Scattered in a thousand clouds
The grey sky hangs low
What’s the scoop they talk about
I don’t want to know
Off I go to buy some food
Shop’s across the street
Their ready-mades are good
And the wine is neat
May the rich relax and sip
Their brut champagne
May the poor people sleep
In the pouring rain
Take it as it comes they say
But the wind blows cold
Colder than the other day
When I tried to call
Heard the sound of the bell
Ringing in my ears
You might feeling not too well
After all these years.
My skeleton was in the shop.
Fell apart like a chewed up lollipop.
All I have are globs of brains in a bowl.
And eyeballs tearing up as the dry air takes a toll.
Without a skeleton I’m not much at all.
My tendons fell out in the bathroom stall.
I need a shoulder blade for my bag to hang onto.
But muscles without bones have nothing to do.
When I went to pick up my skeleton that day.
I figured they would want their pay.
But I left my bag with my wallet behind.
And the shop owner was not very kind…
He said to pick a bone I didn’t care for.
To pay for the skeleton repairing chore.
So I walked out with most of my bones clacking.
Still I felt some lacking.
I couldn’t speak when I answered the phone.
I guess I shouldn’t have traded my hyoid bone…
coffee
made to order
steaming hot or cold brew
she's there to please her customers
stop in
Engaging The Senses - Sight, Sound, Smell, Touch, Taste
Sound
I walk with white a cane where valley life is breathing,
The water showers near the shop, soft, soothing,
Children’s laughter drifts from far, sweet and teasing,
While rickshaw horns crash loud like a storm seizing.
Smell
BBQ smoke and chai rise warm from stalls nearby,
Rain wakes the earth, and tea steam meets the sky,
Lily and jasmine bloom where flowers softly lie,
Their scent recalls her name I cannot let die.
Touch
My fingers read the world that eyes cannot see,
Silk on my palm moves slow as worms on a tree,
I shape the clay and feel each curve carefully,
So every hidden detail speaks to me.
Taste
I sit where coffee dreams were broken long ago,
Naan khatai with tea tastes like clouds in rain’s flow,
Cold tea has lost its warmth, like past tastes I know,
Yet this bazaar keeps all the days I won’t let go.
Sight
At my craft desk I build her face from touch and breath,
My inner sight sees clear beyond the night of death,
I mold the love I lost, defying silent death,
And hope one day she’ll see what my hands bequeath.
In the gift shop of the Met*
I watch to see what people get.
The kids are mostly drawn to toys,
With Lego building sets for boys
And for the girls, a teddy bear
Or other stuffies which compare.
Women look at mugs or tees
Or jewelry, all kinds to please,
While men check hats or socks or ties,
No need to bother with a size.
For everyone within the store,
Of course, they’re selling books galore.
There, naturally, are art supplies -
In a museum, no surprise.
On offer are pastels and clay,
Plus paints and pencils on display.
A scarf collection caught my eye,
But mostly I’ll give in and buy
When I’m a tourist; then the urge
For souvenirs will let me splurge.
*Metropolitan Museum of Art, NYC
It has been too hot to thrive
it has been too hot to drive
too hot to feel cool
weather fit for a pool
been frying eggs on the walk
ground dry as old chalk
but today something is new
cooler weather long overdue
I think up six excuses more
to not go shopping in a store
Prime has completely spoiled me
I shop in front of my TV
too cold to go outside today
I stay inside, where I like to play
I used to be a fox,
a fox that drank tea,
Too much tea,
a cup every day,
a couple every night,
But after countless years,
I one day choose to share my tea,
and that day I made so many friends,
so many friends I opened a tea shop,
and the smiles of my customers,
were just so endearing,
so I felt happy.
my tea shop will always be open,
to the lost,
to the sad,
even to those who wish to drink.
-Kitsuko Dragonstar
There was a shop that sold goodwill
But someone went and robbed the till
Refilling all the shelves with hate
Leaving customers to a terrible fate.
Their compulsion to shop went on and on
But what they bought proved to be wrong
Instead of what they wanted or sought
They ended up with a maleficent item bought.
So instead of a desire to live
A sense of hopelessness did they give
To their children and those they love
Such bitter fruits come not from above.
We need a discount sale on love and compassion
To stop our aching hearts a-crashin’
On the jagged rocks of despair
But does anyone really care?
Enchanting garden grounds
Jasmine, flora, and avion exotica
Zeal unbounds
Budding blooms loomed
graphic epiphanous mecca
Gifts groomed
Frond blades
Palmed Areca
shades
Enchanting garden grounds
graphic epiphanous mecca
shades
our mouths open wide the minute we hit the beauty shop chair
Does not matter why or how we want the cut of our hair
We are here to gossip, tell stories, have an audience of one
If a beautician wants to talk herself, she takes away our fun
We try not to get the male clinician, for he likes to talk about himself
Not him, I whisper to the receptionist as he reaches high upon a shelf.
Most of us avoid him like the clap, for we are here to be listened too.
It is a perk of course to leave with a lovely hairdo and shampoo.
In the shop window's reflection
There are days when it becomes
A dust of time holds no apprehension
There was a time before I was born
I had no existence, and in time, I will
continue doing so and erase
I have lived a life of fear and ignorance
In a world that has no meaning
scurries on headless to place, fit for
the heartless, I tried not to be do
to a sense of ill-fitting guilt
The long silence to come will not
unwelcomed by a disappointed life
Sitting inside a local coffee shop,
Just a brown-haired girl with glasses and a book.
Sitting alone, hands wrapped around an ivory-colored mug filled to the top with piping hot coffee. Her brown eyes watched the wisps of steam rolling off her coffee, slowly disappearing into nothingness.
The coffee shop was her getaway.
That comforting scent of fresh coffee beans with a hint of vanilla.
The music melting into your soul, indie music engulfed the room.
Closing her eyes, taking in the soothing moment to keep under lock and key in her memories.
With each sip of coffee, this moment was engraved into her memory for life.
i took them in
amongst a pile of other glittering monstrosities
the low-pitched liquid consonants
behind the counter thanked me
and i ran for the doors
really went for it
a year went by and they were there
next to Auden and Pam Ayres
Berryman & Betjeman just down the road
what madness i thought on the way home
and two months later i was in bed, in the dark
listening to the large repertory of Carmen
its immortality is assured by the deft harmonies
and perfectly judged orchestration
like my collections in the charity shop
covered in dust
and high levels of vehicular dredge microwaves
waiting for the apocalypse
People. Shop Assistants too. Yes
I love them. I was a shop worker
Many years ago. Hmm. Nice time
Yes. This is a beautiful job. A style
Sometimes they are tired in the morning
I can understand them. I give them my smile
This is my style. Loving the people
They are reflecting on me. Hmm. Guys
Good to give happy feelings. Totally free
I am a lover. Of life. You love. Be kind
Mine
Get love
For
Smile
To
the
Shop Assistants
Hmm
I love them
Were you saved
from yourself
before first being born
Form without
matter
praise without scorn
Were you part
of the promise
not taking the vow
When time
was a servant
not death on the prowl
Did life stay
unbidden
when freedom was free
As daylight
till dusk
no I’s came to be
Did morning
chase daylight
unable to stop
The evening
and twilight
on sale to be bought
As the first step
was taken
the second disowned
The first cut
the deepest
— with nothing on loan
(The New Room: September, 2025)
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