Long Clientele Poems
Long Clientele Poems. Below are the most popular long Clientele by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Clientele poems by poem length and keyword.
The quick fix had worked so
She slipped the needle away,
Her little liquid friend that helped
Through each long working day.
A toot of the horn told her
He’s out there with her lift
For her to work the punters
From the pub leaving shift.
Only a whore they said
When the body was found,
A battered shop mannequin
Lying on waste ground.
With their numbers cut the
Police couldn’t do much more
And, as the papers had said,
She was only a whore.
Somebody said there
Was a child somewhere
Quietly and efficiently
Taken into care.
Three girls at the funeral
Hardly a significant memoriam
Then she was ushered off
To the local crematorium.
A cup of tea in a cafe
In memory of a working mate
Quickly slurped down as
The afternoon was getting late,
The girls went back to work:
With their habits to feed
Any fear they may have felt
Overcome by addiction’s need.
Not high class call girls
With upper class clientele
Just a poor exploited women
With only one thing to sell.
So, Austerity still rules,
Unfair decisions are made,
And poor women are still driven
To the rough end of the trade.
I've seen them come
I've seen them go
I've seen the needle
Take another soul
I've seen the vacuum
I've seen the hole
I've seen things
I'd rather not know
I've seen them beg
I've seen them cry
I've seen them lose
I've seen them die
I've seen broken mothers
Wonder why
I've seen it all
Through tear-filled eyes
I've seen the needle
I've seen the cost
I've seen it all
Through thickened walls
I've seen men when
They take the fall
Get up again
Then do more
I've seen them do
Without a doubt
I've seen them cut
Their clientele
Treat them worse
Then they would a dog
Send them to hell
With Fentanyl
I've seen them come
I've seen them go
I've seen them beg
For another dose
And when there's nothing
Left to own
I've seen them die
All alone
Cowardly this loathsome fellow
In old west they’d call him yellow
I guess that was his biggest flaw
Jealous greater than Othello
He wanted more, the more he saw
Hauling around his gaping jaw
What’s to come of this man of greed
Lied until his scruples were raw
He stole from innocents in need
It would run green if he did bleed
So a deal with the devil struck
To warnings he refused to heed
After years of passing the buck
It seems this man ran out of luck
His broker dragged him down to hell
One more trade up a sleeve to pluck
Scamming incoming clientele
He found a job he could do well
Now he is Satan’s man in charge
Of telemarket personnel
People often say now I understand
When they hear that I'm from Paree
Not Gay Paree silly, but redneck
In the heart of Tennessee
I am the newest style of hairdressers
Here to lay out all the facts
I no longer work on the tops of heads
But straight out of the pits
It all happened when I got bored
With the every day to day
Trimming of the head left me feeling dead
That's when it hit me..."Underarm Braid"
That right there was my life saver
That right there was my turn around
If it didn't make me world famous
At least it did on this side of town
Now people come from as far as Nashville
To have their underarms done
I even gave a left and right pit Mohawk
To the Governor's daughter and son
What? Did you think I only braided?
There's so much more that I can do
Just ask the Punk Rock Chick's that wait in line
To have their armpits colored blue
My older clientele have let there hair grow out
Since it is they learned
I'm now specializing in for both women and men
Their favorite sets and perms
So feel the freedom of the pits
That hippie chicks have long since known
Here at Michael's Salon Of Pits
We'll do something special with that growth
When she was three, my daughter got a doll
and took her to bed with her every night.
And she'd rarely leave it out of her sight,
they were inseparable, I recall.
Around five, she named her doll Annabel
and would host tea parties for her best friend.
But only they were allowed to attend,
an elite and selective clientele.
When she became a teenager, she placed
Annabel, on a shelf in her bedroom.
But she kept moving her to make more room,
and eventually, she was misplaced.
One day I was cleaning out the attic,
and I found Annabel in an old trunk.
And I rescued her from that trunk of junk,
knowing my daughter would be ecstatic.
My daughter was so overjoyed to see
her lost doll Annabel; she held back tears.
And to see them together after years
of separation was touching for me.
It might stress me a little, but not much, to speak of these;
But not bother me near as badly as a nest of stinging bees.
But I hasten to say that the need to share them with you is a must.
And I must say that I am much pleased that I did not wait until their rust.
In my mid-teens, I built a small business with neighbors by mowing lawns.
On the farm, my business was better than hard, long hours under the sun.
The most accounts I had were three customers, and one was a family doctor.
