"greengrocer" poems
It was the early days of the organic food craze
and my wife, ever a slave to the latest fads
(which disposition sometimes benefitted me pleasurably
but mostly cost me dearly)
made me run on an errand
(like: “Fido – go, fetch!”)
to get some organic vegetables
and arriving, I blurted out to the produce guy, stumbling:
*“Some ****** for my wife”* –
and that wise guy, Oxford-educated as he was
(though a failed Professor, so ended up at the greengrocer’s)
he said: *“That you must induce or encourage in your wife, Sir;
I cannot and will not be of service in that connection.”*
And I slowed down and I said:
“Well, dear fellow – for my wife, have you any organic vegetables?”
And Oxford-educated as he was, he did not understand such fads
having mostly a sedate and Classical demeanour
and he pointed his most English nose to the air;
and so I attempted again to sensible-phrase my inquiry:
*“Are your vegetables -
and this I ask on account of my esteemed wife -
sprayed with poisonous chemicals?”*
And the Oxford guy apprehended now, and he pronounced:
*“Poisonous chemicals for your spouse
you must procure yourself, Sir”*
Now, that was an idea. I knew Oxford-educated guys
were smart in some way or other.
And since then I have been free of my wife.
I have no need to run on errands for no baby, no more;
though I do have to count bars,
limited as my numerical skills are,
as is my verbal proficiency.
And the Oxford guy, meanwhile, I have it from the grapevine,
has set up an ******** Food Chain Store*, worldwide;
I knew he’d go places, sooner or later, far and global
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 8:06 AM UTC
i find it strange to be politically correct,
without actually exercising any political
career-motive as a member of a government...
because that's what's we're being sold:
to be politically correct, without a career in
politics. doubly strange, to foster non-antagonising
views on everyday matters,
to later realise that whoever we're antagonising
from an environmental bias (rather than
a personal bias) we will never share a dinner with...
so like our opinions mattering in the first place
was by-and-large, just a media hoax to
ensure we were all prescribed the safety of
walking the tight-rope... and never really
designating ourselves the freedom of the constitutional
rights - this leftist bias remains intact,
on the canvas of freedom of speech, however
that freedom allows us to see rural endeavours in talk,
the once appreciated freedom is becoming a polarised
freedom to name & shame... a media hammer or nail...
because it's only freedom when enough people
agree with "us", to allow a bicep expression of
being backed up like some Spartacus...
i mean, i don't agree with most expression,
but i wouldn't **** the hornet's nest with the media
frenzy to appear politically correct... when
so few of us actually have any political power....
being sold free speech, to be later curbed with
political correctness is a bit cancerous....
given that free speech is equated to the voting X
from the age of mass illiteracy...
i don't see how free speech became a vehicle for
acquiring constrained speech dynamic -
when did we forget the chastity of speaking the airy-fairy
things in life on the informal basis, and when did we
become so ****** friendless, estranged, outsiders
to everything that matters... and now, supposedly
between butcher and greengrocer, talking about
the weather in cocktail smocking and bow-tie?
free speech gave us the rights to not ask for political powers...
on whatever governmental tier...
prescribing us political correctness has given the everyday
John the delusion that he can process political power...
the once famous strive for speaking what the hell you want
but not wanting political power changed into
being prescribed political correctness but no political power...
so i ask you... what's the point of being politically
correct, if you gain no political power,
unless you're a rat, a snitch, spying on your neighbour
to grass them out? because that's what political correctness bred,
snitches... those given political correctness laws
were never given any other political power...
added to the fact that they wouldn't have said anything
interesting / provocative anyway.
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 9:50 PM UTC
Fay sat beside you
on the concrete stairs
of Banks House
looking out
into the Square
where young girls
played skip rope
or boys having toy guns
reenacted WW2
taking no prisoners
firing noisy cap guns
and Fay said
where shall we go?
where do you want to go?
you said
away from the noisy guns
and skip rope games
she replied
and so you both got up
and went out
into the Square
and down the slope
the morning sun
blessing your heads
she in her summery dress
of yellow and orange flowers
white socks and sandals
and you in your grey tee shirt
and jeans and battered
black shoes
and you walked up
Meadow Row
between the houses
on either side until you turned right
by the public house
and onto the bombsite
behind the greengrocer store
and there you both sat
on the remains of a wall
looking around the ruins
and wild flowers
growing between bricks
and broken concrete blocks
and Fay said
I wonder who lived here
when the bombs fell?
what did they feel?
you studied her fair hair
tied in a bow
her blue eyes
scanning the scene
the white and yellow flowers
the weedy green
scared I guess
you said
I would be
she said
my mum said
she hid under
the dining room table
with her niece
where she lived
when the bombs fell
and there was the sound
of bombs falling
and explosions
and bangs
and people calling
and children crying
you said
Fay put her arm
under yours
and squeezed it tight
and lay her head
on your shoulder
and she whispered
I’m glad we
weren’t here then
glad we were born
after the War
me too
you said
and she squeezed
your arm tightly
some more.
