Best Trade Poems
On Africa's Great Plains the animals roam free
And you can see them close up when on safari
Rhino, elephant, giraffe and gazelle
Lions, hippos and monkeys as well.
But they're all in danger from a predator called man
Who goes out his way to kill as many as he can
From a mile away under the African sun
He shoots them dead with a high powered gun.
Big business to some, there is money to be made
One that springs to mind is the ivory trade
Some people will pay handsomely
To have piano keys made out of ivory.
Some cultures believe horns hold some kind of magic
But that's medieval thinking and so very tragic
It's upsetting to see these great creatures fall
Just so the rich can display their horns on a wall.
Their young are left orphaned to struggle and die
So very upsetting it would make you cry
And the King of beasts are considered a trophy
Are tracked down and hunted mercilessly.
Some species of these animals are dwindling fast
And if the slaughter continues they will not last
Sometime in the future, don't bother to look
The only place you'll find them will be in a book.
But you can help to end this cruel trade
Before you buy goods, check how they are made
If they contain animal parts then do walk away
Together we can ensure that this vile trade doesn't pay.
Written 19 January 2018.
** A Very Memorable Christmas Present **
Someone made an err::
Boxing Day ‘ere’s
Been the day of — not after.
What started as the greatest
Christmas ever, turned
Us from better to worse
As our tempers grew, altered
After our fingers were slid into
Those gift-wrapped firm gloves of leather,
Punching through the room’s air
At each other
With words roused from harsh to meaner,
‘Till our referee pup barked
To end our Round 1, forcing a turnover
Into creating a round of rich laughter.
Re-freshed, happier, remembering our
Proper manners appropriate to honor
Our Savior’s birthday…We resolved
A return trip to the store to trade
That shared present of boxing gloves for
A healthier, sturdy set of parallel bars.
————————————————————————————————————————
(c) sally young eslinger 12/25/22
Happy Birthday, King Jesus
To handle a bigot
Turn off his spigot
He worked on the land, a farmer by trade.
He never will know the impact he made.
When plowing the fields, his mind would be filled
with lessons in life he taught and instilled.
“Life’s pretty simple” my grandpa would claim,
“The rules we should live by are always the same.”
He delivered his thoughts in a wry kind of style.
You’d think he was mad, but then he would smile.
He was always profound, a man of his word.
He would always look forward despite what occurred.
“I’ve never reaped anything I didn’t first sow.
The seeds that you plant is the crop that will grow.
Fix your eyes on a spot, if you want to plow straight.
If you need to start over, it’s never too late.”
One thing I remember, he often would share,
“Don’t tear down a fence, ‘til you know why it’s there.
Some fences are built to keep danger away,
some fences are built so we’ll know where to stay.”
His philosophy in life was to, “Let people be.
I’m not here to judge, lest they should judge me.”
“Some things are better off left on the ground,
manure doesn’t stink ‘til you stir it around.”
The best thing he taught me was how I could find
the answer to anything crossing my mind.
Whatever I’d ask him, he’d get out the Book,
saying, “God wrote it down, if you take time to look.”
He understood things that few understand.
A farmer by trade, he worked on the land.
You hear about
the Black slave trade
but you never hear about
the white slave trade
Vikings stole
the Irish and scottish
selling them
for the white slave trade
Even today
the female slave trade
continues in all cultures
it should not be
about colour
It should be about
man's inhumanity to man
As a world
we should stand
against abuse
teach your children
to hate
the colour of a mans skin
you teach your children
to abuse people
teach your children
to hate abuse
you create a world
that loves peace
Anger and hatred
build violence
yet there has already been
too much violence
ninety five million
American Indians
Killed and abused
by the spanish
conquistadors
Ten millions
africans killed
to line the pockets
of king Leopold the second
Millions of Jewish people
killed in the second world war
Man's inhumanity to man
every day
we prove that we can hate
yet
creating more violence
is not the answer
and only leads
to the cycle of war.
my love shines on you
a spiritual exchange
desire shines on me
give yourself to me
you can have anything you want
except your freedom
Words are the tools of my trade
a carpenter choses to use wood
with which great things he makes
my choice will always be words
Just like an artist, a picture I make
instead of using paint, just like
a bricklayer lays bricks in line
I make lines by using only words
Words are the tools of my trade
an engineer works making an engine
each part he adds as he builds it up
yet with words I tell how its done
words are so powerful in what they convey
they cover such a range held back only by our
imaginations, that, which inspires our pens
to write and to hopefully enthrall the reader
Kissing her lover beneath sitka tree,
the Alaskan Sunset yawns languidly.
She knows her beauty beguiles in our dreams;
she's also Mistress of Magical Memes.
Bored with her lovely and rapturous charm.
Oft must be beautiful or cause alarm.
Reasoned, if she and Night traded places,
Extra great treat to wear brand new faces!
Together they plotted, this will be fun!
and we'll manage to baffle everyone!
Well before dappled dusk, their dance began:
day became midnight, according to plan.
Scared, people screamed and ran off in terror
Sunset thought, arghh, this could be an error.
She yelled to night, go back and wait awhile!
who said, leave Greatest Time is not my style!
Sunset thought, what a childish man I chose;
I must bring day, like a song, to a close.
Cloudy whispers becoming breathless hues,
while, beneath sitka, Sunset sings the blues.
