"shopkeeper" poems
Waiting for the summer heat to eclipse the somber thread of one day, an old man is gifted a brand new pair of sneakers.
Father, Son, Holy Ghost? The pinnacle of the "y" axis has paralyzed the saltiness of the old man's overcoat.
"Grand dad?" A young boy turns the corner and peeks in while the old man leans over in his chair to reach his feet and lace his sneaks. "You were breathing loudly and I was just making sure you're okay."
The boy continued, "cool sneakers grandpa."
This reminded the boy of a new student in his class who moved here from Scotland, or Ireland - he couldn't remember which. Guess what the new kid in my class calls his sneakers?"
The grandfather looks up and leans back, "he doesn't call them sneakers?" "Nope" the boy replies. "I would imagine he must call them shoes, or something like that."
"Not even close. He calls them 'runners'. He came into class one day with a pair of red sneakers and Miss Kerrington had him stand up in front of class to talk about them. She said that people in England probably call them runners as a nickname for running shoes."
The old man stood up with a groan and said, "That makes sense. It seems a bit odd, but I like it. As a matter of fact, I am gonna start using that to refer to all sneakers. What do you say we go for a walk around the block so I can break these puppies in? We'll stop for some rootbeer on the way home."
The two of them set out on their walk and the old man felt invigorated. As they continued, a light rain began and the old man said, "lets get to the store, this rain'll do damage to my new suedes."
When they finally made it to the store, the old man rushed in the door pushing his grandson out of the way. Upon his entrance his eyes met with the shopkeeper's. The shopkeeper's eyes shifted to the young boy coming in behind the man. At this moment the grandfather realized that he pushed his grandson aside in his haste to get inside the store and out of the rain.
The shopkeeper turned his attention back to the grandfather who shrugged his shoulders before gesturing to his feet with a smile and said, "I'm breaking in a new pair of runners. They're not gonna dry off as easily as he does."
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 1:59 PM UTC
Shopping was the world first invitation to women,
a freedom to move out of her house. Initially,
Woman practiced shopping for vegetables and slowly
extended to garments/jewelry/white goods etc. Today,
the world has experiencing a better market due to
window shopping. The concept innovated by women,
the women who started window shopping has helped
the awareness of the market, The more the window shopping,
more the sales. The concept of window shopping
helped the textile industries to understand about their products.
The textile industries has developed in terms of marketing
say readymade, exchangeable, trial rooms, gifts coupons
are coz of women. Its encouraged the women to do
shopping effectively.
Facts about shopping. Customer who shop with their friends
tend to buy more costly products than when they shop alone.
Next, In terms of clothing, General advises is to buy
one garment at a time coz If you buy few dresses, You tend the use
the first selected dress more than the others. Buying 'Take Away'
in (costly) restaurant was the blinder coz restaurant charge more
for the ambience less for the food. Using cash on shopping,
you tend to spend less and you bargain more. Don't increase
your buying to eligible for discount coupon. A survey says
that 90% of the issued discount coupons are never redeemed.
Never shop on Discount Sale coz the best collection will be
taken off the shelf by the shopkeeper. The amazing fact,
If any one buy the best and costly clothes one size less than
the one normally uses, has brought down the weight
of that person.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 8:54 PM UTC
Yadda......yadda......yadda
he's dying of loneliness
Go listen to the news
They're Nine million people lonely in the country
You're all known for your coldness
Some don't even know their neighbours
You abandon your parents when they get old
Put them away in Retirement homes
when was the last time you saw your elderly mum
when was the last time you called your sister
Thank God for the GRASS being the scapegoat used by crooks
To illustrate community mobbing let us all gang up together
Now you're hugging the Asians and the blacks are your best friends
yadda......yadda......yadda
come join the club we are all mates now
against that outsider grass we welcome all
the ***** ******* are molesting women oh it's just
to make grass envious cause we've stopped him loving
talk to me I hate you no more because grass is more hated
no more bullying you just join us and help us harass that grass
don't trouble that foreign shopkeeper we now want him to join
welcome Muslim brothers and sisters come join us
we now like you cause we have somebody else to hate
hey Mr ugly come here for a hug just make sure its in front of grass
you my loner friend be lonely no more you are now a club member
you Somalian, you Ethopian, you chinese, you Ugandan no matter
everyone is friends no more hassle just hate the grass as much as us
yadda......yadda......yadda
this is politics we fool and fool you all
when we need you you are our best friends
we show you our commonality and bring you into the fold
just make sure you do as you're told and don't grass like grass
we will give you opportunities to make grass jealous
we will forge a grapevine from here to Kathmandu and beyond
we will teach you hate and poison your stinking minds
we will imprison you and make you our slaves to serve us
just make sure you give that grass a hard time and come for a prize
this is all our secret and your minds belongs to us gangstalking crew
make him lonely make him friendless and show viva democracy
You are all simpletons and that's how you will stay in our pockets
this is a union of morons by morons for morons and the crooks win
yadda......yadda......yadda
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 3:26 AM UTC
Until I turned nineteen,
I never considered where I had been.
