"shopper" poems
Retailers hope to net profits with the overlapping of holiday seasons.
Thanksgiving is yet to be history; but, out comes the Christmas trimmings.
No big surprise seeing holiday reminders arriving and filling mail box,
comes with pre-season, this early blitz of commercials on tv now the net.
Early arrival of holiday brings bell ringers standing between shopper's exit,
a failure to repeat and repeat donations, brings looks of extreme displeasure.
Each and every time you enter or exit discount, drug, and many retail stores,
shoppers face not only bell ringers; but, 365 days donate at register requests.
Most can't equal billion dollar give aways by Bill and Melinda Gates' circle.
Most work extremely hard and donate but also choose to live on budgets.
I donate and have nothing against charities; but, how much should one give?
Retailers, putting shoppers on the spot, asking for donations upon check out?
Never a pinch penny when it comes to sharing when there's an "actual" need,
generosity is always a personal choice, I let guilt not be my companion in giving.
Multiple donations to canister's of amnesiac holiday bell ringers? Wont happen!
Nothing against legit charities; but, giving until you're broke, you "will" be needy.
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 8:04 AM UTC
Smiling politely in the local store,
another happy shopper that most would ignore,
but what torrid secrets lay under her grin
the tainted stigma of that hidden sin,
she wraps up her fears with the things that she’s bought,
packed into bags without a thought,
the knots in her stomach drive her insane,
for she knows that tonight there’ll be anguish and pain,
She drinks her coffee and stares at the clock,
It’s ticking hands seem to laugh and mock,
her doleful eyes are starting to mist,
as she thinks of the bruises made by his fist,
Violently thrown onto a bed,
pinned down and stifled as if she was dead,
pretends not to feel the hatred and pain,
as her virtue is stolen again and again,
She’s sick of the broken promises and lies,
prays to a God who never replies ,
Its all tucked away where no one can see,
longing for the day that her soul will be free.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 10:49 AM UTC
There's a funny sort of emptiness
that passes over me
as I walk past the paperback erotica that tuck themselves away
in the shelves of the local grocery store in places that are
simultaneously completely out in the open yet completely ignored
looking, as I do, with mock casual interest
and unfeigned disdain.
Who are these intended for, really?
Are they for the snuggly-wuggly, ***** cozy-woozy, wishy-washy and warm family of four
comparing chicken nugget prices and
weighing the health benefits of
vegetable medley versus succotash?
Or are they for the uni flatmates
walking huddled together for warmth or protection or both,
seeing as they're wearing only sandals and denim shorts
and this is the first time
they've been grocery shopping without mum,
that giggle loudly together to mask how homesick they really are
while they compare the calories in
Campbell's versus Progresso.
They went with Progresso if you were wondering.
Or are they meant for those who are cooking for one?
For those who have no need to compare prices
or calories
out loud.
For those who are well acquainted
with the old, familiar tiled aisles
as they have no one to take out to dinner.
Is this where they are to find company?
Betwixt the pages of a badly penned,
lighter than marshmallows,
more shallow than the kiddie pool,
more transparent than Casper,
not-good-enough-to-be-bloody-compost
"literary" garbage?
Is this -assumed- female
supposed to curl up with one of these slabs of drivel
and feel **** and aroused
in her baggy sweats and ill-fitting hoodie
after she ate a microwaveable chicken *** pie all by her lonesome?
As a single girl who often cooks for one,
I am offended by this.
Personally,
I think Lestat is ten times sexier than Edward,
Salai is way cuter than Fabio,
and Christian Grey couldn't S Mr. Rochester's D.
What I'm saying is-
Grocery Stores.
YOU are the primary reason for this pathetic f-ckery.
Everything else in the store can be compared for quality.
So why not apply that same knowledge
to the book arena.
Signed,
A Concerned Shopper
p.s. Please extend the validity date on the chicken *** pie coupon. Thank you!
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 10:57 PM UTC
Thrift Shop Confessional
Old carts squeak down re-sale aisles
"One of," "two of,"
Sometimes "three of" items
Tempting treasure-sifting shoppers,
Bargain-needing families,
Women seeking up-brand names at low-brand prices...
Our wives, followed by their husbands,
Acquiescent, but quiescently seeking
Seeking a thrift shop oasis.
A cast-off dining set beckons,
Sturdy enough, if a little battered,
To make us solemnly content to wait
Carted clothing trundling
Off to fitting rooms.
He shuffled up with a foolish grin.
