#shop
Down in the village
In the center square
Lies a little Gothic Shop
People hardly know it’s there
Lanterns swing outside the door
A bell rings as you enter in
You are greeted by the owners smile
More like a cheeky grin
Yes, my dear the woman says
Holding out her hand
Covering each and every finger
With a silver band
Her rings are all unusual
None are very small
One has a little Lion on
She bought it from a market stall
As you look around the shop
At all its wondrous stock
Imagination runs away with you
Just like, you have had a shock
There’s Dragons, Wizards and the like
And Incense burning, it smells so right
Witches by the score abound
To some it could be quite a fright
The Dresses hanging in the alcove
Take your breath away
Majestic colors, Red Blues and Greens
In styles that look so gay
Fancy boots, some short some long
With laces by the score
There is even a Highwayman’s cloak
Hanging behind the door
On a shelf there’s giant’s castles
Where Wizards ply their trade
Along with their Frogs and Toads
It’s where the magic spells are made
All the unusual Jewellery and Ornaments
Are put out on display
For you to try on and look at
In the hope that you will pay
To take some of it away with you
A dress to wear, a fancy ring
Something that takes your eye
It could be anything
Well my dears the woman says
What can I sell you today?
Can’t let you in and out again
Without you have to pay
Her Earrings hang loosely down
Dangling from her ears
Dressed from head to foot in black
A true Goth through and through the years.
Apr 23
Apr 23, 2026 at 4:14 AM UTC
Once, there was a shop
at the heart of the neighbourhood
a small kingdom of dust and laughter
where children arrived like morning birds,
carrying noise in their pockets.
Behind the counter
sat a drunk man
not drunk on wine alone,
but on something older…
something that refused to leave his chest.
He sang
not for the coins,
not for the passing days,
but for a girl
who lived next door to his soul.
She would pass like a quiet wound,
eyes lowered,
as if love were a secret
she had no permission to keep.
“Don’t forget me,”
his voice would crack into the evening,
“Don’t forget me…
and remember the drunkard.”
And we
we and the birds
used to circle that place,
as if it were a shrine,
as if sorrow itself had taken a shape
we could orbit.
We carried flowers
bundles of them
as if beauty could bribe time,
as if petals could stitch
what fate had already torn.
But he
he was always somewhere else…
lost between a bottle
and a memory.
He painted her on the walls
again and again
a thousand versions of her face
trying to outlive the one that left.
Then one night
on the soft betrayal of festival
she vanished.
No goodbye,
no echo,
no mercy.
Only absence…
thick as dust.
The shop was torn down
as if it had never held laughter,
as if songs could be demolished
with bricks.
A house rose in its place
clean, indifferent,
unaware of the ghosts
buried in its foundation.
And the drunkard?
He remained.
Not in the street,
not in the house
but on the walls of forgetting,
where time erases gently,
and pain learns to whisper
instead of scream.
There
he still sings.
And if you listen closely,
you will hear him:
“Don’t forget me…”
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 12:34 AM UTC
mouth wide wishing to the hinges
eyes hooked like both falcon and falconry
hair an off blond length of maintenance
weighing forward her radar ears
sensory plate of social pale oval
quick to commune wit / laughter
a companion
matching dunder-doll putty youth
with a goppy mouth
that folds over its soft grippy teeth
protective joy
home happy in socks
and comfort
they're a pallid pair
of the young world
without old regulations
and maintained damage
they could rule the world
and do a better job
Apr 13
Apr 13, 2026 at 11:53 AM UTC
Little Tommy
Little Tommy Blenkinsop
Lived with his mum above the shop
The apothecary in Chapel Street square
Everyone knew his dad’s shop was there
All around brought their ailments for him to cure
With his drugs and potions to be sure
A busy place most of the time
Spotlessly clean, free from grime
One day little Tommy was sifting through
Items left for dad to do
Included in the assorted work
Was a pair of teeth to repair for old Mrs Burke
Therefore, Tommy thought he would give dad a helping hand
The best chemist to Tommy in the land
Trying to fix the teeth, he glued them apart
He said to himself, that will do for a start
And Mr Wheeler’s laxative pills
The ones that supposedly cured all ills
He mistakenly put into Mrs O’Rielly pack