I couldn't be seen.
As I have never been on the scene.
Every morrow, I called out to my aunt
To express my love,
and welcome a cup of tea
That is dear to me.
"I hailed to thee,
Aunty, tea."
When she delays a little,
I became a prattle.
A mature lady smiles and places a cup of tea
What a great human is she!
As I had to traverse to another city,
I had to shift to a hostel that had no tea
Not a day did I receive
A mere cup of tea.
Every morrow, every eve,
All I yearn about is only her and I.
Like a mother, the love she showered.
Like a roe,
Neither did I apprehend
Nor did I reciprocate.
Here my mind does thoroughly replicate.
.... TEA....
Every morrow, every eve
I buy tea,
Just by paying the fee
which I used to get for free.
Not lovingly calling Aunty tea
But,
To an unrelated shopkeeper
Asking, 'Bhaiyah Tea'.
Apr 25, 2023
Apr 25, 2023 at 6:25 AM UTC
Marching, hopping, running, waddling
down the street, people with working feet
oblivious to the stares of the woman
in a chair.
Why would they see her?
She's not even their height!
They are just people plodding and
plotting, lives rotting slowly away.
But, back to the woman in the chair
Snooping on the crowd
Watching the mothers tug at toddlers reins.
Rowing teens shouting "bruv" a lot!
She's mocking the crowd in her own way
She has become them, just invisible.
She likes it like that, knowing of you
Yet them not knowing of her.
Her awareness is acute, sees the businessman
in his suit. The homeless man in his home
called box, the elderly matrons
moaning about bingo.
The drunk with his bottle clutched as tight
as the baby clutches her bear.
The smokers all congregated at the altar of tar
The shopkeeper eyeing the kids, missing the thief
The security guard, guarding the pretty
Little things, no, not the jewellery the
teenage girls! Oh, his eyes are popping!
His legs are twitching. His fingers itching to touch!
Along with the sights are the sounds,
shouting, laughing, heckling and coughing
Smell,also plays a part in people watching
fast food, sweat, the great unwashed.
All plodding along, flocking like birds
clogging the street, swapping gossip,
unaware as always of the
young woman in a wheelchair.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 5:02 PM UTC
I've been going right on, page by page,
since we last kissed, two long dolls in a cage,
two hunger-mongers throwing a myth in and out,
double-crossing out lives with doubt,
leaving us separate now, fogy with rage.
But then I've told my readers what I think
and scrubbed out the remainder with my shrink,
have placed my bones in a jar as if possessed,
have pasted a black wing over my left breast,
have washed the white out of the moon at my sink,
have eaten The Cross, have digested its lore,
indeed, have loved that eggless man once more,
have placed my own head in the kettle because
in the end death won't settle for my hypochondrias,
because this errand we're on goes to one store.