May 18, 2023
for Sitka Sunset poetry contest
by Craig Cornish
Everyday is market day
But I rarely come your way
I have a glimpse of what you have at bay
They glow and glitter from your better ray
And so I will never want to delay
But hurry in ways come what may
And reach your trademark everyday
Let’s trade
When I look round, round and around…
Before we trade I hear this sound
That you will turn my life around
And so I walk right in your compound
Hoping to find all and be found
I’d like to trade on a sober ground
To give you my all that’s less profound
I’ll give them to you in pounds after a pound
So, let’s trade
For sure, I’ve been so afraid
Afraid to face my fears and trade
With you I’ll get more than a fair trade
Coz what I see on your side are a quality grade
All that you alone have wonderfully made
Give me that sufficient grace in wider spade
And a whole shelf of love that doesn’t fade
Yes, yes, yes I will have them paid
Carry them along, alone without a maid
Because that’s all that Your Word has said
Let’s trade
I stand right in front of you with this- garbage
It is my burden that you engaged in gauge
You see how heavy it is for my age
And that’s why I open this brand new page
To capture and record this trade’s advantage
You hawk and shout out loud God’s real image
How nice does that now fit my innocent age
I am just to stop this kind of camouflage
To evade this cage that is coiled within an orphanage
My all life on my own I can’t and wouldn’t manage
So come and help me offload this long, long luggage
And promise me that you will uphold your old adage
Let’s trade
I take Your joy take my pain, let’s trade
Give me Your eyes take mine, let’s trade
Handle my hunger with Your word, let’s trade
Just lift me up when I’m down, let’s trade
Dry my tears when I’m crying, let’s trade
I give You my darkness for your light, let’s trade
In my weakness my Jesus show me strength, let’s trade
I cast my burdens and cares, let’s trade
I give You my all for Your joy, let’s trade
I lay my all at your feet, let’s trade
Let’s trade, let’s trade, let’s trade…
Angels cry and so can't fly
when thoughts of love stir above.
And though desire burns like fire;
its flames are subdued by shame.
Veiled in fear, love draws a tear;
till crying eyes wet the skies.
So Angels cry, and tears flow;
as their pain morphs into rain.
Sad dreams, evoking extremes,
levies a toll on their soul.
And Angels cope without hope,
wishing ways to skip such days.
Angels desire touch so much;
dreams garner bliss from a kiss.
And when love starts haunting hearts,
they'd trade their wings to feel things.
It's time for me to do Marriage trade
Is it what some call bride price?
Never mind..I am a merchant so i call it trade
Barter trade system is my best
I give you a living thing for a living thing
Slave for a donkey
I will respect your business language of 'in laws'
Its like mine of the 'by laws'
Since your daughter has all the arms to dig
Legs to walk, eyes to see and a stomach to puppet
Yes
I am interested in this commodity
So!!! let the trade begin...
To be fair
I will take your daughter in exchange for six cows
If you hate cows
I can offer four goats in exchange for each cow
I know goats are somehow stubborn like women
So we can think of hens
Ten hens for each goat WHAT DO YOU THINK?
Or since we have the rats
and you enjoy these edible rats
I can give you 20 rats for each hen and then i take the girl
nice idea, don't you think so?
Don't fight
We are doing trade here
You will be a billionaire
Think about this
I will give you four thousand, eight hundred edible rats
For just one girl who has one head and only two hips
Its a fair deal old folk
Think about a farm of 4,800 edible rats!!
You will be voted the next village chief
For starting some big project around
As your daughter will shake out of her
My slave boys
Who will run my estate for years
see?
/*I wrote this poem with an African picture of 1800,
If you still do this just know you are mad..
Happy women's day*/
my old sports car’s
fun, eye-catching plates
tossed in the trunk of
my new sedan
part of my joy
unrenewed. . . . like
those vanity plates
For Joann Grisetti's
Shanzi Poetry Contest
"Headline news! The rag trade is torn to pieces!
Dolls are strewn across the streets with skirts lifted high.
Headline news! Markets are buzzing with voracious bees;
Stinging for honey, for money to burn. Sly.
May I escort you sir to higher gains? Just feed the slot
Machine coffers with offers of fine dining and lustful desires.
Become bloated and coated, botched and scotched
And drink embers mellow as you repast by the fire!
Suits you sir! That suit should fake them and shake them,
For you look a right toff and in those two tone brogues
None can guess and think anything less of you and your suit
That is pin striped and blue. Welcome to 'Cafe Rogues'.
Are you a gambler sir? Do you place your bets well?
Do you prefer evens or odds or don't you give a sod?
There are no consciences here sir! We'll take your money
And spend it on honey and fine clothes by God!
Paper!paper! Read all about it, headline news!
Dolls are found in alleyways torn to shreds!
Escorts are fattened calves ready for the slaughter!
Suited toff is found dying in Savile Row gutter!
Gambling money spinner wins. Camera closes the shutter.
Red bulb
casts sultry shadow
across the
room
spilling onto the
street
air heavy with
illicit
night scent
rain smog weed and
jack
clinging
along for the ride
blurry eyed
distorted reflection dares you
“look up”
shoes
high with painted toes
pulse quickens
stockinged legs the
pathway to shapely hips and
white lace panties
silk
skims navel and
cups breasts
dark
hair spills
tense anticipation
fear
molten lava veins
palms
sweat
heart pounds in ears
feet carry forward
musty
perfume envelopes and
draws into her
realm
cash binds
the deal
one night of
passion
for your
probity