Jul 23, 2012
Jul 23, 2012 at 3:10 PM UTC
My greengrocer choked on a peanut
So I had to go to the farm
I asked for some rice
A packet of spice
And half a butternut squash.
He said sorry son,
I haven’t got none
The greengrocer sells them for me
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 11:09 AM UTC
Do you want to come
to my doll's tea party?
Janice asked
I wasn't keen
but looked at her
as we sat on the grass
by Banks House
Easter holidays
warm morning
who'll be there?
I asked
well Teddy will be there
and Miss Woolworth
and Golly of course
and maybe that doll
Gran got me
from the jumble sale
with one eye
I looked over
at the coal wharf
coal men were loading up
their horse drawn wagons
or lorries
I guess I could
I said
(Janice had no brother
or sister and apart
from her gran
had few friends)
o good
she said
I'll tell Gran
and maybe
we can have real cakes
and tea in little teacups
and I have a KitKat
we can share
she added
what time?
I said
maybe tomorrow
after lunch
she said
sure
I said
I'll be there
(not my usual haunt
be aware)
I unscrewed a bottle
of lemonade I got
from the greengrocer guy
and took a gulp
want a drink?
I asked
she nodded
so I passed her
the bottle
and she wiped the top
on the edge
of her skirt
and sipped a mouthful
or two then passed me
back the bottle
very fizzy
she said
bubbles got up my nose
I gulped more
(I didn't wipe the top
it was only
her mouth after all)
then put the bottle down
on the grass
she looked at me
and said
best be going
as Gran said not
to be late for dinner
ok
I said
and watched her go
over the fence
and along Bath terrace
and out of sight
I sighed about
the doll's party
but I mused
it may be all right
and watched the coal man
on a horse drawn wagon
go past
trotting slow
not getting
anywhere fast.
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 3:47 PM UTC
Helen climbed
the concrete stairs
to Benny's flat
where his mother answered
and Helen said
is Benny home?
no he's out Helen
his mother said
out where?
Helen said
he went out
with his six-shooter
and cowboy hat
so he's maybe
on a bomb site
try the one
up Meadow Row
he's often there
his mother said
Helen nodded
and said thank you
and walked down the stairs
and across the Square
and down the slope
across Rockingham Street
and up along Meadow Row
she'd not brought
her doll Battered Betty
as her brother
had torn off an arm in play
and it needed mending
when she came
to the greengrocer shop
on Arch Street
she walked along
to view the bomb site
and putting a hand
over her eyebrows
to block out the morning sun
she gazed at the huge bomb site
anxiously(she didn't like
bomb sites alone)
she saw him over
by the railway bridge
firing his six-shooter
at an imaginary enemy
she called out to him
and walked across
the rough ground
of the bomb site
towards him
he stopped firing
and put his six-shooter
away in an holster
with a twirl of fingers
been looking for you
she said
your mum said
you might be here
Benny pushed back
his cowboy hat
to the back of his head
his quiff of hair
standing up
had a gunfight planned here
so had to leave early
he said
gunfight
she said
with who?
she looked around
at invisible enemies
Frank and Jessie James
he said
and their gang of course
she looked in the direction
he pointed and nodded
need any help from me?
she said
looking at Benny
through her thick lens spectacles
no I shot them both
and the gang fled
he said
did you get shot?
she asked
only in the arm
he said
pointing at his left arm
she looked at his 7 year old arm
but didn't see
a wound or blood
but pretended
looks bad
she said
maybe I should put
an handkerchief around it
ok if you like
he said
she fiddled in her skirt pocket
and brought out
a small girl's handkerchief
and tied it around his arm
and tied a knot
is that better?
she said
yes it is
he said
didn't want to bleed to death
no
she said
and they walked off
across the bomb site
let's go to Baldwin's
the herbalist shop
and get some sarsaparilla
to make more blood
he said
and she looked at his arm
and saw imaginary blood all red.
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 1:57 AM UTC
I passed Enid's father
on the stairs
of the flats
gave him an icy glare
he was ******
so didn't care
he went down
and I went up
he was whistling
some song
I knew he was a prat
but what was wrong?
later that day
I met Enid
in the greengrocer shop
in Meadow Row
getting potatoes
and greens
for my mother
not to forget carrots
which I almost did
she came in the shop
in her faded red dress
her hair in a mess
red marks on her arm
one eye closing
as if half dozing
what did you want
young girlie?
the greengrocer
asked her
she gave him a list
and he sorted it out
I carried my bag
to the door
I saw your old man earlier
I said
gave him an icy glare
she looked at me
then at the carrots
orange and raw
then at the door
didn’t say anything
did you?
she asked
no I kept shtum
would have done
if I didn't think
he'd take it out
on you
I said
is this 3 pounds
of spuds?
the greengrocer asked
can't make out
the figure writ
she gazed
at the piece of paper
and said
yes 3 I think
and off he went
shoulders stooping
head bent
what happened
this time?