That shopkeeper may put up barricades,
and he may advertise cognac and razor blades,
he may let you dally at Nice or the Tuileries,
he may let the state of our bowels have ascendancy,
he may let such as we flaunt our escapades,
swallow down our portion of whisky and dex,
salvage the day with some soup or some ***
juggle our teabags as we inch down the hall,
let the blood out of our fires with phenobarbital,
lick the headlines for Starkweathers and Specks,
let us be folk of the literary set,
let us deceive with words the critics regret,
let us dog down the streets for each invitation,
typing out our lives like a Singer sewing sublimation,
letting our delicate bottoms settle and yet
they were spanked alive by some doctor of folly,
given a horn or a dish to get by with, by golly,
exploding with blood in this errand called life,
dumb with snow and elbows, rubber man, a mother wife,
tongues to waggle out of the words, mistletoe and holly,
tables to place our stones on, decades of disguises,
wntil the shopkeeper plants his boot in our eyes,
and unties our bone and is finished with the case,
and turns to the next customer, forgetting our face
or how we knelt at the yellow bulb with sighs
like moth wings for a short while in a small place.
2k
Total parrot care
Cried the signboard
In the narrow sleepy by-lane
I gave it a dreamy stare.
I have been too rare on this road
Coming this way was no need
But when I chanced upon that signboard
My search ended for parrot feed.
Is there anybody there?
I echoed de la mare
Found none at the counter
Not even the shopkeeper!
Dismayed I looked around
If some human semblance could be found
But fell nothing in my gaze
Other than a parrot in a cage!
Turning to leave I was stopped by a voice
*Find here sir a variety of choice
Not just parrot feed
Under one roof all that they need.*
Who is speaking I asked in awe
There wasn’t a human face I saw
But could tell it with certainty
There were eyes watching me.
*Don’t leave sir without the delicious pellet
Once you take it you’ve to come back
Serves well a parrot’s palate
The bird loves this crunchy snack.*
It now emerged who was playing the trick
I was hearing parrot speak
None other there not one human folk
The shop was run by parrot talk!
*I scampered out with one long hop
Disappeared the lane the parrot shop
I was tossing on my sweated bed
By this funny dream that rocked my head!*
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 2:53 AM UTC
closed mouth
of a shopkeeper.
his finger
an abandoned
cross
the length
of jesus' spine.
forgive
the hush
of forgiveness, forgive
the state
of my house.
we open
early
no light
is first.
we single out
the second
sons
to copy
scripture.
the barber
the dentist
good
and absent.
morality
we use it
when two people
or more
run down the street.
we know
it's a bone
rolls down
the roof
which bone
for years
we disagree.
Jul 23, 2012
Jul 23, 2012 at 1:52 PM UTC
#As the first drop fell on me
I looked up at the black canvas
gathering and rumbling ominously.
But there was supposed to be another
not far
but right over my head
to defend me against the weather
pattering insane
between me and the rain.
*Did I by any chance
leave my umbrella here, sir?*
I ran to the shopkeeper.
We all suffer this predicament
was his smiling statement
*losing grip over our mind
letting things be left behind*
and then came the mischievous addendum
as if my trouble had inspired his mood
*go for good
once you let them go
woman and umbrella
they never again show.*#
Jun 30, 2017
Jun 30, 2017 at 11:35 AM UTC
The ugly poetess
Over the housetops,
Above the dry blades of the sugar cane husks
I have known fear, I have known hunger
I felt the pain of a nail wound deep in my foot
I belted out the blues like Nina Simone
An era of reform: the moments of truth,
On top of the hill, lies a village in Barbados
Acid rain, rooftop leaks on to my bed
It was a rough year:
only food sources were rice and breadfruits
We lived through it all:
It was my destiny:
To love and to hate them:
those old fruit loops
Through the eyes of a uprising poet
The curving of his pen,
Somehow, he made amends, he purge
the smoky air,
the disgusting sight of the pig pens
out of his mind
lack of personal dental hygiene,
the elders lost their teeth
Grinding down on sugarcane, while they
awaits the big meal of the day
Supper!
With innocent eyes and achy feet
I read so many books for inner peace
My stomach was empty,
but my mind was at ease
To dream big while aiming high
Marlene, Delores, and Linda
Known as the vanishing three
Migrated to North America
Where a Barefooted child
like me wasn’t supposed to be
Eventually, I know I would have followed
I have woven my feathers,
while looking upwards,
In my little corner under the old rusty galvanizes
.
