Best Sell Poems
Mei-Ling was known to kiss and tell
Got worse when she wed Me Hung Well
With the power of thought
Set to give what he ought
And spent all night ringing her bell.
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5 November 2018
Inspired by Jan Allison's limerick, "His gift it needed a lift".
Isn't it funny how people see money
pieces of metal so very small
there's not a lot you can do
with a penny or two
money itself has really no uses at all
it used to be beads and once it was shells
at least you could wear them and buy or sell
how many have a dim view of money
pieces of paper so wafer-thin
there's not much you can fill with a note or a bill
money itself has very few ways it can thrill
its value is based on the bars of gold
buried in the basement of a bank
and whomever says whatever they're worth
is who we have thank
the root of all evil isn't money it's man
he'll wheel deal and steal to grab all he can
the more money he has the more money he needs
the root of all evil is mankind and his greed
The sun roused me from my bed
when his warm rays reached my head.
I missed the fog that flowed in the dark,
but I made a fire burn with just a spark
to warm cow's milk for my child
on this mild March morn in the wild.
There's a dead elm to chop for wood.
My axe is sharp and will cut real good.
I have to stack all the logs near the door
cuz I know in the night I will need more.
The chill in my home gets much too cold.
Cracks need to be fixed, so I've been told,
but that's not a job that I can do
for I don't have the skills. Not a clue.
I will hire a hand who will get the chore done
and then on he will go to the next one.
He can do all the work while I sit for a spell
and say at last, "I think it's time to sell!"
It’s been ‘bout thirty years now, to this Christmas day
And I can still hear those wise words that Dad did say:
“Don’t ever sell your saddle, don’t quit balin’ hay—
When ya give your word, keep it—it’s a real man’s way.”
I wish that I could swear I’ve lived up to his words,
But like the truth sometimes, they’ve flown off with the birds.
It’s not to say I’ve tired, and mostly I’ve been true—
But if I could do things over, there’s some I’d undo.
Well, I’m still balin’ hay and my word I always keep,
I’ve got a good woman and I sing the kids to sleep.
We keep the ranch a goin’ and we’re doin’ just fine,
But I regret sellin’ Dad’s saddle back in ninety-nine.
Times were tough and we scraped every cent that year—
At a Christmas eve auction sold some cows, a steer—
Then it came down to Dad’s saddle and some ol’ tack—
‘Course that saddle brought the most cash and that’s a fact.
Couldn’t figure out who bought it—never seen ‘em before—
When he bought that saddle, he was quick out the door.
One year later, there came a knock on Christmas day—
There stood the stranger with Dad’s saddle and he did say:
“Fixed it up and brought it back—this is where it should be—
Your Dad, me and Zack, used to cowboy and they told me
A man shouldn’t sell his saddle, so here it is again—
Think of it as a gift from someone who was a friend.”
(continued)
A heritage no man can sell,
a history no man can tell;
so much we share in Jesus' band,
nothing to fear, in storms we stand.
To lordly things we are kindred,
mansions of gold, pure and sacred;
to endless beam, to saintly streams,
to heaven's gaze and holy hymns.
Our dreams are shaped eternaly
by faith and love in God's alley;
no baser thought our spirit fills,
as we approach heavenly hills.
We who are born of Christ Jesus,
Hallelujah is our chorus;
pilgrims we are, on earth we roam,
yet pressing on to our glorious home.
color pickets
match the days away
when hours fade
there's no feel left to persuade
you know more than me
that you do
But i know who it is
beneath the scars
the fancy lights
the impervious dark
no matter what your poetry says
it's undone
and your songs will sing themselves
unfinished
until they become desperate enough
to turn to vinyl plagues
and if you were to feel contagious
i guess i could move you along
and if you were to feel contagious
I guess i could shoot you a call
no sense in wishing
what you cannot say
i kiss you well
curse me
your days of hell
to see your thoughts unshelved
is a catalog i've wanted less
sidewalks and broken bones
unskin your knees
the little fees
that bring about such doubt
color pickets
match the days away
i'm holding on to
all i've ever known
little thoughts of you
incase you move along
and if you were to feel contagious
i guess i could move you along
and if you were to feel contagious
I guess i could shoot you a call
move along now
move along
"you see the chalk, I see the paintings along the way"
If I could sell away some baggage
Tears and fears would be first to list
My hubbies lackadaisacal attitude
My sore joints and perfectionist tendencies
My son's messiness and lack of sage
Clutter and papers need not exist
Inheritance clutter has in'eptitude
Weighing heavy on my thoughts
For the contest by SKAT
9/6/12
(continued)
It had been over ten years since Dad passed away—
Stood lookin’ at the stranger, didn’t know what to say.
Dad never told us much ‘bout his life out on the range,
But he did mention his best pard, a man called Bob Strange.