I asked
what did he do?
he said I slept in
too late or spoke
out of turn
Enid replied
belted me
thumped me
then I cried
the greengrocer
filled the small bag
she held
in her small hands
and took her coins
and gave her change
deep inside
a child wept
near to me
but out of range.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 9:13 AM UTC
it’s like that the beatles v. stones
or the *** pistols v. the ramones question,
i know that hendrix was pure at 27
(joining the haloed crowd fronted by
the quasi back in black femme fatale),
but he was simply a virtuoso,
what i got was melody from kravitz:
the piano and the drums,
got me tapping, air pianist that i am
for the drums on my collar bone,
and it was all pristine blue one sunday afternoon,
i stopped dreaming, ushered into a pauper artist definition,
and felt more love than i could have wishbone’d,
or fortune cookie’d for that matter,
because i knew, there and then:
the world can end with someone crucified
forcing the atom bomb explosion on a postcard from 34 a.d.,
but only because there’s ******* and worship involved,
the last man to bend the knees of others readied himself for torture
admiring the pyramids hoping for a revival,
and he got it, the near extinction of ourselves,
tortured and crucified, instigator of celebrity culture,
the posing duck-faced messiah with hands spreading
and soaring across the entire diameter we call the equator.
you can surely end the world, listening
to the dirges of the egyptians with sympathy
about how a thousand miles of living love built a monument of death,
and then invert in the vortex of ***** love
love that’s tortured the additive of missing jealousy -
three thousand phalluses entered and one more -
but still the greengrocer felt no metal on the finger readied;
because who would be jealous of a ****** love
when so many noble women debased themselves to *******
and false prophesying of men?
let’s end it with: lenny’s my love
stands shoulders above in height above any hendrix output,
it is above whatever lottery wish in tremor
of finger aching crossed could ever burn to with
a guitarist doing crescendos in a#, or toothing the horse’s mane;
‘cos kravitz is a lyricist and not a virtuoso -
as his piano signatures prove - genteel;
hendrix give me your best signature rhythmic rubric!
oh wait, you can’t, ‘cos so so much solo!
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 10:20 AM UTC
Fay met me
off the bus
after school
she looked pleased
to see me
her hair
was bunched up
in a ponytail
her school uniform
looked well worn
how was your day?
she asked
boring
I said
being educated
by the unwilling
to the uninterested
and Old Thompson
was as cruel as ever
we walked along
to the crossing
and crossed
how was your day?
I asked
how were the nuns?
it was about suffering today
she said
Sister Bede said
suffering was a gift
from God
it was our way
to suffer
for the souls
in Purgatory
so that they
may be freed
sounds kind of dark
I said
what do you mean?
she said
well that God
should give suffering
as a gift
so that it might
free others
from this Purgatory place
some of the saints
have been honoured
to have been chosen
to suffer
she said
we passed
the greengrocer shop
I looked in the window
the young guy
was serving
some old dame
with potatoes
I suffer from boils
on the *** sometimes
does that count?
I asked
does that get
some soul
out of Purgatory
she looked perplexed
I guess so
she said
ask the nuns tomorrow
if boils on the ****
count
she smiled
don't think I will
she said
we passed
the public house
the smell of beer
oozed out
from the open door
Daddy said
that these places
are the roosting places
of the ******
plenty of ****** then
on a Saturday night
I said
pretty packed
when I passed
on my way
to the cinema
last week
I guess
we should pray
for them
she said
Sister Bede said
our prayers
are worth more
than gold
do you pray?
she asked
only for the school
to fall down
or Thompson
to catch leprosy
I said
she frowned
that's not good
she said
we should pray
for good things
to happen
I liked her hair
and eyes
especially when
she gazed at me
as she spoke
her bright eyes
warming me
against the cold
ok
I said
I suppose
I could
we walked on
and across
Rockingham Street
I liked her
careful way
of walking
and her fine
small feet.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 6:57 AM UTC
I was there
When the world woke up
And the sky turned
From deep purple
To Grey
I was there
When pigeons and seagulls
Circled overhead
Beating the air behind them
I was there
When two elderly gentlemen
Struggled up the hill
And a greengrocer
Opened up shop
I was there
When a steadfast father
Encouraged his three wrapped up youngsters
On the way to school
I was there
When the crescent moon
Appeared from nowhere
And disappeared behind the clouds
I was there
As the turquoise river
Rippled beside rows of sailing boats
I was there
As beauty arrived
Fresh and quiet
And green grasses stood still
I was there
I was there
Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 1:29 PM UTC
Sweet the girl and tender her age,
She's too young for the fire's rage.