At the old country shop the vanishing three mothers
told me that I wasn’t pretty enough to leave the island
Words of hatred, mere words of discomfort
I felt my wings tighten against my rib cage,
My tongue, glued against my jaws
From that day forward the poet smile against stupidity
And spitefulness, she too had come to
Eat her words, the old shopkeeper
The poetess enter another line from that era
Uncaring beauty without brains
Where are they now?
I walked with confident down that street
The misty air moist my skin
The poetess return to the Island of Barbados
Without the sugar in her blood..
.
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 10:51 AM UTC
A Beautiful Landlady,
A Wonderful House Owner,
Who Gives Shade And Shelter
For The One Who Is In Need
Without Collecting Any Rent.
A Kind Hearted Shopkeeper,
A Sweet Hearted Fruit seller,
Who Gives Fruits And Nuts
For The One Who Is Hungry;
Without Collecting Any Price.
The One Who Gives Himself,
Who Gives Herself,
Without Expecting Anything;
But Giving Everything With A Smile!
So Never Faces Any Disappointments!!!
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 11:31 AM UTC
No! I aint going back.
I aint wishing to go back!
Back again to the same old routine.
The same insecure questions.
hanging in the air, behind your back.
When I hug you,they appear.
They stare at me and laugh at my miserable state.
My mind is playing games with me
and I have lost,badly.
Binge eating.Binge drinking.
Unconsciously.
Consciously.
Making yourself believe in the false
perception.
A rainbow,made of candy sprinkles and marsh mellows.
Sweet weddings and cuddly children.
But life has to be an un-idealistic *****
A sweet thing endowed on us.
A sweet candy handed to us by the shopkeeper.
a kind in kind that he gives to get away
from guilt and monotony.
A smile makes his day.
A penny gone though.
***
I aint going back.
To the TV watching.
to the hogging
and to the lousy cold **********
I aint going back to conversations that bear no fruit.
Conversations filled with hormonal rushes,
head rushes,motherly and fatherly feelings,
orderly arguments.
Angered moments,
angered and tempered to them limit.
fists, bumps,scratches.
Love drowned down with beer
smoked away in a puff.
I don't want to go back!
No way! No sir.
I would rather wait for the bus.
May be walk for miles myself.
I like to walk anyways.
***
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 7:43 AM UTC
Sunshine
she scatters shimmery splashes
Surrounding Sally's street.
Submerging submissive skies
Swinging slowly
Sluggishing,
Sauntering softly.
Sweeping soft swimming skies south.
Spraying sparkling sprinkles
Shinning splashing springs. Spreading sunshine's shimmery sparkles.
Similarly,
Sing-song sparrows sway, singing sonorously, sky-bound.
Sunshine
She swings, spluttering shinny splashes
Showering sweet solemn shades.
Suntanning skies
Suntanning seas
Suntanning streams
Suntanning species
Surrounding survival space.
Suntanning Sally's supple skin.
Sally stares, squinting.
Sunshine strikes.
Sally stays star-struck. Speechless, sober Sally slides.
Sweetly savouring sunshine's shrewd styles.
Swallowing some sunshine sparkles.
Sunshine,
She swims
Spreading sparkles solemnly.
Sally sees. Sally sighs.
Sally's street saw students scream sweet songs.
Sally's street served sweet shopping sprees. Since suddenly Sally's street screamed silence.
'Stay safe' Sally's screen suggests
Sally strolls sadly
Shaking solemnly.
Sauntering sheepishly,
'staying safe' Sally's shopkeeper's sister salutes, smiling sardonically.
Silence suddenly screams sacred scaries.
Sickness stole Sally's street.
Silence swallowed sweet songs students sang.
Shredding sanity.
Shaming sweet surrounding state.
Sickness seduced stress.
Stress succumbed.
Seducing several sins.
Shattering
Shaming
Stabbing
Slaughtering sanity.
Sad Sally sneaks,
Sitting, sipping snail soup.
Softly sobbing
Sorrowfully singing.