"I think I'll join this convocation of
Waiting gentlemen.
My wife is a shopper...
She'll close the place down."
I moved a chair and gave some space;
Strangers become brothers in this place.
Five minutes on,
I knew he was a vet:
Army, Vietnam Nam...
"I don't like to think about it,"
Cleared his throat,
"Never can forget."
I turned to look at him.
"A little girl came running,
With her hand behind her back.
She only stood this high," he said,
And showed me with his palm her height,
"They carried grenades that way...
All of 'em...couldn't tell which ones...
Sergeant told us, 'Don't ever check...just shoot.'"
The voice trailed off....
I sat sweating in a thrift store,
Captive of my own politeness,
Half a century,
Half a planet,
Transported in his words
into a soldier's Hell.
"So I shot...
Nothing else to do."
Silence then.
A total stranger staggering
under the weight of having
Murdered his Albatross....
Of having carried this thing,
This memory,
Inside him all these years,
Of finding me,
The unsuspecting thrift shop guest
Who'd listen to his lonely tale,
Perhaps so he could earn some rest....
I, his unwitting Confessor,
Uncertain what to say,
Certain something must be said...
Certain nothing could be said...
Sat dumb, but understanding
The wisdom of confessional dividers,
The private comfort of two booths
Where prayerful exchanges
Intersperse uncertain silences,
Present in the overhanging need:
Demanding sorrowful returns,
Impending memories of sorrows...
And lonely trudgings home....
(Connections with Fr. Laurence's "Riddling confession finds but short shrift," in Romeo & Juliet, and Coleridge's "Rime of the Ancient Mariner")
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 5:39 PM UTC
while trying to buy some durex
he trembled to his roots
this is just a sport shop sir
you'd better try at boots
half an hour later
fearing confrontation
i'd like to buy a rubber thing
with batteries and vibration
once more the lady scowled
while showing him the door
this is just a sport shop
and don't come back for more
i want some k.y. jelly
he whispered his demand
her patience now exhausted
manager came to hand
what's the problem sir?
you seem a little harassed
welsh rugby, shirt he mumbled
but i'm too embarrassed
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 1:47 AM UTC
A dog sleeps
Using the steps of Barista Coffee Shop
As a pillow
A range rover hovers nearby
Waiting for the eventual girlfriend
To turn up
Two young school going girls
Bond
Across the road
And me
At my corner table, alone
Bond with my black coffee
A girl in red pajamas
Waits, with her big Shopper Stop Bag
Till some one, all smiles comes and says
“Hi”
And I still wait and wait
To let the sun take its own time,
To complete the journey
Of this side of the sea
And travel beyond
To say “hi”
And I keep waiting to be free
From the time
From the thought
Bound in the memory of life time
Do you see that?
Or I have to walk into the night
From the evening sunset to morning sun rise
To say,
I see you.
______________________________
Bandra Bandstand is in Mumbai at the sea face, where I love to have coffee, read books and watch the sun set down, in the evenings. I wrote this watching the happenings out side the Barista Cafe
Sep 26, 2010
Sep 26, 2010 at 9:50 AM UTC
How many millions have you got
I expect you lost count
It's a hellava lot
Not forgetting the splendid yacht
An artist scans a landscape
A comic distills a joke
A shopper looks for a parking space
An addict drags on a smoke
I do what I want one thing at a time
Cumulus nimbus are flying high
Follow my nose with a healthy dose
Of common sense and instinct combined
A vicar rehearses a favourite prayer
A sailor waits on a breeze
A writer sees a story there
A woodsman searches the trees
A rich man still believes he is poor
A lost and lonely is thinking if only
Patting the chair and tapping the floor
We all go chasing a bit of fun
Fulfilment comes in different ways
Like writing a poem every day
Oct 6, 2012
Oct 6, 2012 at 3:24 PM UTC
In Houston, Texas,
she was a volcanic eruption.
A sword ripping through
the societal norms.
She looked on the world
as her carnival, sometimes sticky
and smelly, but wonderful and bright.
Every morning Marley would
sit on her driveway.
Waiting for the mailman to
bring her the bills.
Every morning she'd smile at him.
Tell him stories about her
life as flea market shopper.
"There's a piece of gold
amidst all that trash."
Introduce him to her shelled spider.
"This is my pet crab Eddie.
We're best friends, he's a hermit too."
Her death came in an odd
silence.
Her simple absence on Wednesday
morning.
Marley Rain was an exceptional
girl.
The mailman said she made an exceptional
corpse.
