Best Shop Poems
The gun seems gun-shy in this space;
where deer hides hang on rustic walls
and granddad-tick-tocks beat, instead
of hearts in hollowed skins. The gun
a “trophy-bagger” in its rack,
a loud-mouth predator at rest,
this motherless, brother-less thug
perceives no pity-pangs... the gun
now quiet, buckshot empty, cold.
Above the stove’s phoenix soul hangs
an antlered head with prideful tines
the man, with bear-paw hands, had won.
A fox in freeze-frame-trot, a stiff
with cat glass eyes, attests his prize.
Indeed, like litterfall they fell,
unseen his haunt in hunter gear, his gun
a junkyard dog of steel. I say
they're beautiful in life. He says
they’re beautiful in death. Between
our words — a stand of pine — the shot!
that brought the shock of ammo air
that rib-cage-ripped and broke the breath,
that hurled the crows against the sky —
the blast that felled the 10-point buck that failed to sense your goddamn gun!
Yeah... blame the buck his reckless pose
and buckled throes. You felt the king!
Behind tight trees you sat with dawn
in sniper-silhouette. The gun
felt nothing; no remorse, no joy
—it, too, hangs upon the wall.
I met her in a pawn shop on a warm summer night
When running from the rubble of my shattered life
To sell a broken dream that would never come true
An engagement ring to pay for the rent that was due
There she lay sleeping in a battered rosewood bed
Heart strings breaking in a rusty sea of velvet red
So hauntingly beautiful, she took my breath away
Violin - an old reject who would change my life that day
So I bought Violin and lived out on the street
And played Rhapsody in Blue as coins fell at my feet
And soon we had a little flat high above the Bay
And every day, I got better with every note I played
Today I am a maestro playing Carnegie Hall
My name in lights blinking on a Marquee Wall
For it was I who saw myself in Violin
A tarnished soul and the beauty buried there within
Author: Elaine George
Written: 2013
lit up with the power to attract and excite
and framed by a window of the toy shop that night
a miniature world of trains, bridges and hills
took my mind off the cold from the late autumn chills.
there were signals that moved and tables that turned
and lights in the engines as if coal had been burned
frustrated by others who had gathered there too
I pushed them aside for a much better view.
I stood there transfixed and stared through the glass
at the landscape of plaster and fields of fake grass
I watched as the locos passed by on the track
to then vanish through tunnels somewhere at the back.
there were small plastic figures all standing in line
frozen on platforms and frozen in time
they weren't duly bothered they'd missed the last train
safe in the knowledge it would be round again.
Christmas was near and if things worked out right
I'd be playing with trains Christmas morn, noon and night
but I let out a sigh before turning to go
- I had already asked and my wife had said "no".
My man was old and battered and was destined for the scrap heap
He’d failed his annual MOT as his many defects ran far too deep
His motor was still running but he had an intermittent fault
He’d nod off when we were making love – (I’d feel a sudden jolt!)
His once full head of blonde gleaming hair
Can be polished, as it now it’s thinning there
With aching joints that my man once trusted
He needed a service as his parts were rusted
So I took him to the used man showroom to see what they could do
They gave him full service to see if his parts they could renew
They said he still had many miles to go and they no longer made this model
But if I had his engine repaired he’d be going at full throttle
The trusty mechanics worked day and night
To ensure that his engine was running just right
They polished his body, now you should see it shine
He’s back to how he was now his motor is just fine!!!
If I’d trawled the showrooms would I want to replace
The one who’d stuck by me and kept a smile on my face
I’ve no wish to trade him in or keep him as a spare
After many years together there’s bound to be wear and tear!
FUN FICTION WRITE FOR THE CONTEST!
IF I SHOPPED FOR MY SPOUSE LIKE I SHOP FOR MY AUTOMOBILE CONTEST
Sponsored by Cindi Rockwell
MALT SHOP
I’d been in the place -
The usual booths lots of them
And a soda fountain –
But not right after school
Not that I’m such a flaming intellectual
But the bookish didn’t hang out there
And then
Some of us had jobs
No It was the personality boys and girls
For whom school was a prelude to the malt shop
Here you could be seen and heard
Heard over the noise you were part of
The nerd need not show up at the malt shop
The booths were both confessional and
possessional
With room for four two boys two girls
Nerdy had no girl no room for him
I suppose every school has a no touch clan
Four or five royalty who really know how to
play
They will not inhabit the malt shop
It’s too common for them
So where did I fit in?
I didn’t
Didn’t go to dances
Didn’t know how to smile just right
Did I want to go to the malt shop
Smile laugh
Flirt with the girls?
Of course I did!
Dave Austin
THE MALT SHOP
I would wager every school has a no-touch clan -
Four or five debs who really know how to play
And they share company only with those coolest
studs of the day
Money, looks and politics are basic to the royal
suiting up
One must look just so, act just so and appear only
at just so places
Well? do they appear at the malt shop?
Oh, no – none will see those faces
It’s just so too common for them to show
So? Where did I fit in?
I didn’t – to dances didn’t go
Didn’t know how to smile just so
Didn’t kiss VIP bottoms, you know
I used to pass the noisy place and shake my head –
Such a waste of time, such decadence, values dead
And did I, mister well read, want to go
to the malt shop,
Smile, laugh, flirt with the girls?
Damn right I did!
Dave Austin
When I shop for an automobile,
I don’t worry much about speed.
Good mileage per gallon I want.
A van or a truck I don’t need!
