Storefront Poems | Examples

Rhetorical Somethings And Nothings

Somewhere there’s a
sunflower poking out from
the corner of a concrete
barrier, going unnoticed
by everyone except
myself.

And it makes
me wonder:

They say when
you fall in love with
an artist, you
can never die.

But what
happens when
an artist falls
in love? Do
they continue
capturing futures,
or only retrospective
moments?

Time is an old
concept—or shall
I say, odd?

Because
I see you in soft shadows
and storefront glass, in
wilted flowers I forget to
water, in poems that
end.

I used to paint what
might be, but now I
only trace the edges
of what has been. 

They said that love
would make my work
eternal. But no one told
me it would make me
feel so unfinished.

Oh, and
that thing I
asked about
the artist?

You can forget about it.
I think I’m starting
to care less and less
about him.

Rhetorical Somethings And Nothings

Somewhere there’s a
sunflower poking out from
the corner of a concrete
barrier, going unnoticed
by everyone except
myself.

And it makes
me wonder:

They say when
you fall in love with
an artist, you
can never die.

But what
happens when
an artist falls
in love? Do
they continue
capturing futures,
or only retrospective
moments?

Time is an old
concept—or shall
I say, odd?

Because
I see you in soft shadows
and storefront glass, in
wilted flowers I forget to
water, in poems that
end.

I used to paint what
might be, but now I
only trace the edges
of what has been. 

They said that love
would make my work
eternal. But no one told
me it would make me
feel so unfinished.

Oh, and
that thing I
asked about
the artist?

You can forget about it.
I think I’m starting
to care less and less
about him.

Some Funny Thought On The Way Out Nowhere

Now again, someone upstairs, 
and somewhere on a bus
headed somewhere in Louisiana 
where it is one a.m.

eyes mind thy business 
while pyramid in the sky 
shows well it’s lessons and then 
out wild and naked
in the Nevada sun,
 
the dark green grass 
and the funeral, 
where a police car prowls past and says
 “Don’t you know you’ll freeze?”
then their faces turn yellow 
and blood pours out the mouth 
on this calm night that 
brought cool to the Summer. 

Waiting on Storefront Nowhere America
but there are still plenty of trains and lightning.

Wind and rain still relentless.

A Personal Touch Valentine

A Candy Storefront window, a passerby pauses briefly at the array of heart-shaped enwrapped in velvet reds, filled with sweet treats like years before. The same tricks deployed as the byway take point passing a park. Then a heaven-sent gift the gentle walker, drifts a spun floater being a dove's solitaire wing. A hand reaches down and gathers it up in mental discourse. In brevity breathes deeply, and exhales soothingly. Contented, the gentle walker heads back to town, where an empty crimson velour box is bought, he makes one more stop before heading back home with a frozen smile. Amidst the expected backdrop scene where two fluted glasses filled with Dom Perignon Champagne atop a white-silk-covered small round table that graces two silver candle holders, pre-lit. The significant other donning a maroon single-piece nightdress is presented a box. He sits as she opens the box and oddly looks. As he explains his day's escapade freed him from the rigamarole being rhetorical, he lastly gifts her with a smaller box. She opens built-up with a hint of suspense that shreds away to tears. She looks up to the penitent soul while holding a solitaire diamond ring.

November Hangs On

November hangs on
To a blanket made of cold and grey
To the bare branches of trees clinging to the sky for the last precious moments of warm sunlight 
Counting every minute of the shortened days
November hangs on
To being surrounded by memories on its long dark nights 
The way our empty hands grasp on to the comfort of our covers
November hangs on to every word uttered from a lovers lips
Something to shake off the frost on our hearts when facing late Autumn's changing winds
November hangs on through every crowded street and storefront decorated with glee
Tis the happiest time for some but the loneliest time for many

Deserted

Once a thriving town      now
         dust devils
curl and tumble on the
           broken pavement, along
with swirling leaves and 
                bits of paper 
  empty  storefront windows 
once          FILLED         with clothes,
pastries        groceries     sundries,
stare at the desolate scene 
through shattered glass
deserted streets,     
       bereft
of        crowds      of people,
only an occasional fox, 
           chittering squirrel or bird
interacting              with the 
          constant wind…..

Young and Wild

I’m young and wild standing in the middle of this field.
Blowing winds like hurricane strength can’t take me down.
In this town, I’m young and wild.
Running wild through this town. 
Shirtless and wearing my blue jeans. 
Stopping to say hello to my future love.
Standing there in front of the store, her reflection so beautiful with her hair softly blowing in the wind. 
Her smile, twinkle eyes staring back at me. 
Running wild through this town. 

Remembering all these great times sitting next to my love.
Holding her hand under the blue moon tonight
Softly walking through this town now.
Taking her to that storefront, were I fell for her.
Kissing her so softly.
Like life never stopped from that day.
Her beauty remains the same as that day, I was young and wild running through this town. 
Young and wild running through this town.

1932 Was Hard Times For Everyone

November 18th, 1932, Lincoln, Nebraska, main street
fancy pretty new toys are in Jasper’s storefront window
Betty points to a baby doll she would like for Christmas
she does not expect to get it
times have been hard for everyone
she is four and she knows not to get her hopes up
she is tired of being disappointed
she keeps this wish in the back of her mind
in her stocking this year there is an orange
it is more than enough
times have been hard for everyone

Solace In a Shooting Star

This would be their special time of year. Cold air fiercely bites; the yule season is here.

She recalls how they adored trimming the tree.
She's angry; it wasn't his time to leave.

