Long Shops Poems
Long Shops Poems. Below are the most popular long Shops by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shops poems by poem length and keyword.
I remember you happiness
through the early aroma
of grinded coffee beans
wafting gently from
the coffee corner shop
I remember you through
the freshly bread 'scent
from the baker's sour rising yeast.
I remember you through
musicians playing in piazas
through the buzzling sounds
of the city's cobbled alleys and streets
Through the children's laughter
running to ice-cream parlours,
Tourists in front of Cathedrals
Old people chit-chatting on benches
on a mid-springtime breeze .
I remember you happiness
through the eyes of new couples
strolling hand -in -hand by a sandy beach
Through the Sunday Mass and priest on the altar
Through morning picnic'gatherings
of relatives ,our dogs,and families.
I remember you happiness through
yachts birthing at the grand harbour
through aeroplanes landing in foreign lands
through moments of Birthdays and Weddings
A dinner shared with our closest friends.
Today Coffee Shops are empty
Restaurants are closed
Our island is a ghost town
How long this story goes?
Today I hear no airplanes'sounds
The yachts not to be seen
Cathedrals,Churches closed
Yet I pray on my knees.
Today there are no tourists here
All children are inside
This Covid 19 desease
is worst than and Boogey-men
It killed our people
Placed tears within our eyes
Today the only way to see my friends
is virtually on skyoe
My mothet's hug I'm to resist
So She remains alive
Today the world's a scary place
But together we will fight
With faith ,with love,
Determined like our ancestors
We leave this page behind.
Tomorrow there's a rainbow
Till then we have the rain
In rain's a silver -lining
From each loss there are lessons
Lessons we're to gain.
To appreciate our loved ones
Our island and this world
Together we will make it
This evil beast will end.
I may be just a hat but from way up here I can see
that she has her clothes hung up like little soldiers
ready for service at the drop of a hat
As I tilt my linen peonies and squint in her closet
I see a mish mash of flowery designs and I cringe
She shops at the thrifty store down the road
and I can see she favors cotton for it can breathe easy
and her favorite colors are blue and sea green.
The scent of her peppermint halo clings to her clothes
like a tight fitting slip, that I know she doesn't wear.
So many shrugs and so many t shirts, oh my oh my !
The one think I have noticed from my privileged point of view
it that she owns no black. She thinks its for funerals,
so she opts for vibrant colors and her favorite, is red.
I know I am being biased because I'm her favorite hat
and happen to be red but I must admit she wears me well !
Love it when she picks me up and places me on her head,
like I were the cat's meow. When she faces the mirror
and says, " When I wear you hat, I feel like I'm being me"
a peel of her laughter follows. Each time she tilts me up
towards the sun I must agree, she is who she says she is,
a free spirit who loves life, to the fullest.
DISCLAIMER: This is a tongue-in-cheek, sardonic critique
of my own poetry from the perspective of a fictitious non poetry lover. This is not aimed at any of you wonderful Soup poets... please do not be offended!
Tell me who has the time for a poem?
If there's facts to know, I want to know 'em.
You enjoy sounding Ivory Tower-y
But I don't care for words super flowery.
Your analogies and your hyperbole
Like intense gnats annoy me disturbally
I will catch all your facts as you throw 'em
But I just don't have time for your poem.
All astonishing alliterations
Will arouse in me no titillations
Your undue fascination with meter
Is not shared by this philistine reader.
Your iambic pentameter’s boring
And induces in me rhythmic snoring
You may claim it’s Shakespearean rhythm;
But perhaps we should bury it with him!
Your obtuse meta narrative's yet a bore
Please remind again, what's your meta for?
Your insipid attempts to use simile
Are like choking on smoke from my chimile.
Your pursuit of profound allegory
Should be saved for your purple prose story
But as I've said before, I've no time
To be reading your 4-stanza rhyme.
Should you give me a gift of a sonnet
I’ll be scanning for pawn shops to pawn it
Though you say if I tried hard, I'd love it
What I'd love most is if you'd just shove it!
Reading poetry takes too much work
And I'm only a mid-level clerk.
Your quatrains? I suggest you forego 'em
'Cause I just don't have time for your poem.
sweat shops exist all over the world
they are crowded factories
with poor working conditions
big name brands wanting to cut cost
contract these sweat shops
to make fast trend fashions
jeans, shoes, bags, and so much more
they exist in every country in this world
we hear a lot about factories
in places like China, Indonesian
Korea, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka etc, etc
they even exist in USA
the land of the free Canada
and I imagine the wages in "civilized"
countries are a bit better but still not very good
the workers receive insufficient wages
that do not even meet basic needs
in many cases there is child labour
there are no benefits
with long hours with no extra payment
you have seen the images
workers bent over sewing machines
in huge factories their children at their feet
what the pictures don't show
is the exhaustion to survive on each face
imagine making 3 cents per hour
and working 14-16 hours a day
everyday of your life just to have some money
or paid 2- 6 cents per piece
and working 60 to 70 hours a week
these factories even use
human trafficking as labor
perhaps think about that the next
time you buy some new clothes
from well known brands
and it does not stop with clothing
shoes and bags, it is much more than that
_____________________
February 10, 2022
Poetry/Free Verse/the sweat shop plague
Copyright Protected, ID 02-1429-244-10
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, The Sweat Shop
sponsor, Kai Michael Neumann, Judged 03/05/2022
You Need to Come to Spindale
By Franklin Price
12/6/2016
You need to come to Spindale
To see what offshore jobs can do
Closed down all the textile mills
And brought in nothing new
Sent the jobs to other lands
To make the rich a little more
While leaving loyal workers
No cash for the grocery store
Mom's and pops shut down their shops
No need to have them there
While the rich man buys another house
With the extra money, that seems fair
The railroad gone, that came through town
Heard no more its whistle's sound
Replaced by a new jogging path
For the unemployed who are around
We suffer in silence yet our hearts bleed out loud
We hope our hearts, keep our feelings sealed yet our eyes reveal what our heart tried to conceal
We Fight for Strength
We Battle for Bravery
We clutch our hearts and threaten to die for the pain that builds inside
To say we miss you would be a lie, for that in itself is an understatement
We feel emptiness creep upon our souls, as winter does an autumn tree
We are like flowers waiting to bloom, like a light bulb in a dark room
We stand still in different places waiting.....