So I guess if shopped for a spouse
the way that I shop for a car,
that means that my man wouldn’t need
much fuel, but he still could go far!
And since I can’t stand vans and trucks
(preferring a car rather small),
my man, by those very same standards,
would not be too hunky at all.
Neither too slow nor too fast, my man
would be like a Mitsubishi
A Spyder Eclipse, rather cute,
and super efficient for me!
When I shop for an automobile,
looks matter! I love a great hue.
And sporty is nice, but oh my,
what guy in the world is light blue?
And finally this is a must -
I want a convertible top!
Does that mean that men with toupees
are spouses for whom I should shop?
The spouse I have now is not small
nor sporty; his color is grey!
He’s bald, so he’s somewhat a rag-top.
I could purchase for him a toupee!
When all my old cars put on miles,
I always considered a trade-in.
But now that I’m old like my spouse,
I don’t think I’ll go through that again!
The poem is in conjunction with the video
Halloween Night
Enter the perfume curiosity shop
For the inquisitive
All perfume smells entwine
The aroma wakens the mind
Slowly binding into a smell to recollect
Take a swish before slumber
Don’t awaken as I enter
Cast a spell over your body
Pour you into my cast
Secure the lid for safekeeping
In my case of “must have” individuals
That crossed my doorstep
Looking for that pleasant exceptional aroma
On this Halloween night.
I found myself in the old curiosity shop
Looking for something strange and different
The owner said how about Schrodingers cat
I said did not curiosity kill that?
He said its a paradox unknown
Alive or dead its something you can still own
I said no.
He said how about a spider I have living in a parlour
I said do I look like a fly?
He said you can be anything you want to be
I said I have no desire to die.
I looked further searching for something new
But everything was old
And paradoxical in truth
I said have you got a quantum box
So that I can think outside it
Maybe it will inspire me to think of something new
He said I sold that only yesterday to a Jewish man with wild hair
But I do have a super string theory residing over there
I stated I do not have any needs for a bunch of incomplete theories
All grouped up into one.
Feeling rather down of heart and feeling rather glum
I saw a dust covered book on existentialism
And said have you got a theory for being and nothingness
He said Satre took that one today by his own authority
So I decided it was time to go home and started to leave
When I saw a quantum paradigm staring back at me
I suddenly felt exited and said is that paradigm something you would like to shift
He said for you my friend most certainly
And I decided to take it
And as the paradigm shifted so did my quantum space
Now I find myself in Shambala on a Buddhist holiday.
It sat with double doors propped open
inviting the poor, the sad, the broken
Its dusty shelves stuffed and sated
with objects – some fresh, others dated
I carried my dreams with heavy arms
formerly dazzling magical charms
Now in tattered cardboard boxes
a life in unresolved paradoxes
Prized possessions, cherished memories
adored as luxurious shiny accessories
Their worth besmirched and unfamiliar
traded for coins of gold and silver.
they're in the work places
and stores downtown...
silent and quiet
blank faces
private
in groups...
they express
themselves all
freely the same
and...me not feeling
time stealing
from them
thought...
"aliens"...
the years have cleared
the unfamiliar scene
and now...i'm what had been all along...
alien...in an alien world...
now with access only to the relevant
universal intellect continuum
and this...'this invention' enables
craftsmen of the word
to furnish the world
with script and book
to read or cook...
wonderful
pass-time-planet
earth
I saw a battled frame
housing a black
and white photo
of a hero
in war,
proudly posing
hiding his fear,
his fragility
some family's pride
and country's
creased,
in a junk shop
How to Find the Shop
A whispered map for the bold, the broken, and the slightly curious.
--A cryptic guide for those who seek the odd, the magical, and the mildly cursed.
Read at your own risk.
Side effects may include wonder, confusion, and spontaneous teleportation.
It won't be there when you're looking.
But it might be
when you're lost.
Look for a door between bookstores--
one that blinks
and breathes.
Its doorknob may feel like bone
or a melted spoon,
depending on your mood.
Ignore the “Closed Forever” sign.
It's just for the faint of heart.
Step inside.
Yes, it will smell like burnt sugar, wet moss, and something
you loved in a past life.
That’s normal.
The walls shift. Don’t panic.
They’re just shy.
The shopkeeper will appear eventually--
a shadow with a crooked grin
and a name you’ve almost remembered once in a dream.
Do not ask for discounts.
Do not touch the orb labeled “Oops.”
Do not feed the candle.
But do browse.
Take your time.
The items may choose you.
When you leave,
you won’t know how you found it--
only that it found you.
And the catalog in your pocket
now has a new page
you don’t remember writing.
Gives that “you just found the secret code” energy.
MysticMisfits Product Line™
Coming soon to a dimension near you…
or already hiding in your junk drawer.
Life continues here
on the Lower East Side
Tea is steadily
improving my day
Doesn't it sometimes seem
that tea is" where its at "
Perhaps one day
I will switch back to coffee
"the hard stuff"
But for now I will mellow out
with a cup of green tea - with tasty honey!
Mohamed and Khaled
The best butcher shop in town
In the deception of silence
they butcher those with sound
Voices against their Kingdom
they fear and do not like
Raping their women with modern views
while butchering a protesting man
Both Prince, King and pork herder
Vehement denials throughout the land
Yes the color of red, proof of blood in their sand
In the shoes of Aysha, these cowards cant even stand
Intoxicated Salman, butchered an innocent man
as Trump applauds, the free press in a grave
situation... Tyrants kissing and holding hands
A thousand lashes, to the butchers of Riyadh
Prince Mohamed be damned