But, alas, the law still stands,
And punishment for her crime demands.
Little Oshichi, that greengrocer girl,
Her hands, restrain; and hair, unfurl.
She stands upright against the stake,
Weeping as she regrets her mistake.
She had fallen in love with a page,
While a fire had roared and raged.
As her house was burnt away,
Love, within her heart, gave way.
Entranced, enraptured, and captured with him,
Oshichi went forth on a fanciful whim.
Believing that it would bring them together,
She struck a flint and started a fire.
A clanging tocsin pierced the night,
"Me-gumi, hark! There's a fire to fight!"
A throng of ***** steeplejack boys
Rush to the scene with swaggering poise.
Oshichi now gazed in horror, aghast,
Watching as the fire spread fast–
Her dream of meeting her youthful lover
Set ablaze with burning desire.
Arrested, tried, and sentenced to suffer,
The judge, kind sir, tried his best to save her.
"Are you not 15?" he asked, worriedly.
"I'm 16, my lord," she answered meekly.
Bewildered and anxious, he asked yet again,
"Surely you're 15, young one, dear saint?"
She bowed her head and shed a tear.
"No... I'm 16," she answered with fear.
Cursing his fate, the judge had no choice.
He gave his sentence with a downcast voice:
"Yaoya Oshichi–what girl so tender–
Shall be burnt an arson offender."
Bound and burnt for want of love,
Oshichi lifts her gaze above.
Weeping as her smoke ascends,
She cries to heaven, its mercy lend.
At last, Oshichi succumbs to the fire,
Consumed by passion borne of desire.
Sweet the girl and bitter the flame,
As her lover cries out her name.
Aug 20, 2024
Aug 20, 2024 at 7:07 PM UTC
We,
all of us,
stood out in the lot
of the greengrocer's.
We looked upon
the pending sunset as if
we,
ourselves,
were birds ready
to take wing
into that auburn horizon.
We looked at the clouds
as they became
majestic brushstrokes
placed strategically
by a great unseen artist
whose name we all knew,
but was different for each of us.
There were brilliant purples,
pinks,
and oranges
that our eyes
might have been seeing
for the first
or last time.
(None of us knew for sure.)
The sun shone
through a great bank of cirrus
like the beginning of
some great onslaught
by a giant dragon
or
the first flash
of a nuclear holocaust.
None of us
would’ve minded
either scenario
for the beauty of it
and
our presence
therein.
***
-JBClaywell
© P&Z Publications 2018
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 10:21 PM UTC
there's nothing quite like being rudely woken
by a cat - that sort of shadow you wish you
had to steer off the incubus...
only the ugliest of the norse founded
kiev...
i wonder, as i manage to peck a spider
off the corner of my room, drink,
then eat it, and subsequently imitate
regurgitation, upon having eaten body,
and then finding the legs,
these twisting, coiling artefacts of some
sort of disembodiment...
i really was planning to drink this whiskey
in the afternoon, then the rudeness of the cat
waking me,
then the rage against the machine
and the idea of a buddhist,
and then the voice, that would never
amount to the said theatric of burn ******
burn...
i can't compete being drunk and
it only being nearing 7 a.m.,
i can only cite:
paper boy took the day off.
and i lost count to
every counted sunday,
thinking it a monday;
and that's a half of a hey-yah! thong
bridget huan jonson jerking off
the next nesting jose johnson,
calling him enrique joe.
or: amazon god king
conquistador it's sunrise you ********
people have to "work",
yeah, they "work", they're
rhetoricians!
they're the embodiment of
what's spectacular about
western society...
high brow romancing of
the averted moral spectrum,
like i really did begin to start ******* cockroaches...
and these women were my sunrise...
keep the gangrenes,
the ******* the abbies...
i love that term,
it's like reviving: greengrocer...
like calling a pet donkey a
chihuahua and then for asking oral ***
calling it a sloppy-jappy...
as if it was aimed as sushi shooting
the raw argument.
hence the love of h'america...
no, i never admire or fashion
the idea of americans waking up
i the globalist part of new york,
that's gobalist, and the 24h oops...
oh wait, you didn't realise we were insomniac?!
fucl me... afternoon for them
is like pretending breakfast for the rest
of us...
i think the dieticians call
it fibre, or something twice as hard to digest,
twice as hard to constipate out on,
and thrice the name of a wife.
i really love they didn't
catch up on the insult:
it's a bit like eating humus,
or catching the sunset.
Oct 1, 2017
Oct 1, 2017 at 2:06 AM UTC