Long Haggling Poems
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Welcome to the market place of the best in all mankind
buy paintings of imaginings with brushstrokes of the mind.
Words of vivd colour, tapestries of rhyme are shown,
your ears filled with the consonant sound of verses being sewn.
Watch as pots of raw emotion, mixed before your eyes
intelligently kneaded, put aside and left to rise.
Heated with strong passion piping hot straight from the bowl
with floating alphabet croutons to fill your hungry soul.
The Haiku makes a three course meal
and Senryus as well,
Acrostics you'll find satisfying, only for a short spell.
These artisans a hearty bunch, the kind you can rely on,
their aprons used to dry your tears, and
shoulders you can cry on.
The clanging from the wordsmith's forge, as new verses are pressed,
fragrant couplets blossoming, the nectar of the blessed.
A vibrant buzz in alleyways and shadowy secret places,
a warm and friendly welcome to the boatloads of new faces.
No haggling and waving hands, negotiating price,
from ABC to Villanelle it's all free (which is nice).
No chance of meeting Cobras here, so please don't be alarmed,
it's just the meter, rhythm and rhyme that leave customers charmed.
Enjoy yourself, feel free to roam, we're open every day,
there's space here for a stall for you, like us-
you're bound to stay x
Folks say I'm struggling
That I'm old and confused,
They don't see all the haggling
Which leaves them bemused.
My colleagues are wordy
My enemies too,
But my willpower is sturdy
As I'm all for the Blue.
If now a bit slower
Even friends I seem faze,
But post Trump the bar's lower
And that's my fail safe.
The Media's a pain
What's with the shouting,
I shan't play their game
Their continual doubting.
Then there's old Bernie
And his Marxists galore,
With their bone headed journey
To simply point score.
Republicans matter not a bit in my mind
Obstructive and loudly they wail,
But Politics taught to never be kind
So let them act up and sullenly rail.
As to the Trumpers, what can I say
They live in a universe all of their own,
Their partisan anger a cause for dismay
While the stolen election they relive every day.
When all's said and done I'm proud of my job
Obama's on side to bring me relief,
My one secret weapon to quieten the mob
Sharing the load to make my weeks brief.
Every day I wake up to the cacophony
Of a murder of crows cawing on tree tops
As the sun emerges from behind the hills
They take to the skies in one and two,
Sometimes together in unison they fly
Cruise out in air like small boats
Though dark, they are the emissaries of light!
Never in the sky for long,
They land down and glide up shrieking
Flying from hedge to fence
Hopping from mound to plane
These noisy folks remind me
Of the haggling fisher women never silent
Cocking their heads to and fro,
They keep a watchful eye
Everything falls in their eyeshot
Picking up scraps and crumbs
And tit bits from garbage piles
They thrive in gregarious company
With dusk fall, they come back homes
Full of gossip and tales of travel
These ubiquitous birds of all seasons
Are the unpaid scavengers of the Earth!
Sept. 25.2022
A Flock of Birds Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Julia Ward
man cub Mowgli was to life once more,
in our boyish pranks in Kanha Park,
revived memories of Kipling’s lore,
from early dawn until moonless dark.
that joyous kid smiled within our hearts,
as we drove through thick Sal, bamboo trees,
with flowers and fruits in forest marts,
bird species haggling for honey bees.
vast lakes and meadows with grazing deer,
friend langur keeping watch from the top,
gives warning chatter when danger’s near,
alerted cheetal deers prick ears and stop!
winding roads take us deep, deep within,
eyes search for the big elusive king,
a growl, a loud purr, a fearsome grin,
majesty walks, birds hurry to wing.
marvel of stripes on shades of saffron,
he saunters across at his own pace,
no fear, no pressure, not one to run,
God made forest for his holy grace.
nothing dictates his tasks for the day,
he owns it all, forest entire,
jungle folks scatter, make him his way,
his wish their do, their life his desire.
Balu the bear showed up late at night,
rummaging food amongst forest trees,
cloaked black to avoid unwanted fight,
he walked past us to look for bees.
we relived famous tale once again,
boyhood gone, all aged past sixty,
Kanha washed us clean of all life’s strain,
brought happy days, for which we were thirsty.
9 syllables each line
abab rhyme sequence
Inspired after a week in Kanha and Bandhavgarh forests in Madhya Pradesh in India, home to a large number of tigers that we had good fortune to see. This is the setting where Kipling’s Jungle Book is based. You can find all his characters including Kaa the python, Bagheera the leopard, Balu the bear, sher khan the tiger. We were the Mowglis!
What's fresh new delight could you
possibly
Have to offer onto me that I have not
yet had before
Or you have kept from me and
in your locker left
So pretty please now feel free
to go ahead and finish what you
started
Since you have just ever so cleverly
drawn me in and now have my full
undivided attention
As I am now more than a little intrigued to
know what indeed in fact if exactly anything
you have up your sleeve
So go ahead I call and let's see and
find out if you were bluffing after all
And whether or not I myself then have
anything to counter offer you back in
return with
Otherwise haggling then at that point
is positively pointless
As I have no cards left to play and the
only offer left on the table
Is the initial one you made i naively
choose to turn down
Would you take a dollar?