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 3:47 PM UTC
I bought a real nutcracker today.
A fine shiny black truly cool looking one!
Each crack compliments to a dandy vintage lad's imaginary home TV shopper Ad.
Saying‘It's guaranteed! Hundred percent of mechanosensory reception!’
I try to convince myself between time stretching
‘Yes or No’s and ‘Just use stones’
‘Come on you've deserved it!’
‘Why bother?’
You have been craving for each
Tried and tested any,
same as so many
even from a hard peach.
So why not!? Keep it! – as if a testimony, from tough to juicy mimicking fruity blending **** seduced by crunchy mouth twisting *****
Digested from special yearly events to monthly justifications then weekly to daily and surprisingly after dinner, before breakfast, as brunch or even a whole meal sometimes.
You gnaw like a small rodent layer by layer cute but so tight although he says that’s alright.
Dashing trunks as if a woodpecker,
Stealing home reserved only-for-the-pet’s crumbs and
Finally receiving next day’s well deserved belly cramps.
Come on you almost broke your teeth during your worldwide exploring different types of shell husking trip.
Feel blessed now one time for goddess’ sake that she winks and tweaks my lips while it creaks, festively announces your recent find that nuts you shall eat raw only - neither baked nor from a sinfully roasted ready packed plastic bag.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 8:56 AM UTC
Pathetic.
That’s what I’d call you.
Just plain miserable
and manipulative.
You tricked me into giving you the world .
Deceived me into believing that you’d never do me *****
You blinded me by your lies
“Forget about them , you have me.”
But , I didn’t really have you ..
Did I ?
You took what you wanted .
You let me put you before myself .
But ?
I don’t even blame you .
Maybe if I would’ve been in your position ,
Being offered the world
And only being asked for friendship in return ..
Maybe then I would’ve robbed you of your trust .
And your love .
You were my best friend .
My ace ,
My platonic soulmate .
And I treated you as much .
But, what was I ?
To you ,
What was I ?
A personal tutor ?
Remember those last two essays that you just couldn’t get done ?
Who helped you ?
Who stayed up after an exhausting day at work ,
After having to bike home in the cold and rain ?
Just so you could pass and not worry.
Maybe , I was just a free ride .
Always taking you places ,
Always giving you the keys and letting you do whatever.
You filled the tank maybe twice
within a nine month period .
And I never once said anything .
Oh I got it , I was your ATM.
Whenever you needed money ,
I was glad to help .
Whether it was for an Uber so you could go to your volleyball tournament
Since your own “mother” couldn’t take you
Or whether it was for a Plan B because
YIKES
Your boyfriend didn’t know how to pull out .
Hm , I guess I was also a personal shopper .
Buying you clothes when I bought me some .
You didn’t wanna spend your money ?
That was fine .
I would spend mine
And you didn’t even have to ask.
I was everything except your friend
and that’s all I wanted to be .
I should’ve seen this coming .
I should have KNOWN .
Looking back
All I can see are the signs ,
Foreshadowing what was to come .
You started to change right in front of my own eyes
but I didn’t want to believe it .
Didn’t want to believe what I could clearly see .
You started to ignore me .
For days on end .
Living in the same house became something like a
Silent war .
Everyone against me .
Including you .
You started to disappear into your room .
There were no more lifetime movie marathons together .
No more staying up and goofing around together .
No more talking about any and everything together .
I lost you way before I knew I lost you
and that makes my heart ache
like a pre-existing bruise
getting hit over and over again .
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 7:42 PM UTC
If I showed you my body bare
Through the shock, would you even care
That I stripped down layer by layer
Just to show you my innermost scares.
First is the very top layer
The girl with the messy dyed brown hair
The smiles and the laughter
Hiding all the pain that comes out after.
Second is the life of the party
Loud laughs, happy and hearty
Nothing to worry her pretty little mind
An empty, intoxicated mind.
Third is the loving pet-o-phile
That wants to travel from Paris to the Nile
Passionate shopper, day dreamer
But when she's angry, never meaner.
Fourth is the girl not many know
Called horrible things like a ***** and ***
She does not care about what they say
Waits all year for the two months after May.
Fifth is the bottle of open pills
And all she wants to do to herself is ****
The trust in life no longer there
The girl with the messy dyed brown hair.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 5:37 AM UTC
Lady supermarket
with an apple in her basket
everything she has chosen
is convientlly frozen
thats not even fit for a horse.
cat food.
cat food.
cat food.