And put them in the store room upon the rack
Dear Mrs.Burke came to collect her teeth and left
So pleased and no longer without them, feeling so bereft
And returned a short while later in quite a foul mood
But Tommy’s dad misunderstood
Could not explain what had taken place
And tried not to laugh at Mrs Burke's face
Her mouth seemed to be permanently open wide
So bad in fact you could see well inside
Little Tommy looked so sheepish and ran to hide
The game was up, Mrs Burke then cried
As he ran, off down the street
Mrs O’Reilly he did meet
Clutching her backside and obviously upset
And realizing a hiding he was going to get
I will **** you she cried, I know it’s’ your fault you little sod
Swearing and cursing and waving a wooden rod
As Mrs Burke joined in the pursuit down the street for miles
She sounded like a Rottweiler suffering from piles
But little Tommy was crafty, new how to avoid capture at all cost
As Mrs O’Reilly slipped up on the ground covered in frost
A loud noise erupted from her backside as she hit the floor
What happened next, please don’t ask, I implore
As Tommy slipped down an alley and out of sight
He thought I had best go to Auntie’s and stays there the night
As Mrs Burke with her mouth still, open wide
And Mrs O’Reilly with her sore backside
Went back to Tommy’s dad to try to make sense
Of what had happened, to get cures for their predicaments
In the end, all was well Tommy got the blame
And the next day he had a rear end the was aflame
A jolly good spanking was all he got
But for Mrs Burke and Mrs O’Reilly, an experience they never forgot
Feb 10
Feb 10, 2026 at 4:35 AM UTC
Everything’s affordable
I won’t borrow any credit
Every product’s on sale
Too cheap even for the bandit
Unlimitedness of stock
Splurging there lives
With an empty cart, tho’ all things I bought
Roaming around, discarding any coupon
It’s all inexpensive, I’d never need one
Even if everything looks unaffordable at the storefront
I walk in to find out I could acquire any item
But could it be me the one needing to be bought?
When I’m on sales I’ll spend my thought
Dec 16, 2025
Dec 16, 2025 at 6:55 AM UTC
There's something calming
About Westfield before 7.
There's something beautiful
About the lights without the noise
The space without the feet
The ads without the shops
That allows me to pause in the quiet
To walk my own path
To make my own decisions
And keep my wallet secure
Dec 16, 2025
Dec 16, 2025 at 2:27 AM UTC
We sit in the coffee shop—
laughter spilling loud,
hearts full,
like the beans brewed deep in our cups.
For a fleeting moment,
we set the world right,
and nothing exists
beyond us four
and this tiny corner
of time and space.
May 18, 2025
May 18, 2025 at 9:19 AM UTC
It was the taboo of the touch and although it was her habit, it still held the power to thrill me to comfort my distance.
We chatted as she scanned each item , especially the contraband cake, and it was as if we were conspiring, masking our planned insurrection.
I obeyed the card-only directive and, as the till printed the receipt in a flurry, she reached over, stripped it away and pointedly
held both hands out toward mine.
And just there – as I reached around the screen, she cupped my hand in hers and she gifted me her “Look after yourself, luv.”
- while I choked on my goodbye.
Jun 19, 2022
Jun 19, 2022 at 3:47 PM UTC
You find yourself in a strange street somewhere, a busy street of a big town or city
There's people going around about their business
They pass you by paying you no heed
You'd think you'd feel lost, an outsider here
But no! You don't,
You've been here before
And what's more you seem to know your way around
And there's this wonderful excitement inside of you
This delicious expectation of something
You know there's great delights to be had here.
You seem to know exactly where to go
You turn off the street into another and walk a short way
Then there's another street with some shops
And there's this one particular shop
Outside it's not much to look at
Even inside there doesn't seem to be much going on
There's other people there but you're not interested... you're not even curious
It's like you're on autopilot
You walk right up to the counter
And the lady comes over
And you whisper "I'd like to go in the back please"
It's just like a Speakeasy
She tells you to wait, to take a seat for a second, then she disappears
A few moments later a door opens over at the side
The lady is standing there, she beckons you to come over
You go and suddenly there's this long hallway/corridor
You go down it and there at the end
It's the Salon !
