"grocers" poems
The old man who worked at the grocery store,
Stopped talking to me.
He said I wasn't like him
and I never would be.
The lady who shopped at my dad's store,
stopped coming.
She said she was afraid of
Who she was becoming.
Dad and I agreed,
Blind obedience was to be.
People doing as they're told.
Afraid to act brazen and bold.
Speaking up or acting out,
was something people didn't do,
simply a sense of doubt.
But at what point do we stop following,
lead our own?
To do what's right,
Even it if it means to
Stand alone.
Father said the war would soon end,
But days went by,
and it would only extend.
All of the farmers, grocers, and school teachers,
Continued on their day,
Ignoring the torture, put on display.
Father went to the right
and I went to the left.
Tears fell,
But he wished me the best.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 9:58 AM UTC
We are America.
We are the coffin fillers.
We are the grocers of death.
We pack them in crates like cauliflowers.
The bomb opens like a shoebox.
And the child?
The child is certainly not yawning.
And the woman?
The woman is bathing her heart.
It has been torn out of her
and as a last act
she is rinsing it off in the river.
This is the death market.
America,
where are your credentials?
2.7k
New-mown hay smell and wind of the plain made her
a woman whose ribs had the power of the hills in
them and her hands were tough for work and there
was passion for life in her womb.
She and her man crossed the ocean and the years that
marked their faces saw them haggling with landlords
and grocers while six children played on the stones
and prowled in the garbage cans.
One child coughed its lungs away, two more have adenoids
and can neither talk nor run like their mother,
one is in jail, two have jobs in a box factory
And as they fold the pasteboard, they wonder what the
wishing is and the wistful glory in them that flutters
faintly when the glimmer of spring comes on
the air or the green of summer turns brown:
They do not know it is the new-mown hay smell calling
and the wind of the plain praying for them to come
back and take hold of life again with tough hands
and with passion.
2.2k
And this sheet asked me
about the happiest 10 seconds of my life
I didn't know what it is until I had to answer
that it's that humid Friday night
when I was surrounded
by pineapples
milk
carrots and rice
along with busy grocers
on that opening night
I lost you for a while then
so I looked around
calmly...
calmly searching around
to see where you're up to
feeling pretty
sure
that I'll find you in time
but I didn't.
you were the one who found me instead
and shouted my name from
7 meters
away.
for the first time in my life,
I felt
Found
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 12:51 AM UTC
Would could I exchange a peach for my heart fair lady ?
For both are juicy and picked today ?
My heart beats and my peach is ripe and tender is it not
You would tell me ?
Of all the grocers fruit I could have picked did I choose at least one for you no fly had landed just for one second ?
As for my heart did I not rip it out of my chest and serve it to you
rich in the finest Claret
likened only to a plum ?
Do you remember the warm ,
Beating ***** I gave you when we first met ?
How it dripped with my blood ,
and you gathered it to your breast. and said “ now you are mine “
I died that day ,
If I could have given you my lungs I could have told you !
and my ears so you might have listened ?
How I wished you had ears to hear ?
Please if you read this come quick for I am alone sweeping up in
The potters room for what we tried to Mould ,
together was always you’re Moore to my Swayze ,
now a ghost to our dreams shattered into a thousand pieces .
Yet if you just say the word ,
just pick up one piece could we not start again ?
Then meet me at the grocer , plum , pear , heart ?
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 11:20 AM UTC
time; can you hold slowly for me,
i find that i can't unravel myself
these days.
all i can think of is my old home by the river,
on the stone-lined hill
by the church
(i've spent three years here with you,
from that first breath and then dive right in to you.
but i was not ready, and it never felt the same)
and i only crave a time when i savoured everything.
a slow time
alone
in my old apartment.
with her wood floors
and high ceilings
and a window that opened like a guillotine
onto the balcony
with my white cast iron furniture
where the rain would collect
and the sun would hit me in the morning,
and i'd wake to it.
and september would be my favourite month,
because of the leaves, not because of your birthday.
and coffee would be my ritual
and i didn't have tv
and i had my records
and places for things
and my plants would sit by my window
and i'd draw there
and sing
and cook
i wouldn't order food, i'd walk to the grocers
i'd work out in my living room
watch movies on my terribly old tv, on a dvd player
i'd watch tv shows on repeat
and i loved it
and i was alone.
and i loved it.
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 4:09 PM UTC
There's no one who bugs me, irks me and makes me mad.