No.
Okay. Thanks.
Would you take a fifty-cent piece?
No.
Okay. Thanks.
Would you take a quarter?
No.
Okay. Thanks.
The haggler has no idea how to haggle really, the
vendor thinks, not realizing she gets more things for
a dollar, a fifty cent piece and a quarter than anyone
else in the world.
The buyer leaves with her dollar intact.
There is another garage sale two houses down, right?
Would you take a dollar?
No.
Okay. Thanks.
Would you take a fifty-cent piece?
No.
Okay. Thanks.
Would you take a quarter?
Yes. Sure.
Thank you very much! I love it!
Form:
I rolled over in bed last night
Nothing stopped me on my way
When I grabbed the other pillow
No other head made it stay
I tugged at the sheets
And they easily came loose
I hoped it was a dream
But I knew it was the truth
I took a nice long, hot shower
No need to conserve the hot water
I knew no one would complain
If I used the talcum powder that I bought her
There was no fighting
For a position in front of the mirror
I didn’t wipe the steam away
I didn’t want to see any clearer
Empty hangers hung in the closet
The shoe tree had shed its leaves
No one was there to guilt me into
Ironing the wrinkles out of my sleeves
I missed the disgusting smell of coffee
While sipping my orange juice
There was no one there to straighten up my tie
So it just hung around my neck loose
There was no haggling over the paper
That I didn’t feel much like reading
All for the want of two small words
I didn’t use to stop the bleeding
You waited a long time for me to say them
They just wouldn’t work their way out
Now only echoes return the words to me
When, “I’m sorry”, I finally shout
I had an obscure feeling when I arrived
But I could not tell what was brewing inside
All around was complete darkness overshadowed
by a radiant glowing light forcing its way from behind
Surely it wasn’t a myth or a parable
They were spoken words written in plain language
positioned in the middle of sky for everyone to comply.
Two angels held a scroll in firm position watching
the deceptive world straining under its conceited weight
gazing steadfastly upon them.
One was weeping the other smiling
and a third moving around in circles
scraping residue from dried up wells.
I could barely make out those words
but the message was an explicit warning
to put away dissension and stabilize the crumbling world
It expressed that God is still in control.
The weeping angel took the scroll and landed on a rock
She dips the scroll in the tainted green sea water and wept
for hours in the middle of the sea on top of the solid rock
she tore up the wet soaked scroll and scattered it into the water.
Suddenly a portion of the sky turned brick red,
Forcing powerful men and women to fled
Heat penetrating their naked skins
melting their arrogance
tormenting their conscience
and pulling every substance from within.
Men haggling over men
women scrambling over women
powers dismantling powers
forcing the oppressors to comply
and throw their filthy garments aside.
The angles have spoken
multitudes of them robed in white raiment
appeared on land exchanging stones for sand.
©2013 Christine Phillips
This is it
I give up
I throw in the towel
I draw the curtains
I pull down the shades
I close the doors shut
Finito
The end;
No more haggling
No more beseeching
No more whining
No more whimpering
I'll call it a day,
Saddle sore
I am heading home
I am out of the race -
Get me off the grid.
World-weary,
Timeworn,
I am done.
Flat-lined
I am pulling the plugs;
I ran the gauntlet
Kaput
Stop the earth
I am getting off -
Sayonara!
I am just circling the drain -
Get me off this hamster wheel,
I am at the end of my tether,
I have just about seen
the last of the sunsets,
No more sunrises for me,
I am sitting fallow,
I am at the end of my rope
I am teetering on the precipice
I am hanging by the skin of my teeth
I am dying on the vine
I am ready to kick the bucket -
Uh...can someone
bring me a bucket please!
Now the sun goes down to rest from its daily shining
How then have you come to an early grave
Passing in a boisterous way from the lip of dawn
Rambling around the God swollen foot .
Wailing, crying and gnashing of teeth prevent not the grave from receiving its dusty guest.
At the shore of Victoria beach,
Here we were, hanging our lyre, pipe, and drums
Shedding tears at the shrouded view of a sandy host
The sea also arose in a sad mood.
Span my days! Full of sadness from its genesis
Mother weep, relatives shed tears, whether that of crocodile – now i know
May be they all want to make an alien a nationale
The dead cry for the dead’
Only time will tell, when the beauty will sleep in abode of unconditional comfort.
Now! I can hear, the song of a songbird
Singing sweetly and softly,
Oh little bird! You are not sad like us
I am neither sad nor lonely
But singing of the last embrace , when the saint are matching on
I am neither sad nor lonely
Rejoicing with the wise travellers that are free of debt the given the account of their individual marketing journey
Cry for Joy! Says oh nightingale
For it is better to respond to the call while the dew is still wet on the grass
With a great welcoming party.
Than to be covered with burning shame at the end of a million lengthen years
In the city of temporal shelter.
Haggling in an empty market, so long , with an empty purchase where time and effort were spent in a flashing memory
Vanity upon vanity