You can ask for whatever you want in the Salon, whatever you desire
And it's all... it's all totally free
Suddenly you find yourself in a room
There's a beautiful lady there
She's naked and she's smiling right at you
Then you realize that you too are naked
She comes up to you and caresses you, she's so soft and gentle
You can feel her touch, feel her body pressing against yours, and then she kisses you
Her tongue in your mouth
It's like licking an ice cream...an ice cream cone
She's so...so sweet
You can really feel her like she's something... something totally real.
(I remember when I was younger I used get these nightmares all the time
There was one and it was like this claw around your throat suffocating you
You'd have to really fight it, make an almighty effort to wake up, to escape it
It was something real, a force you had to fight, you could really feel it
The feeling in the Salon, it was similar but it was like the opposite of that
Instead of being something threatening it was something wonderfully pleasurable and thrilling).
She's so amazing, so soft and so gentle
You start to get aroused, it's like a lovely energy running through you
Like a wonderful slithering snake, so pleasurable
You feel like laughing at the joy of it all,
Normally now you'd come to a ****** and that'd be it over
But this time, no! this time I suddenly stop her, and I start to talk to her (I find I can talk to her)
"You know", I say, "you're so beautiful, so gentle and soft and kind
You're too good for the likes of me, I don't deserve you
Where I come from, I haven't met many really nice girls, not like you
It's always been like a battle, the Girls I've known,
They run you down, rip holes in you
Talking loud, trying to shock you and embarass you, control you
Have one eye on you, the other on their gang behind you
Their in no way genuine
You're nothing but a plaything to them
And y'know... it's all I've ever really known
I've never met any...any soulmate
And what's really sad is now I find myself gravitating towards those kinds of women...
I mean the cruel heartless ones
Why...why is that?
Me! I'm like that song "I don't know what Love is (I want you to show me)"
I don't know what real Love is, I haven't the faintest clue, the faintest idea
Hell! I don't even know what a girl, a woman is
I never had a sister and when you don't have a sister
It's the media, the world that tells you what a girl, a woman is
Their just pretty faces and nice ***** lovely legs and shapely bottoms
Then I look at her and I ask
"You don't have another more strict, more harsh severe kind of Lady
Some demanding imperious black leather clad (or rubber clad) *****
Maybe some superior cold aloof glacial goddess type,
Or what about a beautiful black booted stiletto heeled nice blonde **** girl, beautifully cold and merciless ?"
With this she gives me a knowing smile
"I know just what you're looking for" she says
Then she brings me to a room and tells me to wait there
She smiles when she's leaving me and there's so much in that smile she gives me
It tells me I'm in for an amazing time.
When she's gone I think to myself
"Well, this is a first, this never happened before
Now I'm gonna meet some awesome formidable lady, some terrible haughty domineering Queen
Y'know she might even talk to me, I might learn something
She might tell me why things are the way they are.
Anyway I'm waiting there pacing excitedly up and down the room
I can hardly contain myself
I can hear voices in the next room
Suddenly then, right out of the blue, suddenly this Bell goes off, yea! this bell starts ringing
What's that! I think to myself, Is there a fire! Are we being raided !!! What's going on ?
So I look out the door and there's this girl talking to another girl down the hall, their smiling and laughing together
They seem oblivious to any bell that's ringing
What the hell, I think, what's going on, that's really annoying
What's... what's that Bell ?
Eventually my eyelids, they start to flicker
Until finally they open up altogether
I find myself lying in my bed and my alarm clock on the bedside table... my alarm clock it's ringing
"Feckin', feckin' alarm clock!" I think to myself,
"Now that's what I call... that's what I call Bad timing".
Apr 11, 2022
Apr 11, 2022 at 6:12 PM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, pleasant to dream of old friends---like nothing happened:>
drove the beetle blue
no driver's license just liked the view
send my apologies
to the streets of mysteries
or was it misery in disguise
upon the old she cries
like the hidden furniture
spoke in signs
memories and secrets called mine
tiger rug in luxury shop
familiar gazes made feet stop
never true when doors are slammed
antiques in a swift can slip the hand
a heart of glass
of a weighed mass
maybe not the dream but the morning stance
reminds hints of a glance
her empty seat in a wallet
buries pictures in the back of the pocket
and I ask and count wall blocks and thoughts glue
does she think of me like I do too?