Each of them created a lasting memory that has served me well, enabling me
to discern and understand people. Some people are strong and able, kind and compassionate; many are socially weak and feeble, as well as indifferent and spiritually disabled; some other mortals are loving and seem to be overwhelmingly determined to convince one that 'he belongs'. Such were the three character make-ups of my clientele.
The doctor was able, compassionate, and strong. The teacher was partial, pretentious, and secretive of her true self. And the retired couple were most kind, hospitable, compassionate, and loving. This couple struck a lasting and unforgettable match in my soul. The torch of their character forever burns.
No, I was not in search of certain characters and views of people.
However, while a teen, I met and discerned a variant make-up of people; and I am grateful that my life has intertwined with the best of all three types.
083121PS
I remember when I was a little younger I was thirty-one I was self-employed had my own business But being a child of God I choose to allow my thought process to change being a servicer clientele customers car dealerships a small businessman a mom and pop shop the business I inherited from my dad he had died so now his job was mine
So searching soul searching like any former marketing inflation is the enemy of the people higher prices hurt their already empty pockets so to minimize the law I too had to be practical higher cost s for my supplies I too felt I had to raise my prices that I charge the business start automotive dealership a small price increase and when I verbally told my client this he cheesely looked me in my eyes and my face and he said no way no thank you he bladedly treated me like a child so he said telling me what I can't and cannot do almost borderline un professional with The surety he was telling me a private self-employed business owner that I could not and would not raise my prices that I charge for his to his bigger business so I left his office the office of the used car manager and like the vehicles that I service that I drive away I opened my eyes and closed my mouth I walked then drove away later that day been the quietness I listened I witnessed I thought about it I sat down at my little office and I wrote I typed up a proposal it was a detailed professional invoice a short detailed description of my services I increase an increase yes indeed though my approach at first was nice and admirable and his approach was borderline vulgar openly disrespectful again I say I walked away got in my car I took the high road you know sometimes silence is golden so I as I mailed submitted my new proposal inking paper at my dismay I typed up a new invoice for the weekly pay into my surprise not really though on the weekly check from all that I did that week my price increase was okay sometime you need to let your voice be silent sometimes just get out of the flood need to take the high road -this is when I took the highroad
10/24/21
FOR THE HIGH ROAD POETRY CONTEST
Sponsored by : Regina McIntosh
A box made of cardboard with nothing inside
Came from a shop where white-goods are supplied
The high street still busy but less than before
When I used to manage the furniture store
The shoppers are rushing to spend lots of cash
They're choosing gifts hoping their choices aren’t rash
The street lamps are lighting as dusk rears its head
And queues in the take-outs await to be fed
Folk rushing now to be home with their kin
Where cosy and warm they will lock themselves in
The pub opens up for its late clientele
I’d go there each evening and lunchtime as well
Crowds thinning out as the cold starts to bite
And my box made of cardboard is home for the night
I sit on the terrace
Of Le Cafe du Coeur
The morning sun, bringing subtle rays of hope
To this otherwise dull moment
I sip mon cafe, dreaming of others
And other times
Fine linen paper, pen in hand
The loneliest poem in all the land
The words flow, ink to paper
One line at a time
They sing of thoughts
Emotions long drained, other times
It is time for a walk to nowhere
Along the banks of a river with no name
I leave the cafe table, a cafe with no fame
I left the poem, with empty glass, alone
There sits this poem, written for no one
On a table, in quiet solitude
Waiting for the next clientele to arrive
The waiter clears the empty glass, no more…
She sits, alone, the day begun
Her life a mystery to us all
As she sees this paper of fine linen
With words, so elegantly scrawled
The waiter with espresso in hand, smiles
As she reads a strangers words
They speak to the very desires of her heart
They tell her who she is
This sunny day turns to rain
As her tears wash the table cloth
She weeps
For finally, she knows
Who she desires
A poet with no name
At last my secret's out – now I can sit and write a spell.
An author fashions means of flight for dormant clientele.
Away to lofty heights of thought...an album, shall I write,
an album crowded full of poems, senses to incite?
An aspiration presupposes gutsy derring-do
and any dreamer worth his charm will ponder déjà vu.
Ambition is the trying out of things that aren't the norm.
Adventure called my name but duty sounded its alarm.
Awaiting dreams for work at hand was not an easy climb;
appointed answer to my quest, retirement came with time.
Alas! small hope I do fulfill, yet even while I pen;
as adolescent dreams are met, I ask, what might have been?