Crazy how past
days weighs
heavily on each
raindrop passing
by, as a train
token in the abyss,
it sinks deeper
subconsciously,
i reminisce,
careful thoughts
glide over ice,
paradise is not
enough to suffice
the wreckage
that ensued under
the night sky,
mind afloat
in the flood of
broken hopes,
staying above
not wanting
to drown,
gazing upward,
it persists,
clenching it's fists
it insists
to seek
help through
the mist,
as raindrops
carry time shops
to swap eternity
when it stops.
Something Sweet
I want something sweet
Pestered by my brain
It’s like a recurring tweet
I am trying to refrain
Something sticky like toffee
A gooey dessert of delight
To eat with a cup of coffee
Resisting with all my might
A chocolate bar or wafer
To ease my craving buds
Apple would be much safer
But it tastes like fairy suds
I am waiting for 4 o’clock
The Sunday shops stop calling
My will as solid as a rock
My glucose level’s falling
The pride of not succumbing
A passing of this test
I should be very happy yet,
My brain’s becoming a pest.
David Cox 13/04/25
Morrisons it seems? have got into gear, And Sophie Throup i'd buy
Her a beer.' Or a celery juice whatevers her thing i reckon
This lil beauty will bring in troops, aisles will ring many more shoppers
Will visit Morrisons, i'd sary due to the landowners trials
Of today.' For now its our farmers.' So let tomorrow be ours' and all
The days after, I also shout EQUALITY FOR COWS!! May
They eat grass forever.) And arla go broke! the jokes now all
On quyeer karma..Geez he's a strange old bloke' oh thats
Reeves in me gunsight.!! Pr'haps i need glasses let me look
In that cloak.' Must be all that food from tesco's sent me
Eysight askew? Mind you sainsburys is on their low level
What are we to do? I'll say go supporrt all farm shops who'll
Treat you real well, and if you can't there'll always be a Morrisons as far as I can tell.)
It seems like a very long time ago
Small shops lining the streets
In some cases, for blocks
Every one was different
Offering anything you could want
Their people stayed with them for years
Not there one day and gone the next
These people were your friends
You knew their names and they knew yours
But that was a very long time ago
Before malls and superstores
For sure that was a better time
Friendlier and more caring
But it was taken away by money
And sadly, those small shops will never return
© Poem – IX/XIX/MMXXIV
LRET
Starts
early
with Christmas
in November
embers become cold
the holly bush
magic gone
confused
stop
My latest piece is too long the poem section - so it's in "Short Stories."
It's called "discoveries"
I could shorten it - but why? *shrug*
Here's the link:
www.poetrysoup.com/short_stories/discoveries_10810
I hope you like it!
this train I’m on
is passing through
a town and place
I thought I knew
yet as it slows
before it stops
I've seen a road
and set of shops
that since I left
have until now
remained the same
but changed somehow.
A row of shops left abandoned
People fled to towns
Wooden planks left out of place
Slits and holes penetrated through
Small ferns growing wild
Deep inside hollow and dark
A home shifted
A broken shop remained
Everything has fell asleep
Except the glory of the past
The history of the past
The bustling life of the past
And the mourning of the passersby
The sixth graders were the next to shop.
They were a small but mighty group.
They left more loudly than they arrived.
It was great to see them!
So many said thank you.
It was marvelous to be given the gift of their manners.
They are gone now; the auditorium is silent.
Feeling sad, wishing her seats were filled.
Aha! We hear children in the hallway
Heading this way.
I watch the auditorium light up
Minnie Minsky shops at Hinky Dinky™,
Her daughter Cindy Dingy loves chocolate Twinkies™
3/7/20
Inky Dinky Parlay Voo Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
A white pearl necklace will do well,
To enhance the beauty of this belle,
A shade of blue tint mascara to fill,
Would make the red lips redder still!
Her sun glasses have a special design
To see elegance in men and her wine,
Her Prada purse gives out a clear sign
If his class allows,she is ready to dine!
She has no time for those plain type
Men whose life is lost in mundane trite
If you wear a stylish hat, dress right,
You have a beautiful date in sight!
"Plain women know more about men than beautiful ones do."
Katharine Hepburn
1938.
8th placement in the KH contest.
When we take a walk down any high street
more and more signs of to let or for sale
the demise of the independent shops no more
even the national ones struggle to stop the nail
It's so easy to put the blame on the web
though that's to blame to a certain extent
but many owners find their rent too steep
not making enough leaving them with a tent!
Is it inevitable for them to give up?
or should they fight on no matter what?
with most just ending up to be bankrupt
seeing the web besat them up with no dot
The future holds we know not what
for not everyone can be part of the net
too expensive or location is not available
some prefer to shop where they are met
The world is going just too fast
it needs to slow down and just ask
is this really for my benefit at all?
for soon eventually, all things will fall
(I have written this with my thoughts about The Death of the High Street as opposed to online shopping, supermarkets etc. Do we want to see our favourite department stores close as so many are struggling? Debenhams is cutting stores in bulk currently. What can be done about it if anything? Do we even care? Do you prefer online shopping?)
The tourist shops have lots of stuff
Nobody really needs,
But that's an observation that
Nobody really heeds.
For people on vacation spend
Much more when they're away
On items that, if seen at home,
Within the store would stay.
Though really, isn't that the point
Of traveling afar -
Detaching from routines to be
The way you think you are?
Florist Shops
Florist shops, all out of flowers.
Young people chanting peace and love, not war.
Last time I came home, they spit on me
Everywhere I look, I see a black hurst
Filling up green fields with all my brothers,
My brothers in Arms, and all I can do is pray,
Is pray that one day it won’t be me.
This jungle ain’t no joke
Trying to stay alive
On bullets and smoke.
Counting down the days until I can leave this place.
I’m fighting, fighting for me and him
The nights all belong to them
Foreign soil, its all foreign to me
Missing my family over here
Surrounded by the enemy everywhere
And back home, florist shops
All out of flowers, for you and me.
A rich rusty old screw on an escalator in a shopping centre can never really be as exact as a tidal wave forming with over fifty prawns playing in an elevator. For elevators are really lifts and lifts are only ever given to tiny turtles with placards standing on a roadside facing west. It is not a given right to stand on a roadside turning for the five hundred million and fifty one thousand four hundred and eighty-three yellow bugs would rise, jump and push out of the way anyone who dares to interrupt a sleeping stretch of pavement. But pavements are pathways and pathways can play pianoforte on about the times it takes to travel down and up and through the fields. Tinkle tinkle then. Said the passing tribe of wheels. We are wheels and we spin. Look. Look how interesting we are to watch. Inside inner informational interference ignites interesting ideas. And a free house is a gift for a one-off party of piccolos in long silky kimonos. Laughing. Haha the hammer is giggling at the drill given by the spanners. Hahaha leaping over the cooker and barbecues. Xxxxx stalagmites Z Z Z Z ample apples amongst apes ate appropriate aromatic atoms.
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