Best Shop Window Poems
She walks past the coffee shop window
White hair,
Face wreathed in wrinkles-
Seeming somehow lost to the world,
Pursuing another aimless day
Consumed with nothing.
Her eyes light up!
Someone approaches.
A friend,relative,
Greetings of recognition
And smiles all round.
Now animated chatter from the pair
Along with constant change of expression,
Alert,intent.
Listening one to the other.
Then the meeting ends.
Life continues,
Each go seperate ways.
She walks on
White hair
Face wreathed in wrinkles,
Only now shining with LIFE.
Warmed by the brief touch of human contact-
Of having had someone to talk to.
Bronwyn the Barbaric was a buxom lass
the envy of all her peers
She spoke with unrivaled swashbuckling sass
her pirate-ess fashion was fierce
She could charm off the arms of the most hardened men
how they'd swoon at the sight of her swagger
She ruled over cutthroats with a dangerous grin
her hand ever over her dagger
But her smile was so lovely, her style was so vogue
that she had little need for such violence
With a wave of her hand, she could tame ruthless rogues
with a look she could cause utter silence
So, peacefully she plundered (with minions to pillage
and devotedly obey her commands)
Until a shop window caught her eye in the village
and she made a bad purchase, unplanned
There she acquired the most dashing high-heel boots
custom made (according to her wishes)
But the pain that they caused was something acute
and it made the 'old girl' act quite vicious
She kidnapped the cobbler and tortured him so
she was in quite a terrible temper
She dealt him such cruel and merciless blows
the crew could hardly handle his whimpers
She became a tyrannical, treacherous wench
terrorizing from Tahiti to Tangier
Leaving in her wake only ruins and stench
with a reckless and wicked sneer
And 'though her crew were not a cowardly lot
they dared not get on her bad side
The last scalawag was both stabbed and shot
before she tossed him into the tide
But one rakish mate had an interesting offer
her vanity couldn't refuse-
If he could, just once, get those stylish boots off her
a better set he could produce
So eyeing him, slowly, she peeled the boots off
and immediately felt such relief
Gone was her bitterness, her angry scoff
gone was the source of her grief
Seeing their pirate queen herself again
the crew gathered 'round and they cheered
Those bloody boots were thrown overboard
and their mate was quite revered
Now a barefoot buccaneer, she still
struts across the deck
And if they don't bend to her will
she'll see they're put in check!
Following the tumor blooms
that muted my throat and gut,
I duct taped my mind
to the wordless, I put my head down
charging at daggers, and
thanks to pain bullets and cancer bombs
my thoughts are catching a little headwind.
I'm looking at a sea otter floating on its back
agilely playing with stones,
it’s definitely working the crowd.
I'm looking at a lion staring into a camera,
under its heavy paw a gazelle is also staring into a lens;
are they waiting for applause?
I'm looking through a shop window
at televisions that are
revealing all this, plus my gazing reflection.
We can all do better, more rehearsals
will eventually take our perfect picture,
meanwhile it’s important to look good
as time stops, then continues to drain away
in its usual hazardous way.
I don’t have a blueprint,
just this smudged version
of what she would look like,
an impression in a shop windowpane,
just as the light catches her in mid-thought.
To recreate, I must fillet an idea until
it is just a pulse, a blood surge,
a milky image of smoke;
I must work on her from the inside,
teasing out strands of mutual desire
from slim neck bones
and a tidal whelm.
My hands are palms outward and kneading;
a kind of questioning masturbation -
that is the gentlest way
to daub such imaginings into prayer.
Maybe I could chafe that conceit, like fresh
Virginia leaf between my fingers,
dunk her in a glass of Folonari Valpolicella
then place the wad between my gums,
chawing on it until she takes shape in my mouth.
No need to ever take her out,
she will disappear soon enough
into a space reserved only
for dwindling morning stars.
Perhaps she will suicide
on high-tension wires. An electricity
flaring her into a wind-blown gawkish appearance.
The sculptor in me leaves a fatal wink in this ideal,
one that will metamorphose into something
too fair for my skin-leaching hands,
too transient for still-life.
Then, when all is said and done,
she will simply remain this poem,
an on-going motif,
one that will surprise me again and again,
as I glimpse her once more
through a forever blurred shop window.
Those lips,
Her lips,
I love her red lips,
I want to kiss her bright shiny red lips.
And those hips,
Her hips,
I love her hot hips,
I want to dance with her swaying hot hips.
Every day when she walks past my shop window,
My heart stops, my everything ceases to matter.