We wait for your sweet kisses to clear away fallen tears
To hear you call to tattle on your little sister for beating you up.
Or just to say "I Love you Mom, and I miss you."
To hear you say "Hey dipstick" (a crazy nickname you gave me).
To listen to you go on and on just to say "Alex these girls be crazy."
We watch for your shadow to emerge as you walk about in our shops to chew da fat with Dad, and listen as he gives words of encouragement and wisdom
You spread your love like birds in flight
You flashed those pearls and made everything bright
To countless you touched for many called you family
But, to us you were our HEART, the missing link to our jig saw puzzle
Your presence was made, Your absence is surely missed
SLEEP WELL EL NINO
O The Pestilence ripens in the fields
as pest harvests the shops and till
Harvesting of diminished yields
To !REAL CONSPIRACY!
Sovereignty-PIRACY, tips the scales of justice,
feilty, unity, irony
A question mark with its answer
Written on the wall with pen of blood
and filth of ashened wills
and cheaply boughten thrills
Civil Wars and silencing to seal the deal
O Self Righteous Mew Martyred Lost
unto
Dragons breath, and the
Crows counting the cost
Line by line
into perdition we go
Design upon design our Statement
of Mission creep O Ord
Bony fingers, Blood Drawing Board
Like Moths to a drain
Of
Energy
Of misconceived pipings; O synergy;
creams never veined
Of suave salves,
dealings of those that have only vain,
not the have nots but
Hearth-wicked flames
Unwritten names
half hooved of Thoth-Baphomet and the
Long-Toothed of his stage
The storm born, they,
Catching mud in your eye
Rebirthed, stalled, aborted by skanky sway,
mucked dry
Are we rebirthed anew, awry
Eating our own tale of condensation
A trail of compensation trys
O The Pestilence ripens in the fields
as pest harvests the till
of diminished yields
To !REAL CONSPIRACY!
tipping the scales of justice,
feilty
The Treacherous Dealer deals Treacherously
Swat at your reality again,
Shew it away, once upon a dream
Fly off the handle,
do not debate rationality
Buzz in the garbage of backalley deeds,
lift up your back wings
Carrion to 1984 vid-19
Green screen
transitioning-to the scheme
Tampered, temper in lock step fashion
"we won't remember"
Country by Country,
seamless as its been, lock, stock and barrel
full of fun, funk, funking, really?!
SINS
O Unanimous consent!
Magnanimous, calamitous,
NO surrender NO repent!
Some people are smarter than others,
While others are better at sports
And then there are those
Who own all the right clothes
Or whose homes look like fancy resorts.
Some people have talents like singing
Or playing an instrument well,
While others are skilled
Making crafts that have filled
Shops and sites where such items will sell.
Some people reach out to help others
And know how to listen and care,
While others explore,
Always looking for more -
Seeking answers for problems we share.
Some people choose lives very simple,
Without any goals to achieve,
For the playing field’s not
One that’s equal, so what
We become’s tied to what we receive.
Summer lay lazily over the land.
The languid weight of wind and water
bowing tree limbs, chasing sand
squalls over sidewalks.
Cyclist meander down aisles
of Rose of Sharon shrubbery past
banks of day lilies and Pez-purple
hydrangeas.
Tourist, colorful as the flowers,
buzz through seaside shops in flip flops
the color of Necco wafers.
Their gummy soles making sucking
sounds upon the linoleum.
In gingerbread slumber like fairy-tale children,
they gather in pink, lime-green, and purple houses.
The poor of a Christian God have become
the rich of a capitalist nation.
They hoard their paper-lantern dream.
It makes a heart glad to know
there are still, small country towns
like Woodford, where homes
with large old trees,
sit scattered between small shops
and local businesses
To think the spirit of Elvis exists
in a greengrocers’, called, “Grapelands.”
‘Elvis Parsley’ swivelling his hips
amongst the carrots and parsnips
imitating “Blue Suede Shoes."
I select a punnet of strawberries
as a smile slips out at the absurdity,
of how, some live out their fantasies
“Blue blue “…you can do anything
I cross the street to check out
a “Second-hand” furniture store.
It is closed so I cup my hands
and peer through the window.
A group of old, store mannequins
piques my interest, draped in 50’s fashions
It seems like a time warp, as there
are no opening hours posted on the door.
I wonder if the mannequins
are an eccentric collection,
or, if they were for sale,
which one, I would buy,
The one, with eyes, demurely cast down,
or, the arm-less one,
looking enviously past her
Back on the street, I inhale sun-warmed earth,
as I walk past a garden’s bright picket fence.
A shiny black crow flaps up, startled.
Suddenly I smell, what the scent of home
is like, for someone else.
For My Kind of Town Contest
Janis Thompson