May 25, 2020
May 25, 2020 at 4:07 PM UTC
The wares the shop sells are all worn and fade
Cashbox is empty business is in the red
The man behind the counter couldn’t care less
Happy to be there at the forgotten address!
Cobwebs gaily growing no footsteps on its floor
A wonder the shop keeps open its door
For long no buyer not one item is sold
The shop stands there timelessly old!
Not any knows it, not one comes to buy
The shopkeeper waits, not asks himself why
His wares spread amid the gathering dust
No money in cashbox, in his heart undying trust,
Someday someone would walk in from some corner of earth
Value his wares on display, pay the price they’re worth!
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 2:54 AM UTC
It was in a musky instrument shop
that I found myself hungry, so hungry.
I didn't know any Russian.
I told the old cashier,
a small woman with a brown bun-top,
that I'd really like some food.
She cocked her head,
shook off the dust, and jarbled back at me.
"Please," said I, as dough-eyed as one could muster.
She pointed to the door.
My belly grumbled.
I fell away sideways, walking out all lowly-like.
I began through the doorway
and the shopkeeper woman screeched.
I heard a moan come from above me.
There stood a 9-foot-tall, Slavic boy,
plagued with acne, hooked nose, and sallow cheeks,
with a metal clamp around his neck, right next to the door frame.
I thought he was drapes, ragged window drapes,
but he existed there and then with hands the size of cantaloupes.
The shop keeper whined and pointed at the boy.
I looked up at him,
and he, down at me.
She spat into a tissue and then shooed me again.
I grabbed his chain off its hook
and stoically proceeded out the door.
The boy dragged his feet behind me, begging and crying.
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 2:04 PM UTC
Spinster has one dream,
In shop thinks of rings and love,
. . . Wreaths of dried flowers.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 8:09 PM UTC
I remember walking back from school
the tenner for the bus ride in my pocket
There would be a row over why I had taken so long
But I'd gulp the sondesh down, and it'd be forgotten
The grey haired proprietor of the sweetmeat store
wore a perennial smile on his face
And sometimes I wondered if he had ever been sad
How could he with those sweets on his silver trays?
I learned to grasp the concept of gravity
when a piece of sweetmeat went down my throat
And then a lesson on quick mathematics
when the shopkeeper stretched his palm for what I owed
But sadly the chemistry book had no formula for me
to turn sugar and milk to that special treat
The report card was skewed, and the scolding that ensued
Was only remediated by my favourite sweet
Jul 23, 2019
Jul 23, 2019 at 1:56 PM UTC
all these things led you here
the oversized headlines
of your father’s newspaper
and his father's before him
the pakistani shopkeeper
who accused you of stealing
whose bark roasted your pimpled face
the boy at college you flirted with
the tall boy with the sleek curtained hair
whose family had fled iraq
who made you laugh
and nudged your knees
who went to study medicine
and never texted you back
your dad’s boss
the fat Jamaican
who sacked him at easter
just a handful of years before his retirement
the girl at work
beautiful girl
in the headscarf
who married a man she’d never seen
and when you asked her
if he was a good man
she replied joyously ‘yes!
the best man!’
the many taxi drivers
who ferry you home
and overcharge you
watching you in the dark mirror
beetle eyes glistening
caressing the face you prepared so neatly
now blotchy and wet
ketchup clown
bloated in the window
the face of second generation ivory
all these things led you here
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 6:46 AM UTC
Gorging my eyes with the non-sense and the ******** of the internet.
Feeding my mind the comical lives of those on reality TV.
Is this really what the world has come to?
Our lives consumed with your lives,
consumed with their lives,
consumed with our lives.
Twitter ***** toast to tweeting.
Tweet your lives away you ******
Who thought that a piece of paper could be so powerful?
Who thought a piece of paper would dominate mans will?
Who thought a piece of paper could lead to our destruction?
Who thought a piece of paper could make a man ****
President painted on each paper.
"Look at all those Benjamins!" you shout.
I highly doubt,
that the founding fathers would want to be on a piece of paper,
a piece of corruption,
a piece of destruction.