And she just keeps on walking, not caring or seeing,
Just walking leaving my passion all a tatter.
And her hair,
That hair,
I love her red hair,
I want to feel the purity of her curly long hair.
But I stare,
I just stare,
All I can do is just stare,
I want to be better than a guy with a blind stare.
People walking head down staring into their cell phones
In pairs or all alone
Children pushing their children in buggies and prams
Traffic wardens and traffic jams
Zombies trying to walk through you with masses of shopping bags
Gangs of girls gangs of lads
Shop window displays to entice
Everything from ladies knickers
Toys and carving knifes
Shoppers sat in fish tanks having tea
Long queues at the bakery
Pregnant girls in tight fitting skimpy clothes
People with tattoos and rings through their nose
Police officers out for a gentle walk on a summers day
While the robbers elsewhere make a clean get away
Unruly children screaming
Clouds of choking cigarette smoke
People laughing telling jokes
Shoppers taking a rest on a bench
Old men staring at young wench
A busker playing the same song over and over on guitar
For pennies hoping someone passing
Will make them a star
Street vendor vultures prey on the unaware
''Have you had an accident''? money signs in their eyes
Bad accident they don't care
Gangs of people stood in shop doorways
So you can't get in
Lads like me trying to impress the girls
and holding our beer bellies in
Bargain here bargain there
This weeks special offer managers special
A broken chair
Knuckle dragger unshaven smelly men
With model looking babes how on earth do they get them?
Free passes to the gym if you're fat we''ll make you slim
Bumping into people that you know
Hows uncle Howard and his poorly toe
A glimpse of life on a weekend in town
Don't miss a bargain get on down.
Peter Dome.Copyright.2015.May.
I'm the kid staring into the shop window
Without a penny to spend
I am the hopeless cursed romantic
Without any roses or valentines to send
I'm the life and soul of the party
But feels rejection like daggers to the heart
The one who no longer dares to dream
Because they always fall apart
I am the child without no playmates
The frightened kitten kicked out into the snow
The dweller lost in limbo
In dark places that I only know
My life is a lonely uncharted island
Barron of life where nothing grows.
The days go by in a flash
Another day wasted my hopes dashed
A prisoner by fate
Thrown head first through hells gate
A thousand cuts to my heart
My confidence at an all time low
My sanity tormented and ripped apart.
A shadow of my former self
A dusty old book no one wants to read
Left upon the shelf
Someone who desired love
But is resigned to little more than lust
That I disgust
I'm the man crawling dying of thirst in the parched desert sun
I sure know what pain and hurt is
But I've yet to discover life and fun.
Peter Dome.Copyright.2015. June.
Even now . . . . how long has it been?
Even now you push your way into my thoughts
And force smiles when I need them most
You send the hummingbird to pause before pansies
So that I can hear once more, “Darling, look . . . .”
When winds shiver through trees
I can hear your laughter and sighs
“Look at us . . . . we fit together like legos!”
As you slid beneath my arm and lifted your eyes
That were the sanctuary of a thousand secrets
The simple honesty of you, almost naïve
“I will love you, you know . . . .
Even if you stop loving me, or leave
Or treat me badly or grow indifferent
I will love you and because of that
I am terrified of us”
And you trembled against me
Because I was the only shelter you knew
And you could go there in your fear
Because my heart was always at home
“In Italian we say, L'amore mantiene giovani”
You whispered “The heart that loves is always young”
And your smile came so easily, filled with hope
And frantic zeal, “I am immortal!”
Then would come the shower of your quick kisses
And a ribbon of bright phrases in Italian
Darting from your lips too quickly to understand
Then once I guided you to the jewelry shop window
To hear you say, “If I was your wife, would you love me more?”
And I could not lie so you smiled before we walked away
I see it in the shop window,
blue straw, white braided trim.
On the back it has a lovely bow.
I buy it on a whim
and don it, sink or swim.
I wear it on the avenue.
I wear it on the street.
So happy in my hat of blue,
I smile at all I meet
and some of them I greet.
The sunshine is so blinding bright,
my eyes begin to blink.
A fellow thinks to his delight,
I am sending him a wink.
A big mistake, I think.
I hurry to my little home,
to one whose waiting there.
I promise him I’ll no more roam.
My blue hat I’ll only wear
for the one for whom I care.
For Favorite Hat contest sponsored by Carol won a 5th in this
Mr and Mrs walking down the High Street
Shoe shop window her eyes did now greet
Into the shop they both went
Oh! those boots, please consent
Too dear, no purchase, no receipt
Ready for bed and feeling so fruity
His hand now caressing her beauty
Cutting sharpness she says
With no payment display
No horse shoes, your not riding it's booty
.
