Long Retail Poems
Long Retail Poems. Below are the most popular long Retail by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Retail poems by poem length and keyword.
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There once was a squirrel who wanted to be a bunny,
He dyed Easter eggs pastel and, oh so yummy.
His name was Eddie, quick as DoorDash*
And wore pink fluffy ears quite brash.
He hopped around, called himself Sunny.
But his hops proved a farcical fail,
His acrobatics turned tails pale~
He stored nuts in his cheeks,
And developed a twitchy mystique.
‘cause he drank too much Easter-themed ale!
*DoorDash is an online food delivery service that allows customers to order meals from local restaurants through its app or website, with drivers delivering the food directly to their location. It also offers additional services like grocery and retail delivery.(Source: Wikipedia.com)
I want to have a go at the retail business but I just don’t know where to begin, I have the concept planted in my head and a plan that runs on a straight line leading from main to the divine.
There is a tree that is lying on its path anD it only comes out in the dark it lies quietly across the tracks and if you go near it, it will snap, bites and throw bottles at you.
It will knock the door and toss things on the floor how much longer must one endure the fury of this age old infrastructure,
It has broken tracks and has committed terrible sins, it has the conman’s spirit and a self-centered habit, it treats you with disdain and everything you do is in vain how long will it remain on the track? Nature will decide that when the angels gather at river at the end of the day.
I heard a strange knocking in the middle of the sky and watched the universe scattering fragrance over the old woman bed as she runs with the burden of death.
With eyes open wide she holds the crucifix in her hand and utter the final song. "It is well with my soul.” She slouched over on the bed and her journey came to a quiet end.
The rover rolls silently in space spreading the remnant of dust all over the place, the earth with all its misgiving collects the dust to atone for the heathen sins.
The coroners were at hand to tell the family that he was sorry and there was nothing that he could do to save the old woman shoe at age ninety-two the old woman finally kicked off her shoe and the coroners drape white linen over her face and wrapped the body tightly and take it to the crimination cemetery.
The track was finally cleared and money was released to work on the track again. A private company came in and replaces the dollars for their sins. Everyone could travel everywhere and the markets were open far and near.
The retail vision came alive and I finally got the resources to start a new company to keep everyone alive.
It started long ago
As CDs in the car
Overtime hours spent in a retail store
A gift on a date, kept on an old dresser
The idea we are all connected in some way.
From my father and my older brother
In the car rides then, I learned
Why my ideas were foiled
Learning to hate myself in a therapeutic way
A gift from them, to keep in my mind
On my unstable shelf, in my pocket
Keeping me in contact with my brothers
However far apart, we share lines; they’d make me smile
It can bring me relief, a wilted rose,
Abstract art. My parents saw
Tin foil boats in the bathroom sink, they held
Together above the clear ocean
Searching for the porcelain shore
Holding the cargo of our dreams, overweight
Mine drifting far apart from the rest
Vessels that sank with time.
Into the ocean it drove me
Beyond the depths where the sun can’t grasp
But I found them, I returned to them on land
They hand me their CD; inside is their promise.
It’s cheap tickets, that I can come back home,
It’s hearing my family beyond my room
Wondering if their legacy is safe with me
I learned on my ride home to show my
Inner glow, cut deep drilled
Sorrow with their razor blade, but
Am I porcelain, or just the clay I had lost in the fire.
Past the heat, molding the remnants
Of the foil beside my mind
Reminding me of my parents, their embrace
My everlasting friends, telling me
“I hope you're happy.”
Sixth graders have had the unit on careers. I have introduced hundreds of them today.
We have had guest speakers up the yin-yang, and down the other side of the room
I am confident they know about accountants, musicians, retail, yoga, from career day.
They know about space camp, astronauts, astronomy, bakers, chefs, and things that zoom.
We have been introduced to pharmacists, doctors, lawyers, and a hospital chief.
I spent hours getting people to the event, and I mean over fifty speakers this week.
So it is with great disbelief that I tell you what happened afterwards that gave me grief
When the sixty-graders shared what career they had decided on, giving me a peek….
U-tuber, influencer u-tuber, influencer, influencer, u-tuber, u-tuber, influencer, doctor maybe.
Doctor maybe! I was excited for a second, maybe this child had broken the pattern of idiocy.
U-tuber, u-tuber, u-tuber, influencer, influencer, how much more discouraging could this be?
U-tuber influencer means they do not have any post-secondary education, you see.
They are both the same uneducated career, and truly no career, which they think is stube.
The children of today do not want to work hard for their money, ‘cause…..
They expect to be able to buy a house for their parents by talking on u-tube
Am I kidding? Seriously, I truly and utterly wish I was.
Working night shift out on the retail floor,
stocking cans and boxes till her back’s broke.
Trying to live on minimum wage,
eating PB and J and drinking generic coke.
Cashiering all day at the fast-food joint,
collecting tips to try to make ends meet.
A big fake smile on her make up covered face,
blisters the size of quarters on her feet.
Watching TV without cable,
talking on a phone that still has a chord.
Growing a tire around her middle,
because pasta and potatoes is all she can afford.
Walk to work cause her car won’t start,
sure as Hell can’t buy both food and gas.
So when the man says he’ll make America Great,
she says that he can just kiss her ass.
Stress!