Lady window shopper
never need to worry
with a tin of hurry curry
not even fit for a horse.
cat food.
cat food.
cat food.
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 5:26 PM UTC
*i've been to kenya, all that these "charity" adverts are fuelling
is ignorance, they're presupposing
all the african nations are like kindergarten,
they're insulating them... it's like that:
give a man fish or give him a fishing rod,
i.e.: give a man money or give him a
method creating & subsequently circulating wealth:
these charitable companies are insulting
african nations to be at a loss,
they're only feeding european bureaucrats
who are really the only worthwhile
charitable pay-cheque givens, odds 4-5.*
a retired lady selling poppies
for a feeling
committed suicide
being hunted by ninety-nine
charity organisations...
charity organisations...
start-ups akin to apps of
cue: shaved face, young, eager
****** venom ****** statues
of jealousy...
all the bankers' wives have
a tier system, the origin of
charity companies
(surely a wife can't be as pristine
as her husband):
first two don't count,
third: modern art "collector",
fifth: philanthropist,
seventh: possessor of an O.B.E.
and as one bemused englishman said:
king arthur and the zimmerframe table
of knights with walking sticks rather than swords:
money made people lazy, less adventurous,
let alone less tribal and communist,
adventure just became predictable,
tourism...
the modern shopper is envious of
the hunter gatherer... so envious
he wants to look the part, but live as modern
lazy allows... after all... all the gym sessions
can't go to waste... got to run standing still:
hey! don quixote! leave the windmills!
check out the treadmills... you see a caveman
anywhere in the sweaty parlours?
i don't.
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 7:31 PM UTC
you are the words that breathe through me. lift, move me. the item for a shopper's perusing; for use and abuse-ing. i'm your bend over barbie doll, your late night ***** call, the push over & the fall. i scrape myself off your boot; keep waiting for trees to bear fruit. it's funny how you can **** me til i'm lame & i still believe i deserve more pain.
how can i believe i'm worth your while when i know you don't care about proving it to me? it's so much sexier for you to see me beg, watch me grovel & worship your **** as if you are my only hope (for all intensive purposes, i mostly believe you are; you save me from facing myself at night. seminated distraction as masochistic salvation).
leave me mangled gasping hair tangled in your fingers grasping & you're lingering by the door, contemplating whether to leave me or take me on the floor. this is all i am to you: tested tried wrong used. bleed me until you stop seeing red, drag me willing or indifferent back to your bed.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 3:59 PM UTC
The burkas surrounded her,
the western shopper
down at the bazaar,
did some hollering,
a bit of pushing & shoving,
then they slit her purse,
stole all her money.
Welcome to Kabul.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 7:13 PM UTC
It started with the wide-leg Giorgio Armani pants
And it all went downhill from there.
They were so chic, and might improve her stance,
She could wear them to the market, hell, almost anywhere!
When she put them in her shopping cart
And continued to enter her credit card number,
A shot went right through her fashion-hungry heart
A jolt she still remembers!
It was the feeling of a new era
A new time in the lifespan of her wardrobe.
She would become a Prada-shopper, a vintage Chanel-wearer
No longer would she need to shuffle around her apartment in that awful bathrobe.
She'd strut down the street, sporting her Carolina Herrera.
A month later, a tingle slipped through her spine
As she donned a lapis Michael Kors
It was that sudden thought, "This dress is all mine!"
"It's mine now, so it isn't yours!"
From then on, it was her bank account that took the hardest hits
Money trickled through her Valentino-studded hands,
Down her Vera **** hips,
Came running down in thin, green strands.
Of course it all came falling apart when she saw the flawless Birkin bag,
Sitting there in the Hermes shop window
She knew it was the one thing she'd yet to snag!
However, there was just one thing she didn't know.
As she had the cashier ring it up,
Dropping another ten-grand
The cashier had her card snatched right up!
For this, Madame Fashion couldn't stand.
"Give it back!", she said, snapping her gold-dusted finger
"But dear you're overdrawn," said the snappy lady.
How she wanted to scream like soprano opera singer!
It was then that things got real shady.
In a lurch of madness, Madame jumped the counter!
The other shoppers were struck into awe and fear.
The cashier woman tried to stop her,
But Madame had just barely escaped, finally in the clear!
As she ran down fifth avenue, clutching her precious steal
A horrible revelation took over this felon,
She'd forgotten that she had wanted the purse in gorgeous teal!
Instead she had gotten melon.
