"shoplifters" poems
Different people at work and Different moods too ... Employees are different from Their employees anytime ... Customers are different in Their attitudes ... Salesmen or vendors are pushing For their stuffs to be sold ... Delivery drivers are those go In-between anytime ... All factors work together Including the climate itself ... Shoplifters and thieves are That part of life ... There are many things that At work .
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 6:35 PM UTC
"Don't tell me the poets ... "
I write poetry that is both incorporated
And incorporeal ... and un and un and un
It is done
On the pad : and off
Hop - Lily
On the tailgate
In the truck
Boots on the ground
In the muck
Put on your Carhartt's
It's time to get *****
Even better
Grab your Old Man's work clothes
Finish the job
That He didn't want to start
Don't tell me the poets are ******* crying
We're living
And we're dying
Careful though
The warlords have come into the jungle and slaughtered before
But we live again
A little more angry
A little less wise
--> **** **** up, juveniles
Shoplifters of the world ...
untie
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 11:58 AM UTC
He crosses the street
But never takes the corner of his eye
Off of you
As if you would actually let
Your foot off the brake
This Civil War
Our nation is now fighting
Is different
Than the last
The sign in the convenience store window
Warns of shoplifters being shot
And survivors.. They'll be shot once more
The store clerk follows you
Discreetly, so he thinks
Almost begging for you
To use your five finger discount
This Civil War
Our nation is now fighting
Is different
Than the last
Money-hungry moguls
Only widening the gap
The vagabond with ripped pants
The newlyweds who work so much
To have so little
The capitalist kings
Poisoning the peasants
Anything for an extra buck
Anything
As the rich get richer....
This Civil War
Our nation is now fighting
Is different
Than the last
A real-life game
Of cops and robbers
Has gone way too far
Guilty
Not guilty
He said
She said
Armies forming
Head to head
Parting
Like the Red Sea
This Civil War
Our nation is now fighting
Is different
Than the last
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 12:55 PM UTC
Danny could be counted on
To run some kind of scam.
And usually the victim was
His older brother Sam.
But Jimmy liked pranks
And pulled quite a few.
Jumping out at passersby
Was a favorite thing to do.
One day I took them with
Mom’s express consent
To our favorite notions store,
Woolworth five and ten.
We looked and touched;
Added to our Christmas list.
And as we paid for candy
I was clueless what was amiss.
As we were walking home
Out on the street again
Suddenly, goggle eyed
I saw the show begin.
Out of each kid’s pocket
A trinket, a toy appeared.
This is precisely what
I had originally feared.
The little shoplifters stole!
The blame would befall me.
Their only thought was
They got all this for free.
I told them to take it back
But they just angrily said no.
I had other recourse, it seemed
Then to let our Mama know.
Mama went a bit frantic
Her voice went high and loud.
And of course, my brothers
Were no longer quite so proud.
Jimmy smacked Sammy
And Sammy started crying.
Mama smacked them all.
And Danny started lying.
Then Mama walked them
Every one of the three
Back to the five and dime
And they confessed tearfully.
Mama paid for the things
And told them no TV
And sent them to bed soon
After supper was history.
And all of them blamed me
But, Mama said I did well.
It wasn’t to please Mama.
I didn’t want them to go to hell.
And I was a bit P.O.ed;
They took advantage of me.
So, they could just grumble.
It made no difference to me.
That’s the way things went
With three regular brothers.
There were fights and fits.
They often miffed our mother.
Jimmy smacked Sammy
And Sammy started crying.
Mama smacked them all
And Danny started lying.
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 1:37 AM UTC
On T.V. I see the poppies grow
Between the stalks I see the ghosts
Acquaintances, lovers, enemies, friends
Strange that an innocent plant
Brought about their ends
Many times it nearly killed me too
Slumped, choking, pin-eyed, turning blue
But I managed to swim against the stream
Pulled myself painfully out of the dream
Too many I knew didn't survive
Their families crying at the grave side
The earth fell to the coffin from out of their hands
Because of a plant that grows in Afghanistan
Struggling farmers grow it to keep their families alive
Smugglers carry it across the waters wide
Every mile that it travels, the price it inflates
It ends up on an English council estate
Shoplifters and burglars walk the grey, rainy streets
When darkness comes the working girls pound their beat
Warily watching through windows
The dealers do what they can
Selling powder from a plant that grows in Afghanistan
Aug 19, 2017
Aug 19, 2017 at 2:03 PM UTC
the classy tone made atonement
internal beauty spoke in spades and kindness
for the learned mind turns differently
than the thieving rats and their gutter mates
who thrive in shame and senseless belligerence
brainwashed nonentities in unwashed Armour and weak heads
the gatherings of left-overs and frustrated ******* with no gains
the park-life rejects and unmarried mothers and shoplifters dregs
all in neon unison seeking to manipulate emotions
like their sad stories handed from ***** to ***** for use to use
hating the decent without gutter dirt and craven spoils
too perfect, too cool and too classy for Joan, Kelly and gross birds
drive him mad, they scream in painful rejection and shame
throw mud, slander and spill the blood of the ****** that refuses
go go to the taxi-drivers that pass you around, go beg for pennies
the classy voice made atonement
the goods know when to sin and when to pray
the gutter dwellers know nothing but fear and insecurities
of putting out here and there, selling bodies to be one of many
poor sick stinking divas, your cab is waiting and Gin is cheap.........
Aug 24, 2019
Aug 24, 2019 at 5:31 PM UTC