Insecurity..
An agent of persuasion
For a separate one..
All storyland
Of course..
Insecurity names a
Condition which seems
To apply to a character
Who reacts..and
It might be a best-seller!
Hello? Yes, I do have a Ford for sale!
It’s listed on Autotrader today.
There are lots of options, it’s quite upscale,
I can see it from here in my driveway.
Yes, it does have a lot of miles it’s true,
But gosh it’s never ever let us down!
Pardon? It’s a very nice shade of blue,
My wife chose the colour, I preferred brown.
She’s gone now you know, my wife died last year.
I miss her so much, she’s still in my heart…
She was so happy I bought it for her!
What? Oh the Ford? Yes it’s easy to start.
It shines like brand new, it’s washed every day,
It always runs great, and stops on a dime
It’s darn decent with gas on the highway.
I keep it tuned up, it’s still in its prime!
You know what? I think I made a mistake!
I’m hanging up now, of my own accord.
Why would I sell? That car will never break!
My wife would kill me if I sold her Ford!
I side-stepped the chicken seller
I am an observer in these parts
many, many years ago I knew a song
and worked these very streets, alive
singing, selling, when I was him
this one seems to be surviving, hmm…
but like I say, I'm just here now to observe
Every day, the undercover soldier
Used to buy her big balloons
Red, blue, yellow, green, colourful and free
In those lazy afternoons
She let them fly with a smile on her face
Her laughter ringing around
He watched her do that every single day
And yet bought her balloons round
One day, he had to go for his duty
He gave her pink, new balloons
Said goodbye, rushed off to attack the foe
Missile launched from his platoons
His mission, a success, enemy killed
But some civilians died too
Pink balloons floating far away, cries heard
He had murdered her, he knew
He went to see her, that cute little girl
Just to pacify himself
He found her dead, her body strewn about
He could not forgive his self
Resigning his job, balloons, he now sells
But never rose-pink balloons
A little girl's death, heavy on his mind
In dreams, with her, he communes
In every child, he sees her lovely face
Laughing over her balloons
Silent tears flow from his penitent heart
As he sells "flying full moons"
10th Feb 2023
For Anthony Biaanco's "Balloons" contest
What you picked up at the junction
Will end up serving no function,
Mine; The Bold Voice of Lord God’s seer,
Though the message might stab like spear…
Tears for the buyer of fake good,
Who’d seen it and forgot to brood;
Our markets they infiltrate,
More items we adulterate
The products whose cost is dear:
Because they spellbind, no fear!
But not for who questions ask,
Sellers taking to a task
For fake goods we keep longing
And bought: a sense of belonging,
As it radiates fine texture…
Why need I instinct’s lecture?
will never be poor
who in this life,
lives selling smiles... !
Limerick 1 – The sausage seller
I used to know a sausage seller called Franz
Who could never resist a dance
But whenever he was waltzing
Mice were assaulting
And stealing his wurstchen
Whenever he gave them the chance.
I will be a witness to this
To all this bad business
Practice gets lost in the need for money
Quality drops when you question it they act funny
Saying they are right and the customer is the dummy
Are you going to stand or stay for it
Even though you were the one that paid for it
Work hard every day for it
Stand up for yourself don't run away from it
Embrace it face it come face to face with it
So approach the situation like you have a clue
A seller will do anything to make a sale to you. -TA
What's the point of an Ice Cream seller
In the English Summer Weather
If I wanted a Flake in a soggy cone
On a freezing wet day
Id move to Alaska
And feed it to a Seal
Or a Polar Bear
In exchange for a Fish
I could turn into a dish
To warm me up
Instead of making me colder
Than I already am
So many good stories inside and every last one is true
Oh! how my Lord Jesus died this from an insiders view
Daniele's new friend the lion or Lots wife turning to salt
Yeah, I know you're not buying and aren't one to exalt
How 'bout Joseph's amazing journey no the other one
The one who was sold into slavery, in the end he won
And Nebuchadnezzar's dream, and the four empires
This book makes it seem like man is a pack of liars
It said the earth was a sphere, ions before Columbus
Creation is pretty clear I don't understand all the fuss
And remember seven loaves feeding 15,000 people
They followed Him in droves or tossing that temple
Want a good book to read try reading the good Book
It's your soul that has the need to just take another look
Like Moses parting the Red Sea it was God behind it all
If you too really want to be free then just answer His Call
Psalms 33:4
For the word of the LORD is right;
and all his works are done in truth.
A Best Seller
This would make a wonderful song,
When in his arms you always belong
And a great guitar player he now is;
A beat or a note he will never miss.
First song he sang was about me
And how much I was meant to be
While waiting how my heart did beat,
Every time when we both would meet.
Now he has become a happy feller
Because his song is now a best seller
Over every station it has been carried;
He loves me and we are now married.
[email protected]
The Carpet Seller and Dali Lama
The carpet seller in Cascais is tall wears kaftan and his ebony
face looks as a relief of an Egyptian Farao…. Carries his carpets
on his forearm (like an offering) and show to tourists who sit
drinking cold beer at pavement cafes. When they ask how much
he quotes a price impossible high for his worn rugs, to be sure
no one buys because he doesn´t want to sell them. He just like to
walk around, it is his ways, when tired he sits on a bench folds
the rugs on his lap dreamily stroke them and smiles.
Where he goes when it rains I don´t know, perhaps he has got
a room somewhere, a bed, a book shelf and a postcard from
Senegal pinned on the wall. I noticed he wears solid boots as
Dali Lama does when flying around the world meeting famous
people, giggles and says simple things about life and freedom.
The carpet seller is not going home he has become a colourful
part of the townscape, and Dali Lama will not see Tibet again
A female tongue pushes me down from the swing of sleep.
Rain kids rouse the stink of railway track in the dawn.
A long chain of complaints tinkles on her lips.
Worries about her female children at home
rise up like the black smoke from the train.
His liquor reddened half opened eyes gaze
at the life-like-fan – its rotation makes him dizzy.
His sweet brown lady drags him into his duties.
She arranges attractively jasmine garlands
in her basket on the floor of the compartment.
Basket never enjoys the fragrance, but only carries.
First printed in my book, Kanoli Kaleidoscope, by Punkswritepoemspress, US.
The kids are used to sell drugs
To the customers –
What else poor kids can do?
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