There's no one who hounds me, pesters me and irritates me.
There's no one who angers me by forgetting special occasions,
or forgetting to call,
or gets unsalted butter rather than salted at the grocers.
Only You.
There's no one who makes me roll my eyes
with his twisted philosophy, illogical excuses and faked innocence.
There's no one who makes me purse my lips in disagreement,
when he comes home from so-called overtime work,
smelling of cigarette smoke and whiskey.
There's no one who makes me bare my teeth with exasperation,
when he doesn't talk when I want him to,
when he seems to not listen when I think he needs to.
Only You.
There's no one else who knows to buy me tulips,
when he's trying to ask for my forgiveness.
There's no one else who sings "Wonderful Tonight" off-key,
when he sees me in my most tattered pajamas,
with my hair standing on end
and my cheeks and neck crawling with rashes.
There's no one who cooks a meaner chicken soup,
when I'm sick and force-feeds it to me in bed.
Only You.
There's no one who kisses me in the sweetest,
most breath-taking way in the park,
in the rain while we're jogging.
There's no one who makes me laugh
with his spot-on impression of my favorite comedian,
while watching a home video on date night,
and sharing a big bowl of buttered popcorn.
There's no one who makes love to me in such a selfless,
most gentle way, making me feel like
I'm the most loved, most special girl in the world.
Only You.
There's nobody else who makes me love him,
who makes me want to keep loving him,
in all his perfection, all his imperfection,
all the things that make him a man.
There's nobody that I am most willing
to brave all the storms with,
nobody I desire to grow old with,
and give all of my self to...
Only You.
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 11:40 PM UTC
Sailing away on a luxury liner
Packing your bags and eloping to China
Building a castle and digging a moat
These are all things you can't do with a goat
Any assortment of wrapping and bagging
Over the fireplace or under the lagging
In your pyjamas, in Tupperware boxes
These are all places that irritate foxes
An onion, a carrot, a plantain or mango
A tikka kebab and a bottle of tango
A handful of pencils, a flaming baton
These are all things that won't fit in a swan
Pet shops and grocers and stationary suppliers
Takeaways, rivers and all kinds of fires
P&O; cruises, kebab shops, IKEA
These are all places I'm not allowed near...
**
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 1:17 PM UTC
(Memories of a Far Away Land)
I miss the mornings when I could listen to the roosters that loudly crowed.
Open the window to the scent of fresh tortillas, from the abarrotes it flowed.
Everyday I would wake engulfed by mountains and their fresh fresh air.
Alonzo's voice carrying loudly, "Empanadas, Empanadas, get them here."
Daily cruises through the streets of Juarez Mexico I often will reminisce,
Ending up in Downtown Centro to buy whatever, it was anyone's guess.
I miss going to the little grocers to buy, mandarins, avocado and mango,
The long waits in line on the Bridges of America trying to cross to El Paso.
Bathing in metal tubs, washing clothes by washboard with your bare hands,
I'll forever keep the precious memories safely in my heart, of a far away land.
Lopez ©reationz 2014
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
Shalom
you said
but Fay's father
ignored you
on the stairs
of the block of flats
you were only trying
to make peace with him
because of Fay
but he wasn't
buying into any Jewism
as he termed it
forgetting that
his Jesus said head
of his Catholic Church
was a Jew himself
but that was
another matter
so you let him go
on his way
up the stairs
humming some
Latin hymn to himself
later seeing Fay
on the way
to the grocer's shop
through the Square
she said her father
had forbidden her
to even talk with you
(the Jew Boy
he had said)
but she knew it was
impossible even
if she wanted to
which she didn't
despite the risk
she ran in seeing you
or talking with you
I only said shalom to him
you said
she frowned
it means peace
you said
I could have said
something else to him
less friendly
she smiled weakly
best say nothing
she said
o.k
you said
so you walked with her
to the grocer's shop
across the road
and along to the grocer's shop
by the newspaper shop
where they had
The Three Musketeers book
in the window
which you wanted
to buy at sometime
and you showed her
the book and the cover
with a picture
of three musketeers
sword fighting
and you walked on
to the grocers
and she bought
what was on her list
and you got
what your mother
had written
on a small scrap of paper
and afterwards you said
how about a penny drink
at the Penny shop?
and she looked anxious
and said
not sure Dad said
not to linger around
well don't linger
you said
but have a drink
and we can sit
by the wall outside
and see the world go by
and sip our drinks
she hesitated
but then said
o.k
so you took her
to the Penny shop
and bought two bottles
of penny pop
and sat outside
by the wall
your shopping bags
beside you
the morning sun
blessing your heads
and she talked
of the nuns
at her school
how strict they were
but one she said
was kind
and taught her
the Credo in Latin
word by word
and you sat
listening to her
and she sitting there
momentarily free
like an uncaged
song bird.