She strolls all alone along a moonlit street. She's sure she sees his image in storefront window panes. Tears begin to stream down her sullen face. She begins to feel weak, falling to her knees. 

There's no comfort or consolation she will ever know, but somehow she rises to her feet. Pulling her coat closed snugly, she vows to fight for her family, courage and what's left of her sanity.

He's in heaven now. His earthly work is done.

Gazing up, searching for a sign, an opalescent shooting star streaks against the black onyx sky.

She feels instantly at ease. Her boy is safe and at peace. That bright star reminds her he's never left her side.

Anticipation of Christmas

On a gray weekend in early November
I collect and chop fallen limbs
From the old trees of last winter and this summer

Fill my wheelbarrow with kindling sticks
Quiver of arrows
Stacked in my garage
By rot and size

I resist the urge
To build a fire
Until the real first snow of the season
Flies

It can take days or weeks of waiting
Past Thanksgiving
Closer and closer to the bloom of Christmas

I wonder if the time will ever arrive
In time

But even then
When a snow scrambles our porch light
Paws the windows

And the first fire catches and snaps at its splinters
Family room filling with candle glow

I throw on my winter coat
Go outside
Sit in the dark

A dad in an old black and white film
Arm wrapped around his son’s shoulder

Listening to the big snowflakes
Bacon sizzle
The skillet of dried up leaves

Moonlight fogged with burning incense
Cherry and Oak from my chimney smoke

Smells like home
I’m not alone
Time displayed in a Christmas storefront window

It’s going to be all right for quite a while longer.

Say What You Want

Say what you want
About our family bonds
But we love each other
We care for one another
Yeah, say what you want
About fishin’ in that pond
But I’m a country girl
I might not find a pearl, but
I’m proud of where I’m from
Where music’s an acoustic guitar strum
Singin’ in the church
Yeah you can search
For somewhere better, but
You’ll never find what
You’re looking for
Say what you want
About that old storefront
But it’s what I’m used to
Even if it’s not for you
Yeah, say what you want
About my Nana’s kitchen
No, it ain’t a restaurant
But it’s my favorite spot, and
I’m proud of where I’m from
Where music’s an acoustic guitar strum
Singin’ in the church
Yeah you can search
For somewhere better, but
You’ll never find what
You’re looking for
Where everyone’s welcome
And that wedding where we all wore denim
Where I was born and raised
NC, USA
I’m proud of where I’m from
Where music’s an acoustic guitar strum
Singin’ in the church
Yeah you can search
For somewhere better, but
You’ll never find what
You’re looking for

Arizona and Rain

Outside the storefront
I see the heavy rain fall
No signs of stopping
My Arizona fruit juice
Keeps my mind off the shower

Ocean Circe

Ocean (Circe)

Clearly an abyss, 
you paint your lips blue,
adorn yourself in light's zirconium-hue-
masquerading as some golden gem, laden Queen.
Lying in your bed in waiting,
offering the possibility of adventure,
of hidden world's of retreat.
Your magic mesmerizes and flaunts.
Teases with possibilities imagery.
Endless font.
Stories to sell.
Corrupting your fools, licking your taunts upon their feet.
Mermaids minions in seductions reflection so
demure.
Reflecting the sky with their tails.
You are a sourceress, 
a prostitute and a street, storefront sign purely forged in a spell.
A true window to your soul and it's keep, that rolls like a dungeon on the back of a Great turtle.
That of a corrupting changeling,
unpurely-changing with every phase shift of swell.
Your great alchemy is fusing illusion with serenity's false sleep.
With your ambitions that run silent, and run deep amongst that subsiding pillow.
Your platform for your maelstrom of sinking- through Azurine- dreams.
Your quicksilver beads above the morpheant sands that flows so easily, 
like the lies that lie beyond men's reach.

Dupont Tri-Con

Traffic circle sloshing; 
pedestrians pressing up 
against tensile city regulations, 

flashing horns and sweat, 
university student afternoon,
wiping off iced coffee condensation.

I am a dedicated historian of 
lunchtime stories and 
park bench vignettes—

a spectacled lesbian runs her pinky
through her lover’s curly purple hair, 
as she looks on at the cyclist, filled with regret,

stumbling to avoid the picnicking workers—
together by convenience and ambition—
who pity the down-on-their-luck in their dehydration, 

trying to find a pillow on the steps of the fountain.
The rims of my glasses eliminate the peripheral, 
underlining the weight of disjointed conversations: 

a chuckle, a skipped step to avoid a puddle 
sweeping the storefront, eroding the road, 
I remain, trying to separate scenes from the bustling. 

The circle never exists the same again.
What does it mean if I dream about you? 
What does it means when I see your face in nothing…

Those Night Shoes

Those Night Shoes


Behind the pane of storefront glass, 
   upon a pedestal, they stand,
      ornate, black, sexy- six-inch heels- 
these special shoes my dreams command.

A night out with a chosen love-
   to dance and whirl within his arms;
      my night shoes joyously will send
me to new worlds of hidden charms.

Oh, how they beckon me, those shoes!
   Come try me on, their whispers say;
      We'll take you to your land of dreams
where lovers dance the night away.

Tears fill my eyes- and right on time,
   my mother turns my chair around.
      Not now, night shoes- I'm on my way
to see a doctor whom I found-

for my prosthesis- cause, you see-
      I am a right leg amputee.


Sandra M. Haight

~6th Place~
Premiere Contest: Night Shoes
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
Judged: 05/25/2019

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