Pavement cafe, nine fifteen cradling a coffee (as you do)
from my left the china doll with clicking heels strode into view.
Tempting lips kissy-kissed with crimson, cheeks caressed
with blush, and poreless,
painful teasing made those scimitars for eyebrows nigh on flawless.
Hair of sunlit copper billowed like an Eton teacher's gown,
open trench coat followed suit as china hurried into town.
Head turned sideways, in each shop window she looked at her reflection
checking for the slightest hint of any sort of imperfection.
So wrapped up in herself, my my, how deep self worship had bit you
that you didn't see the lamp post until suddenly it hit you-
walked straight into it with quite a clang at such a rapid pace
recoiled, lurched back, bewildered- it was then I saw her face.
The laughter from the passers-by just made it even worse
as, shaking, she sat down near me and fumbled in her purse.
Tearful now,still reeling from her public humiliation
she got the make-up mirror out for damage limitation.
Haughtiness gone, the facade broken sat lovely Amanda,
legs like a flamingo but her right eye like a Panda.
Inhumanities buzzard picks at the scraps
squabbling over trash
vultures of the pavement
denying everything has life
A confetti of money
the wedding funeral of it’s own immoral concept
squawking the incantations
of debt
the milking breast
for these divisions of hate
Automaton march
blindfolded into prisons
wifi choir to gobble in slavering mouth
the dance of freedom
Piled to height shop window front
a catalog of so many possessions
scrape nail biting destitution
of anything of all
but nothing at all
without them
Merry-go-around and round and around
the cul-de-sac of evolution
entrenched, entranced the myriad of human
jack-hammered incessant
into the point of believing
and by deaths alter
sacrifice life
Every dream a skirmish
squandered to the three percent
take a selfie
maybe it’s the only way to ease the pain
be just a ghost in life
who’s monument was the tombstones of prophets
and the next generations list of regrets
Round and around the merry-we-go around
bruised in the dirt by same old, old same trip wires
todays tomorrow repeated again
as if we all have nothing to learn
Evolution
is just a conciliatory conceptual term
this winter
brought over the city
a fine and cold rain
thunder through the quarrel corners
hatred seeds on the fronts
the uninvited’s apple chopped
by the chatterbox tongue
thread for the treasures’seekers
the dragon has killed the cranes and the mandarine ducks
are mere glass nicknacks
in a junk shop window
hungry for the sun
the seagulls peck the rays
thrown on the window panes
carnival costumes are walking
as the music of a gramophone
on the leaves’skeletons
synthetic peacock feathers
sprangles masks
mandolines and flutes
shaddows on a mythless coin
the morning star-on top of the steeple
reads the holy books
masses on water circles wake up
the sparrows in the ice castles
untouched by sympathy
stays knelt in the battle spittle
the warriors(in wierd clothes:outside males,inside females)
fascinated by death
*
the little boys and girls –they do not
know what they are-maybe sparrows
others think they are stags
most of them are sure they are warriors
the only child destined to the pain
from his stone tower
watches how the night struggles
to wrest the time its identity
(translated by Margareta Mioc )
Walking past the shop window
Glancing, I find I'm just not there
Even when I go back to check again
All I see is an empty stare
Rows and rows of windows
Allow me to see the other side
Even when a bus passes me
I hear my inner self confide
Walking past the shop windows
Like I've done so many times
No longer I go back to check again
For I, I can no longer find
The other day I was walking past ironmonger row
When I noticed boarded up, every shop window
I dare say they will be sold or knocked down too
This town just seems a contrast of old with new
Why destroy every land mark like the old fire station
Why not build a theme park or more commendation
Where’s the green belt and where are all those trees
I just felt I should mention all that’s left is memories
I remember Owen and Owens before it became alders
And now yeah they have changed the place yet again
Dose anyone remember that little shop called ralffers
Well yeah I know, everyone says that was all back then
They can change the city but not the views of the people
The only place that retains it's history, is the old cathedral
And what dose Coventry mean to me?, like most I just frown
Well nothing really, like everyone says it's just a ghost town
Inspierd by conversation with someone in libray
Short and sweet just something else to write about a time
pROBABLY SOUNDS ABIT CYINICAL BUT BEING HONEST
COVENTRY DID HAS SOME GOOD POINTS BUT NOW ITS FADED AWAY
this was apost to be entered in to a a small compotision back in sept 2009
but missed dead line unsure of subject matter at time