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 3:03 AM UTC
You threatened to spoil it all
You sweet disaster from the night
Blowing kisses like black magic
The dead lake that never sleeps
I’ll fix that problem of perfection
Though I don’t know just what will happen
Please sir, did I make you go insane?
Eyes go black from outer edges
You retreat inside your shell
A cold bone grips you in the darkness
Your mouth is made of clay
You’re words are taken but
Write me from the grave
Please sir, did I make you go insane?
Number my sins on a list
Take me to the grocers,
Let me buy back a moral
An apple for my evil
Book me in for double
Let the dead take aim
Please sir, did I make you go insane?
Did I make you jump from the window
Break the lock and call you in
The bomb opens like an eyelid
The winter comes on pouring in
Thief that I was, I stole your heart
Yet you kept ticking off the beat
Please sir did I make you go insane?
Feb 7, 2012
Feb 7, 2012 at 3:37 AM UTC
Into the green grocers
Within you an appetite
You see all the attractive colours
The beautiful smells and textures have you mesmerized. Some are full juicy and large
Others bright colourful and petite
Some with unusual markings
Inviting inspection.
Yet there are others unattractive
Having a beautiful scent
A delicate skin and a taste
Oh so sweet inside
Some are prickly to the touch
Uninviting, simply protect the goodness within
Then there's the fruit that looks good
All it's bright colours dazzle the shopper
It gives off the most alluring of fragrance
It is soft to touch yet rotten to the core
Over ripened and of no use
Which do you seek?
I mean fruit of course!
Don't I?
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 11:35 AM UTC
Sausage and mash
I watched a man have a heart attack outside the green grocers just the other day
I wonder if I'll have some sausages with mash potato and gravy for my dinner today
The wheel on the bicycle of the man that past me walking kept on turning any way
The rain came through my jacket and soaked me to the bone but I won't be using it as it returns to it's peg and that's were it will stay
My heart is weaker than it was and nothing gives me a buzz like the sunshine in may
I thought that someone cared for me as I did for them but it just turns out they didn't give a **** questions go astray
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 2:51 AM UTC
He had no idea if he would...
If he could actually do it...
When the time came,
When his sergeant gave the nod,
Let slip the dogs of war,
Unleash the copper bees,
Send missiles hurtling up or down
At targets moving now...
On men who may be wondering
If they could fire the same,
When the time came....
"Steady, men!"
"On my command."
He lay there,
On a roof,
In a ditch,
On an open field,
Crouched inside a turret,
Bellied down in a plexiglass ball,
Hurtled above a world mostly covered in cloud,
Standing far below the earth in silo'd steel,
Seeing still, through satellite eyes....
Peered into the mil dot scope,
Ignored the cross
To see through the center,
Found the circled aperture,
Punched coordinates into a seeing machine,
Saw green circles on the screen...
Aligned the circles....
Tried to breathe.
So that was how it was
For farm boys, Mowers of hay,
Grocers' sons, smashers of ants,
Carpenters, hammerers of nails,
And bakers' boys, cutters of bread,
Just in from shooting marbles and BB guns,
Transported into war,
Fed soldiers' ration:
meat and bread and beans,
Five cigarettes apiece in boxed MREs,
Sent off to **** and to be killed
With mothers' tears still fresh upon their cheeks,
With lovers' ache still glowing embered heat.
Training fresh,
Waiting command
To fire only when the order came...
To remain firing til the order came...
To hold the breath and squeeze...
To hold the sight just so...
To squeeze...
And to reload
Keeping head low,
Eyes on target...
To ignore all but the sergeant's yell,
To think of squeezing on new targets,
To wait awhile to process coming hell....
And when the time came,
He squeezed,
Felt the sudden life,
Heard little but the sound of
Clean ejection ...
Saw his bullet,
Saw his missile,
Saw his target meet,
And in the meeting,
Red,
And in the meeting ,
Fire and smoke,
And in the meeting
Knew that he could do
What soldiers do.
