The Chinese Vendor
A market in Hungary
Hatvan city
I remember an old man
Poor man. Good man
Chinese
He came every weekend
With his suitcase
Full of Chinese products
He sold those
Poor man
But great man
He was a trader
Mentally
Rich man
Business
Man
Vendor of Ice cream calling clients;
gangs slapped her and took her objects.
She screamed on the road,
her voice was not heard.
She thought that they were pickpockets.
There are services Ruth can’t render
Because clearly she is quite tender
And you have no right of A Bender …
I mean, Ruth may try a News Vendor
Or your car wash only its fender
Or your shoes keep leaving with Mender
And in your kitchen with A Blender …
Never forget that Ruth is slender
And of The Feminine Gender.
A vendor of proven love potions
never gives into emotions
Told: I need a soul mate!
He quips: Twelve ninety—eight!
I also sell draft beer and lotions
2/2/22
Write poetry but don't be a vendor,
be poet is not being a mercenary
don't settle for such a standard
you are poet and unmercenary
Leonardo The Loyal,
Slow silence lowering but
Who where we to know,
Flowing and pouring, pouring
Purple and royal his chin,
As crochet vines, looming
luxuriously, pennys as payment
Selling everything, the black agent
There once was a beer and hotdog vendor
He was named Sam, but then he changed gender
His peers were confused
The fans were amused
Now he's Sam, the Gender-Blender Vendor
The sun is up, heat unbearable,
He stands there rejected and miserable,
Slowly hope he loses,
as every potential buyer refuses.
His goods remain unsold,
His misery untold.
Swiftly the night approaches,
And his hunger encroaches.
He packs up and leaves,
Despite everything, he calmly sleeps...
Limerick: Once a Meat-Vendor in Mylapur
Once a Meat-Vendor in Mylapur*
Set up shop (O!) Brahmin virtue pure
No hungry customers
Knocked past the front shutters
Though brisk business raged at rear door.
• Brahmin enclave in Chennai, Tamil-Nadu, India.
Brahmins were not vegetarians from antiquity.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
I do not know his name
But always like to watch
He is a small vendor of betel leaf
At my village market
Never he wears a shirt and footwear
Monday and Saturday, the market runs
The Saturday market is my favorite
Always I will be there on Saturday
To buy and sell my cows and calves
After settling my dealings
I will go to a small toddy shop
Where fresh coconut toddy gets
That betel leaf vendor will always our
Attraction there
He is a good singer though old,
We are not drunkards
It is only our leisure time
In a week after hard works
(Triolet)
A tribute to the “Balloon Man” by Rose Fyleman
He comes market to sell balloons.
Red, pinks and purple, blue and greens.
O, they shine nice in the sun soon.
He comes market to sell balloons.
And seems to forget lunch at noon.
Balloons are just tied in a string.
He comes market to sell balloons.
Red, pinks and purple, blue and greens.
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