Sep 23, 2011
Sep 23, 2011 at 3:55 AM UTC
even from a
distance
she wants to
make sure
that
you are
looking
at her
even if
you are
not
she
will see
to it
that her
un-plunging
neckline
is not
plunging
and
no flesh
shows
where the t-shirt
is just a bit short,
a royal hand
run through
flowing hair
when you pass her
she will say it
without say,
it is she who is
passing,
make way
then
when
she draws close,
as much as a hug
a cell phone
emerges as if
by magic
in her clasp
stares at it
unblinkingly,
places it
regally to
the ear
and before
you never
see her again
in your life
there is that
hint of a smile
hook like
at the corner
of her eyes
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 1:39 PM UTC
ghostly beings in ghost-town streets
tourists dressed in night-gown sheets
empty shelves; empty shopper
tempus fugit; clockstopper
november fog; chilly bones
midnight leaves me so alone
i can't feel your warmth right now
can't see you in torchlight now
no miracles, no visions
no stars for me to wish on
just us and the freezing air
just you captured in their snare
just me and my own shortfall
a ghost who loves a mortal
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 5:47 PM UTC
In Atlanta Victoria is red faced, her secret a secret no more.
A shoplifter made off with her ******* merchandise worth an eye catching score.
How one shopper could nab all those garments- it simply beggars belief!
Her “Angels” will now go “commando” Unless someone fingers the thief.
The crook was observed on surveillance with stuffed shopping bags leaving the store.
She didn’t get Victoria’s miracle bras so police think she’ll come back for more.
This sort of heist has happened before, although, thankfully, it is still rare.
The shoplifter may be a black woman, but its certain that she has a pair.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 12:06 PM 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
Skippy hopper
One leg bopper
The wife's my shopper
Food for grasshoppers!
I will eat like a Piggie
Today when I eat some Piggie
Gonna have to digalig biggie
A hole
For the piggie
Bones
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 8:44 AM UTC
Honestly, let's face facts;
We all should care for one another as we are but don’t—
Aren’t we all headed towards a plot, six feet deep?
I never understood why a woman wears make-up—
Are you making a cover up for your insecurities?
Are you making yourself available for the he said she said?
Or was there a moment in your life someone said
You were less than beautiful?
And if such a statement was verbalized,
Let me reassure you that you are beautiful and no one can take that away.
Honestly, let's face facts;
We all should care for one another as we are but don’t—
Aren’t we all headed towards a plot, six feet deep?
I never understood why a man clenches so tight to his pride—
Are you that afraid of what you encompass inside?
Are you making pretentious decisions to impress the next window shopper?
Or was there a moment in your life someone said
You were less than a man?
And if such statement was verbalized,
Let me reassure you that you are only the man you decide to be and no one can take that away.
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 5:53 PM UTC
I remember the look on your face
when you told me about your first time.
How it was messy and frantic and hot,
and not in the romantic way.
How all he said was, “My friend’s got something,” and left.
Left you lying there, frozen in your drying sweat,
wondering..."What's he got?
Left you bare, vulnerable against the world,
against the war raging inside your head.
“He was a Costco shopper, his friend,”
you will tell me between sips of gin.
I remember the first burn of whiskey,
as you poured it into your hand...
and let me lick it off.
Not in the romantic way.
All you said was, "It's supposed to burn.
That's how you know you're alive."
I wondered what it'd feel like to die.
You left me bare, vulnerable and bleeding,
lying there with whiskey on my breath,
while you waged a war on your body.
"This is how I know I'm alive."
Apr 7, 2011
Apr 7, 2011 at 5:58 PM UTC
window shopping for love,
he thought, is the smartest
way to do it, till he fell,
for smart window dressing.
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 9:16 AM UTC
I knew the woman at the Shopper's Drug Mart had never had her heart broken when she kicked me out of the hair aisle for slathering shampoo onto my chest for I was hoping that the suds would seep into my skin and find their way to my heart.
The label on the bottle read "anti breakage" and I just couldn't resist a try.
It didn't work however.
Possibly because the skin that stretches across my rib cage is no longer flesh, but scar tissue.
Or maybe its because I see the world in metaphors.
I am a Chinese flower *** and my cracks are full of gold.
My heart is a quilt made of mix-matched fabric of flaws and failures crudely sewn together with good intentions.
I am the paradox of the bumblebee who hurts herself way more to sting than to stay.
But I am too complicated to me a metaphor.
I am a human, flawed and fabulous, still trying to find out why I'm here and too naive to see I'll never know.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 11:31 PM UTC