This boy
Now cutting hay,
Now stomping ants,
Hammering nails,
Cutting loaves of cooling bread...
Caught in the maelstrom of war
With no moment left but now,
No possible tomorrow...
Only targets,
Only targeted
In ferocious winds
Of battle.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 6:52 AM UTC
i've been awake since 6am
i'm running on two and a half hours of sleep
i've been on the road since 7am
and i'm writing this at 1pm
i'm thinking about greggs sausage rolls
thinking about where i'm going in life
thinking about when this road will end
thinking about slowthai's yugioh cards
thinking about how much i love frank ocean
thinking about how i interpolate milo lyrics to fit my life
though i probably couldn't tell you what his words mean
thinking about how i drift from one person to the next
desperately searching for a new friend to cling to
thinking about why i didn't shave my face
for two weeks i was scared that with a blade in reach
i'd be tempted to slice my throat
if i drowned, would my body float?
thinking about how i should cut my hair
thinking about how i can act cuter
thinking about that coil girlfriend
but maybe i'll go for a boy instead
i burned my mouth on a greggs sausage roll again
so it looks like it's all going to plan
sometimes i view greggs as a temple
and the sausage roll is my zen master
i find solace in cheap british bakeries
just like how i find peace in a black man's philosophies
today i'll get my groceries from the nostrum grocers
and write poems at the apex of my sleepiness
this road is only going one way
and i can't go back to pick up the pieces
so i collect what i can to stitch together a new tapestry
made out of the few remaining pieces of the old me
maybe one day driver will say i have perfect hair
thinking about how excited i am to read tallen's messages on discord
it's nice hearing about his l5r discourse
thinking about how i promised to deliver instrumentals for quetzal
but i never did get started on them
thinking about my friend gabe's new album
and how i wish i had richard dawson's falsetto
and how i wish someone would hug me
but if i admitted that, that'd feel pretty needy of me
i don't know when this road will end
maybe i'm stuck on here forever
immortalised in the asphalt like a dead bird
approach me like you would your dad hanging in trafalgar square
i used to smile in every selfie
now it's a chore to smirk at all
but it ain't all bad
i might make curry on saturday
or maybe i'll make chicken soup
and it'll be better than hers
because i'll make sure to remove the bones
Sep 14, 2019
Sep 14, 2019 at 5:08 PM UTC
Plasma stains
beneath family portraits
Dust collects
on top of fingerprints
Bit’s of hair, fingernails
jammed in braided rugs
Just knowing
creates a foul stench
Oh, the spatter
that splattered when
Buckshot went off!
It’s been 8 years ago today
Claimed crazy residing
were once he had killed
And he always
plans to stay
Neighborhood strays
never sow to his lawn
They scurry by
whimpering in fear
For a body was missing
the law never saw,
Not even
the protruding ear
Grocers delivering food
strewed cross the yard
And the mailman
hasn’t stopped by in ages
It is said “who gets too close
to what rests inside,
Will be next posted
on the front pages
Jun 13, 2010
Jun 13, 2010 at 6:53 PM UTC
Our English language? A curious thing!
Hammers don't ham and fingers don't fing,
Grocers don't groce and ushers don't ush,
And why is a rear called a toosh, not a ****
What is the plural of mitt? Is it mitten?
And what's a caboodle if there is no kit'n?
Do women count coins when they go through their change?
Is all lucre filthy? Are bedfellows strange?
You can't have the willie, the heebee or jitter,
And patter is noisy unless it's with pitter.
If a guy's queer, is he gay or just odd?
And if a girl's skinny, is she still a "broad"?
Can you do a flip? That's an interesting word...
Flip a house or a pancake or even a bird!
You'd never say fum without fee, fi or foe,
And why do we go to the bathroom... to go?
Slim chance or fat, they are one and the same,
And **** can be naughty unless it's your name!
So if you love words and you don't take them lightly,
You'll find by and by that you can-can write rightly!
Source: http://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/war-of-the-words#ixzz35Z943NKD
Family Friend Poems
Our English language? A curious thing!
Hammers don't ham and fingers don't fing,
Grocers don't groce and ushers don't ush,
And why is a rear called a toosh, not a ****
What is the plural of mitt? Is it mitten?
And what's a caboodle if there is no kit'n?
Do women count coins when they go through their change?
Is all lucre filthy? Are bedfellows strange?
You can't have the willie, the heebee or jitter,
And patter is noisy unless it's with pitter.