We have destroyed what the founding fathers built.
A land of freedom, justice, and pride,
is now a kingdom to the modern day CEO's,
and the fame ridden ***** that patrol our TV's.
The average actor makes more in one movie than the year round shopkeeper.
A man who devotes his life to supplying the public with proper products and good service,
makes less than a man who does something that we don't even need.
We need food, water, and all the shopkeepers supplies.
But do we really need a movie?
I did not know entertainment was higher on Maslow's hierarchy of needs.
I would like to see you solely survive off of a movie.
I feel bad for my children.
The children of the future in general.
That is, if we live that long.
They are going to have it rougher than me.
And sadly,
I alone cannot make their future better for them.
Only we, as one, can make it better.
But,
that will never happen.
We are divided,
our will, divided,
our minds, divided,
our spirits, divided.
We will never be one again.
With that said and done,
I'm going to finish my dinner now.
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 10:05 PM UTC
poetry masquerades under too much
freedom of ineffective
politics, which it does not which to
engage with, namely it's own:
far-left mummification,
the far left mummified its heroes,
the far right cremated theirs...
one took the route to
Prometheus absence as subsequent
lack of camp-fire eagerly hell-bent;
what truth is woman? the woman worthy
of socio-political affairs, or affairs
of paranoid idealism signature sentenced
as counter-argument with haircut stylistics
and tattooing? a healthy visible status,
rather than an unhealthy counter, status
or no status, one ascribed the guillotine phobia,
the second a necessary Buddhist heroism -
both left reward-lost: dream of troll maidens,
dream of perfected bedroom antics with
so much **** reducing acting to naught
and theatre to desperation with the ignited
insignia of bureaucracy rather than
bored harpsichord rebels hash tagging
emily davison for bets and awareness in having
monopoly - of her beauty i'll speak but little,
am i the shopkeeper, the merchant,
easier under the Niqab than for her fancy of ******
taking place... dreadlocks un-kept,
and three signatures on lips that made kissing
a pain... removed, thus revenged...
if i knew woman i'd have kept one...
but since i know none, i kept cats, bypassing women
and imagining children; and all the better
for my liking, such that the world shrunk
to the size of Lichtenstein - oh but the few
buttered friendships are there to be spoken off
in old age... the few that remain have already leveraged you
to bite the worm closest to the heart,
in times when educating yourself equated itself to being shamed;
when education became shame and trivia quizzing,
when education became Latin bulimia
and even that didn't fertilise the earth to spawn
the awaiting, unearthed root for what came to be
known as the chattering colour: as death stood,
in its wintry palace, jokingly mannequin.
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 8:31 PM UTC
I buy a shirt, a blue shirt, a button down.
I drink a glass of wine, a red, a Malbec.
And I watch.
I stand still in the midst
of the St. Cloud Market.
The crowd—that singular being—
jostles and jockeys and talks
in broken English.
I chew gum, cinnamon gum, Nicorette.
I feel my habit inverting, bending, becoming mechanical.
And I must flirt and be moral
with the shopkeeper who looks a little
like me.
And I must revert to an irrational, emotional,
childlike state as I buy three pirated DVDs.
The crowd forms a circle instinctually.
Three women dance slowly in the center.
Paper falls from the sky, newsprint, a day old.
Gunfire, the sound of it, its slowing of time.
No one says a thing
and no one's feet make a sound and
every child is perfectly behaved
for one relentless moment.
Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 5:54 PM UTC
He smashed his toy gun in seventy four.
Desperation - his face soured.
The shopkeeper knew he was more than kaput
and as for missing the xmas disco ~
he world never walk under the moon of love
from that day beyond.
The bullies had ran their cause
carefully formulating the groundswell.
Who were they his enduring question?
.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 2:10 PM UTC
prayer
is the coins to buy bread
and it is upto the shopkeeper
to giv us without.
prayer
is the school going child
to get cognizance by opening the books
and sometimes without them too.
prayer
covers the distance
between heaven and earth.
prayer
makes God happy
and removes His wrath upon us.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 7:00 PM UTC