------ravenfeels
Jul 25, 2021
Jul 25, 2021 at 3:53 PM UTC
So, you're a shelf stacker?
It's Stock Replenishing Operative, actually.
I mean, I do take stock and stack it on the shelf, but it's an easy job,
and I can do it by myself.
We're inexperienced, part-timers,
full-time staff are corporate climbers,
which is fine, but they really don't like us.
Fill the cage and wheel it out,
steering 'round corners, missing the customers,
don't hit the display,
they'll be hell to pay from the supervisor,
they'll vapourize, ya.
Thirty pots of Pesto,
here we go,
bent over at an angle, strainin' my back trying to untangle the packaging,
it doesn't have to be perfect just get them in.
Where's the footstool?
It's with Abdul, fair enough, I'll help him out,
have a laugh with the staff, it's the only way to get through, until
"Ryan! We need you on shampoo."
So off I trudge, to grab a box,
Neutrogena, TRESemme, and Radox.
That has dragged and dragged, but it's break-time now,
just 20 minutes to figure out how I'll get through the rest,
I'm not stressed,
just bored, very, very bored.
Working here has shown me what I don't want to do.
It's fine for a wage,
but I'd love to engage in something of interest,
a job that suits me best.
Enroll at Uni?
Maybe that'll improve me?
Then away I go, no looking back
and all those things I think I lack
will become history, hopefully.
May 3, 2020
May 3, 2020 at 3:08 PM UTC
I walk up to the counter ready to place an order to go.
With coffee and cookie in tow,
i head to my favorite spot and get ready for the show.
3..2..1 let's go!
What's the show you ask?
I don't know! It's different every day
and plays whether the sky is blue or gray.
It could be a traffic jam,
a man trying to wash people's cars,
someone getting arrested,
or even a guy in a costume saying he's an alien from mars. Whatever plays that day, it never gets old.
I get to learn about the people of my city
while staying out of the cold
Jun 25, 2019
Jun 25, 2019 at 11:43 AM UTC
I've doubted your passion towards me in the past
my faith in the past
my faith in our permanence was dwindling fast
But as days go by,
you drift closer to me
and it's easier to see
how compassionate you truly can be
I'd don't want to have your babies
I'd don't want to get married
but I could see getting a dog with you
maybe
just
maybe
Jan 29, 2020
Jan 29, 2020 at 1:09 PM UTC
Outside the cigar shop is an elderly man
he is leaning against a parking meter
fumbling the quarters he pulls from his deep pockets
and dropping them into the machine
the metal clinking as it accepts the change
and only reading 20 minutes
the old man scowls at the meter and puts in more coins
until it reads 1 hour
he digs around in his pockets and turns them inside out
he has no more
grumbling to himself, he pushes away from the meter
entering the cigar shop
and I'm left sitting in my car wondering
how we can spare some change for more time
for the things that will lessen the time we already have
Aug 13, 2019
Aug 13, 2019 at 11:54 AM UTC
When you see me sitting there
Contemplating
Forgetting life
It’s partially to be seen
But also to be
More than away from the self-trapped in skin
As I AM
But I’m NOT
In that moment again
Jul 25, 2019
Jul 25, 2019 at 9:09 AM UTC
All abuzz about a bee
The name’s Humble B. Bumble; welcome to my mall.
How do you do?
If there is anything that you need, I am sure we have it for you.
Need a fresh *** of honey to go with your food?
Not a problem, keep the bottle; I saved this one especially for you two.
Do you need to buy your honey something new?
Not a problem, all honey is good here, I can make honey too.
If you see something you like, I am sure we can find you a good price.
The sugar sure is nice; we just got this frozen stuff,
You won’t believe your eyes!
They call it ice;
It keeps the water cold
And you just need to add flavour to savour,
The refreshment of your soul.
Your honey’s no good here; the first drink is on the hive;
But I must insist after that, your wallet must appear
And please do not drink honey and then dive.
I will have the bar-staff make you something to drink
And when you are feeling all warm and fuzzy inside,
There is a quiet section for you to sit and think.
Only you can decide what will bee next on your shopping spree.
