liked to wander by the sea shore
skipping stones, disobeying laws of gravity,
as a lamb on shaky legs and tumbled freely without care,
'til gasping, I would stop to catch my breath.
The halcyon days of youth came true,
when I would race forever 'neath the tawny sun,
bedaubed in Autumn's blood, the flame
a blend of hues the likes of which
would make a young boy doubly blind,
and lead him into kingdoms where the battlefields
would blister scarlet, happy times
that made me see my childhood clearly.
The weather turned again, and shanties
high atop the hillside loomed like castles drifting
in the sea-blown mist, the noise of boats,
their nets pulled, nudging at the jetty.
From the sand the village was a hazy spectre,
the chapel steeple peeking like Rapunzel's lair,
her hair a daydream falling soft,
O fanciful imagination!
I thought to when my mother took my hand.
We skipped the cobblestones and shopped for wishes,
toys which we could ill-afford;
a Batman cape, a red fire engine.
The lanes were thick with merchants and the joy of life,
haggling, chattering like crazy seabirds,
loud, and mouthing their wants and wares,
and then we wandered home exhausted.
I never lost my youthfulness,
my joy at seeing herons gloating, eagles floating
high on zephyr'd breezes free as spring;
hallowed times, in Jesus' presence.
I measure now my moments as the hours shift by,
thirty years and blissful, regrets are slight and few,
I count my blessings, feel content
that tribulation never came to bother me.
A birthday cake is waiting for me,
candles flicker, frosting beckons, hope eternal;
my wish the same, for peace on earth
to all men, greetings and goodwill!
I lie down in the close and holy quiet
while the village sleeps, and slips toward a new adventure,
safe in His keeping, perfect day
with promise of a bright tomorrow.