We thanked Bob and asked him to join our Christmas feast,
He said no need for thanks, that this was just the least
He could do to help out the boy of his ol’ pal
And that he had to get back to the North Corral.
I was awful glad to see my Dad’s saddle back,
When a few weeks later I came across ol’ Zack.
Out of the blue I asked if he heard of Bob Strange—
He nodded and said yes, then his smile began to change.
He wondered why I asked ‘bout someone I never met—
I told him ‘bout Dad’s saddle and he began to fret.
“Ya understand,” Zack said, “Bob’s been dead twenty year.”
That’s when I turned grim and my smile did disappear.
“But I just talked to him,” I said, “back on Christmas day!”
“You’re wrong,” Zack said, “but I ‘member what he used to say:
Don’t ever sell your saddle, don’t quit balin’ hay—
When ya give your word, keep it—it’s a real man’s way!”
He always knew
when he got that return call from you:
The deal was done,
the negotiation was won
Sometimes winning meant a compromise
But the reason he was considered
one of the wireless best;
he never used the bait-and-switch,
he never had to cold call sell phony lies
His marquee marketing style
was upfront real ...
he flatly refused to ever false advertise
He was a gold star salesman,
he was diamond top notch
He was an extraordinary pitch man,
big deals he never botched
He had a velvety voice,
he was smooth baritone charismatic
He was king of the cellular,
he could cut clean through the static
When you stepped into his office,
you knew you were in the presence of royalty
Luxurious furniture made you feel comfy,
walls adorned with awards and plaques
Kings and queens of jazz playing,
allowed you to completely chill and relax
But it was when his cell started ringing,
you got to watch a master work his craft
Seeing deal after deal
after deal getting sealed,
you knew right then that the legend was real
He was a gold star salesman,
he was sapphire top notch
He was an extraordinary pitch man,
big deals he never botched
He had a velvety voice,
he was so laidback cool charismatic
He was king of the sell you lure,
he always cut straight thru the static
Dedicated to my beloved brother Lee
I sell drugs.
My worst poem but my best poem for ironik zincs contest
Home Depot does not sell azure paint.
No. They do have Morning Sky,
Tropical Lagoon, Morning Breeze,
Ocean Cruise, Cozumel, Empress Teal,
Almost Aqua, and Navy. But no azure.
No cyan, either. No plain ol' blue.
I will take my verdant money elsewhere.
Home Depot should be more poet friendly.
r ~ 4/29/14
an hour farther...
(and, two farts uneven)
hollowed be my gain...
my biking done...
in a...
sky of sun...
as unearthed...
(and it be more even)
live as this day be an...
hour of daily-bread...
for gifts and...
as our trash passes....
forgive trash others pass
(a gain for us)
we leave knots of temptation
but as livers can't even all
(ah man : )
stan
It's the big day of the big yard sale
Where every thing must go
There was much to much to haul out to the front
So I opened up the home
There were gobs of people everywhere
Wandering around with arms packed full
I'm making money hand over fist
This idea was really cool
You see my neighbors came to me with their front door key
And asked if I'd watch Binkie their cat
While they spent a few days away, I said sure what the hey
So they showed me where everything Binkie was at
While they were gone Binkie got bored
He missed his masters who were out of town
I thought a yard sale would be just the thing, Binkie purred that'd be neat
And of course it brought Binkie's good mood back around
Now before you start thinking bad thoughts of me
And wonder how anyone could sell everything they had
I want you to know I had a slight twinge of guilt
Right before I sold Binkie the cat
Bye, Bye Binkie Bye, Bye ;0)
Past My Sell By Date
My face is getting wrinkles
My hair is turning white
My bladders getting weaker
I have to get up in the night
All my Joints are creaking
I'm in such a state
I think that I just have to say
I'm past my sell by date
When I go out walking
I have to use a stick
My weight is on the up and up
My waist is getting thick
I need to get much fitter
But I'm afraid that its too late
I think I must admit it
I'm past my sell by date
But look there in my cupboard
There is a Christmas pud
I know its past its sell by date
But I bet it still tastes good
I may be old and wrinkly
With joints that creak but wait
I can still enjoy myself
Though I'm past my sell by date
I wont live forever
But I can still live well
And if they say I'm past my sell by date
Well they can go to hell
Denis Briggs 2017
Wayward in my sin,
to You, I’m foreign
my angel wings have fallen
my belief disproven
a gimmick in his marketing
didn’t take much convincing
for I bought in
an empty, rusted tin
dimmed from seeing any light within
my faith, shaken
for a price
I will give my all for paradise
for a promise of the afterlife
convince me that I’m a heathen
that I need salvation
that I deserve redemption
that I’ll be spared Armageddon
to dwell in your holy kingdom
and gain internal freedom
when the world has quietened down
at peace like a perfect dawn
pray for my spirit to listen
when You sell me heaven