Knows no laws
A violation of order
A surprise generation
A sudden application
To go to Hell
Stress an emotion
No virus infection
Come,possible prevention
No cure going destruction
Stress like a business
Buying and selling tradition
In retail and wholesale editions
In day to day engagements
Stress a difficult management
Paving way for disappointment
Some sort of weakness
Some where loneliness
Person to person
Season to season
Going stress,no reasons
Patients hard pressed
With medicine high priced
Able to disable
Haves to have nots
Rich to poor
Learned to laymen
Eating stress raw!
I have never heard my mother express her love for my father.
Perhaps after having seven children, she lacked the energy to articulate those sentiments.
Many women convey their emotions through their unique forms of expression. I find myself questioning whether it was unwise to have loved someone deeply.
I composed a piece reflecting on the relationship between a mother and her sons, encapsulating the journey from birth to the conclusion of his life at the age of twenty-three.
The radiance that once brightened my countenance and the warmth that illuminated my caramel-colored cheeks is now a memory.
The fervent affection he expressed with his lips upon my own—my youthful body, darker than the night—was met with rejection of his desires. I find it challenging to forget the moment he chose to walk away.
As I transitioned into adulthood, I recognized that perhaps the relationship was not destined to flourish. Presently, I maintain a sense of calm, whereas in the past, I was unresponsive to his advances.
The poem I authored remains unpublished; it was not destined to see the light of day, constrained by the vulnerabilities harbored within my delicate heart.
I have observed the relationships of my friends with their partners, often characterized by disconnection and turmoil. Dishonesty, I believe, serves as a detrimental force in any relationship.
Despite my disdain for these dynamics, it is essential to acknowledge that my friends' choices can be misguided. When love and resentment intertwine, one often finds solace in creative expressions through poetry, song, or even retail therapy.
A cocktail waitress named Abigail
Moonlighting as a barmaid serving pale ale
Wore her hair in a pigtail or sometimes in a ponytail
All night long drinking naught but ginger ale
With patrons complaining she was slow as a snail
Her life was far from a fairy tale
She posted bail for a sorry male
Who to no avail, did his best to stay out of jail
When caught again for blackmail with a note in braille
Their affair she finally did curtail
Yesterday she broke a fingernail
Today she suffers from a hangnail
Happened while feeding her pet nightingale
Obviously she’s not fit for work, being so frail
After coffee and picking up her mail
Abigail took a trip on a monorail
Cut her ride short for fear it might derail
Jumped off with retail dreams to shop wholesale
Taking advantage of every Black Friday sale
All day long pleasure over guilt did prevail
AP: 3rd place 2020, Honorable Mention 2025, Front Page Pick 2025
There are places that I have got to go.
I’ve got my tunes cranked on the radio
Playing “Wild Thing” while the kids all sing along.
It may not be a “Magic Carpet Ride”
But it will comfortably seat eight inside.
Well, to heck with what the culture says, I am right where I belong…
I’m the epitome of the macho man!
Got my kids strapped into the mini-van.
All those soccer moms ain’t got a thing on me.
Got it in control. Going just as planned.
Me and my kids in the mini-van.
Gonna hit the park and then get some groceries.
Just a rebel on the open road, that’s me.
There are times we just want to explode.
Got a craving for that open road.
I guess rebellion’s in my bones and in my blood.
I got my “Good Vibrations” going on.
With the windows down it’s all “Fun, Fun, Fun”
And with the stroller and the diaper bag I just look like such a stud…
You can’t put the top down, but that’s all right by me.
I’m just glad to share the ride with my growing family.
I’ll never win a drag race but I don’t really mind.
It gets us where we’re going. We can leave our cares behind…
There are shallow fools that laugh and mock
But the kids all tell me, “Dad, you rock!”
As we carefully observe all the traffic rules.
It’s no motorbike, it’s no pickup truck.
Doesn’t make my ego run amok.
And we laugh at those who look down their nose for we know that we are cool…
Well, I got some news from the lovely wife.
Another little change in my “rebel” life.
Some might disagree, but I think it’s really neat.
So, I pack the kids up and strap them all in.
And we head on down the road again
To the retail store for the coming “one more”! We need a brand new baby seat…
I’m the epitome of the macho man!
Got my kids strapped into the mini-van.
All those soccer moms ain’t got a thing on me.
Got it in control. Going just as planned.
Me and my kids in the mini-van.
Gonna hit the park and then get some groceries.
Just a rebel on the open road, that’s me.
THE STORY OF BLULA MAY…
Oh!, She was so very humble,
She was Blula from the asphalt jungle;
Improvised, trapped in scorn;
Misused unadopted, a captive of ****;
Ghetto-fabulous inching in style;
She was the first runAway child;
In the 70’s she had a man;
His name was Mr. Dan;
A solemn oath she did swear;
As he would blacken her eyes;
This Nubian queen a red bone;
Was positioned on the corner streets, on loan;
In poisoned beaten and thrown…
Did I tell you she was on loan;
When it came to counting the tasks…
Often her dinner was left over trash;
Human trafficking was without cars;
Often she’d glean men from retail stores and late night bars;
One day Blula May decided again to run away.
Inflecting pain on her sleepin john
Far, far, far away did she run, run, run
To a church in revival she did make;
Onto her knees instantly she’d pray O God please take
Take away the bondage
Take away the pains
Free me O God, my Lord
From the savaged sins I’ve did
Cleanse me so, and make me whole
I want to be new again like in my mothers womb
Grant me thy mercies grace, give me another chance
Have mercies on me
So the prayer completed she was amazed as the congregations people with arms hands open
Came running not judging some in tears
For sometimes even when we no better and we sin
God’s open arms yet still provide His will
This the first part of the story of Blula May
8/25/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2019