If a guy's queer, is he gay or just odd?
And if a girl's skinny, is she still a "broad"?
Can you do a flip? That's an interesting word...
Flip a house or a pancake or even a bird!
You'd never say fum without fee, fi or foe,
And why do we go to the bathroom... to go?
Slim chance or fat, they are one and the same,
And **** can be naughty unless it's your name!
So if you love words and you don't take them lightly,
You'll find by and by that you can-can write rightly!
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 10:12 AM UTC
There are no prayers here
This is where the dead come to sleep
Get up of your knee now
Oh foresaken one
Colour the stars in black
Breathe in a breathe - make it last
Now we'll judge you for your worth
This is the death market
Where disease comes to purchase tokens
The grocers of death
With little smiling faces
Would you like to buy a soul?
How much for a pill box coffin
How much for a child's laugh
Heads stacked up like potatoes
Would you care to buy a few?
A penny for a sinner's lungs
Another for a broken heart
Hands turned up, ready and waiting
Dark magic, it does happen here
Deadly creatures come in weekly
A one stop shop to find despair
The thief that I was,
I stole their souls
Left with mouths gone inside out
These puppets on a string
I'll play with their hearts tonight
A sour note called out in madness
I am still the criminal
Disaster taps his feet and waits
He will have his way tonight
Feb 7, 2012
Feb 7, 2012 at 3:11 AM UTC
The hurricane was
bearing down on us rapidly,
windows were being boarded,
grocers were sold out,
water was being stockpiled.
The drunkards
under the burnt-out building
had stolen our goods,
had broken in
& just took all of our stuff.
Myers & pineapple
twisted my thoughts
and I lashed out,
cut one of them in the dark.
The morning after the tempest,
we found no one there,
not even a blood trail,
thought they might
had been washed
out to sea
in the storm surge.
The incident still haunts me.
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 5:40 PM UTC
Memoirs in Diaspora…..
The Egypt I miss;
Had bread basket filled, bottled butter
Mouth watering sliced salted spiced snacks,
Vast garlic gotten from government grocers,
Onions, olives and countable orphans,
Gracious graduates donned in fitting gowns.
No pick-pocketing pirate police……
Even though we wailed upon Pharaohs’ whips
Stomachs were stuck with solid meals.
Is Moses’ Canaan carrying a curse?
I can’t help wondering.
Jun 15, 2017
Jun 15, 2017 at 3:48 AM UTC
Bellhaven a town of five
Grew in his love and potent flares
She shivered as she dove
Deep beneath his cumbersome faults
To the misty beaches in his eyes
They ran the grocers
Her love of loves
Carrying the parcels to waiting cars
Making bank trips on bicycle seats
******* all night under uncovered bulbs
Market lights on strings of electric
Pattern up the ceiling joists
She travels her journey
In whims of ecstasy
And sweeps the storeroom of tattered webs
Children join the dusty mop head
Ringing the sound of miniature him's
She and he's of minute proportions
Occupy the grocery carts, the
Two wheeled seats of financial ruin.
The market lights on strings of wire
Sputter with the fading current
He ***** the lips of his love of loves
And squirrels his toes behind her ankles
******* the night under unsheltered bulbs
They all are gone now in Bellhaven
The town of five is now beyond the five.
They all run around on seats of bicycles
Bank drafts and grocery carts
All gone to litter.
Her love of love gone down in a blizzard
Her children amassing out there by the highway
Her market light patterning the joists
As she dives deep beneath
The cumbersome faults.
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 10:39 PM UTC
there was unfat, a face with a grin, that wears a body
like a man without hope next to the grocers yesterday
skin and bones, a face that wears a man like a body
without food, veins clearly and muscles also, from a
body with a face that wears a man without hope or
food
but grins
May 16, 2012
May 16, 2012 at 2:11 AM UTC
Before the fire
I could look out our window
to a warp and woof of city streets
rewarding curiosity
with graffiti, green grocers
and grande macchiato
in a bamboo cup.
We were whole.
The fire came
from a single precise cinder
that cannot be unsaid.
Now our city is gone.
What remains is tatters.
Shivering in the cold,
we find more holes between us
than what is left to bind us.
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 7:12 PM UTC
She is here
my own true sun
she loves so daft
that dawn springs forth
and before I die
she'll really eat pie
with her cute rind
and buffalo trim
that grocers hunker tide
while business bona fide
in her hand over rib
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 7:48 AM UTC