We’ve got ‘Beegee’s and Banana’ and ‘Our-army’ suits.
There is the Jumper Gotye fashion store
And Kelvin Flies if that is what suits you.
Gooey has more high-end goods, if you have got the honey to spend.
Whatever you need, you will find it here at the ‘All A Buzz’ Mall,
PO Box 3B, Fly Mile End.
If you live in the sky and want to bee a diner,
Then you won’t find a place that is finer.
If these syrupy sweets are not at all to your taste,
Maybe you could think about some bling for your wings?
We have the little shop of forgotten treasures;
I am sure we can find whatever you need or think,
Would improve your life. Our doors are always open to new idea’s!
We work through the night, to fit your clothes, right on;
If you need a refund, we will always bee right here.
Here, take my card and don’t forget to mention my name.
The middle initial stands for Bee
And Y’all Bee sure to have yourself a nice day!
(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jul 5, 2019
Jul 5, 2019 at 5:34 AM UTC
It sounds like a pet shop
in my head, the twitching
tongues of birds, the spinning
of rodent’s wheels, the tap
of reptiles on the glass.
The animals never stop living
inside my head.
On some days it feels like chaos,
like they’re all running free,
no cages
no glass
running free inside my head
while the world burns inside it
never silent.
May 20, 2019
May 20, 2019 at 12:31 PM UTC
There’s a little coffee shop
Down an avenue, I like to walk.
It smells like I imagine you still do,
Inside that little coffee shop.
That little coffee shop is where we used to go
When life was good and happy.
We didn’t have a care in the world,
Inside that little coffee shop.
Looking back on that little coffee shop,
It still amazes me how much things have changed.
I would never have imagined that you could hurt me like this
Inside that little coffee shop.
That little coffee shop still feels like home to me,
Its warm fire still makes me glow.
But it will never be the same without you
Inside that little coffee shop.
In that coffee shop is where you first showed me
How it truly felt to be loved.
I would never have realised that your love would lead to this,
Inside that little coffee shop.
As I walk past that little coffee shop
I am hit, again and again, with the familiarity that our love is over.
I walk past in the knowledge that I will never see you again
Inside that little coffee shop.
That little coffee shop will always be my home for you,
Its where my memories of you
Have laid to rest. It will always be
Inside that little coffee shop.
Apr 30, 2019
Apr 30, 2019 at 4:51 AM UTC
I look at the old shop
It only closed a few days ago
I remembered it by name
And the people that worked there
Their names were Jane and Harold
A couple who started the business on their honeymoon
A simple store, selling simple things
Coats, towels, brooms
And yet I always came
So they could be happy
However, money was tight
Few customers ever came
The two grew worried
They couldn't keep up, but they tried to
Sold all their belongings, just so they could be happy
Jane was infertile, but she knew the shop was her baby
When she cried, Harold cried
And eventually, they let go
I walked to the empty storefront
Sometimes I could see the two smiling
Jan 22, 2019
Jan 22, 2019 at 9:07 PM UTC
There is a barber shop built on the ashes of Babylon,
where men lose their ******** with shame that skip to the fourth kid,
There once was place where Samson's hairstyle was a treasure map.
A place where lost man travel
Where David found no stone
where Noah built an Ark but storm never came.
When we pass through that place even the stars we use for direction disappear.
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 9:04 AM UTC
I love the warm smell more than baked bread.
I love the old stories flooding back through my head.
I love the middle-age chatter, with child like mutters,
finding old favorites in old familiar covers.
I love the personalised fountain-penned message,
carefully scribed and meticulously dated.
I don't care about the number of dog eared pages,
or the tell-tale signs of well worn aging.
Tea stains and small tears - they don't bother me,
each tell a new tale beyond what I can see.
I love the weight of the years sitting in my hand,
I love the tether to past lives multi-second-hand.
With memories of libraries with warm worn carpets,
wall to wall adventures and sun faded artists,
battered yellow seats, shooshed conversations,
quietly spoken protests at the books being rationed.
I stayed past closing, riding trains of free thought
with Tin Tin, Asterix and old Mrs Pepperpot.
I'm still drawn to the pages and the feeling inside
second-hand stories where memories reside.
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 5:03 PM UTC