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Anais Vionet Sep 20
I’m in LOVE - drunk love,
look stupid love - and I
expect a harsh trial.

A hurricane is
due - the sky is coldly-gray,
and the wind is fierce.

Tech issues have school
on hold and walking is a
peak-experience.

Then - the blue gray truck
rounds the corner and I’m hit
with Christmas-like joy.

I LOVE shopping,
like a lush loves drink or a
gambler loves risk.

It’s nigh ******.
How can YOU resist it? Please
- tell me your secret??!!

** Amazon trucks are blue gray =]
shopping.. it's a narcotic for prison world
Dante Rocío Sep 10
I expect
the day when
Poetry is no
longer forcefully
mulled
over
words,
when we commit
it
as of
us,
when we
reek
of it,
or rather
Poetry
reeks
of us,
not shunned or shunning by
the traps in
word-ings.
We Poets then
will truly spurt
and raise an elegy
off
the skin.

That one faithful day
libraries and others will shed
books,
letters and papers,
like finally autumn
leaves,
our chips into small
encasings
like pearls with shells
their.

And
those who choose us
on the shelves will
receive the reward
of our dragging
into
our depths like
persistent algae,
for
a while,
or forevermore.

And I’ll finally be
able to unveil to them:

“I am one of Poetry’s
revelations.”

For now/
pay the lyrical’s heed/
in its written ways/
by the respect of every/
blank space ending/
before each and every verse/
it brings/
Expectations towards the way Poetry’s sharpened, like earth to metal clustered,
for vending mists.
I wait for the lip-like, felt transfer.
I wait to for the first time under
standing customers on the sale
for our chippings made easy.
I wait for my affection’s freedom from
paper, pen, glue and shopping stink.
I make an everlasting patient boycott
On a bench clear.
Maria Mitea Sep 10
I look to buy,
I want to buy,
Something mooor,
For my soul,
Give me the buy,
In your fancy store,
Give me the buy,
Hopefully,
I can be mooor
I can make it feel mooor,
Poor craving soul.
Wants to buy,
Anything,

I want to buy in your store,
Something mooor,
Give me mooor,
mooor, mooor, mooor,
buy and buy, mooor,
Hopefully
I can be mooor,
I can make it feel mooor,
So much hope
For my soul,

Something to like,
the next moment
I don’t throw it away,
Looking to buy
Moooooor,
Happiness,
For my craving soul
Something
I don’t know,
Somebody help me!
Get out my soul!
Out from your store!

Please?!
Close the store door!
For my craving soul,
I’ll pay you,
Please?!
Just close that door!
For this craving Soul
I don’t know,
I look to buy,
I want to buy,
Something mooor,
For my soul,
I don’t know.
Inspired from a shopping trip I had yesterday at Winners store. The avid shoppers inspired this writing. There was a song rolling “ Give me more Happiness .“ I ended up with this poem in my pocket and more money for me ... 🧚‍♀️.
Anais Vionet Jun 25
I’m daughtering in place and it’s a full time job.
I'm a posable figurine, like a Barbie for my mom.
She's been shopping in a frenzy, to fill the empty hours.
I think we have an Amazon truck dedicated to our house.
I needed another closet so we took my sister's room
It looks like a Dior outlet-store or maybe King Tut's tomb.
"I think you've gotten carried away," I said to her last night.
Looking at all the loot arranged, she said, "you may be right."
a corona virus isolation poem - with my mom's shopping from boredom
Carlo C Gomez May 12
She shot me
With a pricing gun

But no one
Would buy a word I said

She then felt sorry
And put me on discount

Now I get plenty of attention
Yet never felt so cheap
Steve Page Apr 25
Jack and Jill went up to Lidl
To queue for toilet paper
Jack got bored and soon he snored
Jill's patience was much greater

Jill queued on and moved along
Until allowed to enter
She found a pack and on the way back
Kicked Jack with pent-up anger.
A response to Jack & Jill.
Nigdaw Apr 23
do you want anything
from the shops
she said
it used to be pizza and beer
nowadays just
you home safely
my love
Steve Page Apr 5
Queuing -
When I was growing
it was second nature.
Then we got out the habit -
and started congregating and lingering,
vaguely hovering til the bus arrives
and then converging
with no reference to order
or deference to aging.
Or begrudgingly taking a number
and waiting our turn
til called forward, bringing us
out of our revelry.

It's different now.
Now we get there early,
expecting a wait, a line,
spaced out like it's leprosy
that we're suffering -
Like we're resisting
being associated with the others
who are queuing.

Shuffling.

Waiting.

And once arriving,
being begrudgingly admitted
by the high-viz guy who's masking,
and he's insisting
that our partner
has to wait outside
where it's freezing.

Now queuing
is our new necessity -
our communal normality.

Maybe it'll stick
and we'll be sticklers
for a queue that's orderly.

And maybe - just maybe
we'll find that the queues move
a little
more
quickly.
Experience of shopping has changed here in London
Tonight, let's take a respite from the kids, get all dressed up, and head for the local grocery store.

We can even wear matching masks, take turns pushing the cart, and steal Kisses from the candy aisle.

You're on top of my shopping list, little lady, along with the melons and a case of toilet paper.

It may not be dinner or a movie, but it has its own romantic aura of about six feet in diameter.

Take my gloved hand & let's dance away at the checkout line, mask-to-mask. It's love in the time of COVID-19.
See Mrs. Timetable's "Grocery Store Date Night Morning After" poem.
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