"wares" poems
who lit the candles
placed so eloquently
behind purple rock?
that sculpted radiance
and chapel grace
wound in a chosen
defined way
down the spiral
stone stairs
street cars dawdle
alongside
the packer slew
biding merchants
shuffle their wares
as the front man
and pock face
sing their sullen
holy blues
cut jazz echoes
over the accompanying
gabble and drone
incense and haze
pour from
a lower trap door
sack fish, truffles
and splendid crafts shine
inside the stained glass fronts
a wide mouth snapper
with a bloated tongue
greets the
morning tide
(not camera shy
in the least!)
the fish traps
and beaneries
bring life
to the flourishing causeway
hula hoops
and circle ballers
join the
cobaine stage
favoured rogues
and mac jacks
speak easy
of the big daddy
beth’s triple by pass
taking firm hold on
tricky ****
and the nutcracker
maze ways,
taggers and
lost tunnels
of cu chi
strike a
nerving blow
a poised finger man
belts out his tune
(with a sniff sock
and iterating glare)
his nosey neighbors
cut artisan bread
(with a white wine
and jelly spread)
midwives push forward
for an afternoon
toddle and stroll
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 11:12 AM UTC
Willets cull the seawall
snapper on the grill
rock ***** swoon
in shallow lagoons
long boats pass
under quiet
palm shade
Plovers dance and flutter
handrails frayed and torn
graffiti spots
at lovers rock
frigate-birds fall
from a high
noon sun
Thatched roof on a mud wall
fish flags settle score
anchors arch
in front line march
pillar cracks form
under rust brown scars
Elegant tern and grebe
watchmen fall in cue
children play
on crested waves
whimbrels and notchers
perch above Tentaciones
Striped pelícanos
the bandits of the sea!
merchants grow
in steady flow
siblings jostle
in a tide cooled sand
Heerman gull and boobie
durango smoke in yurt
boiler shrimp
and puffer blimp
castle buckets and scrapers
under a dusk light cheroot
Six pulls on a lead line
painted toes in sand
shearwater run
in a rainbow sun
the portly mexicano
flaunts his tacos
and wares
Rooster house for swordfish
bamboo shoots and sails
broken shells
and ocean swells
rise
on the
perfect
La Ropa bay
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 2:22 PM UTC
This trumpeter of nothingness, employed
To keep our reason dull and null and void.
This man of wind and froth and flux will sell
The wares of any who reward him well.
Praising whatever he is paid to praise,
He hunts for ever-newer, smarter ways
To make the gilt seen gold; the shoddy, silk;
To cheat us legally; to bluff and bilk
By methods which no jury can prevent
Because the law's not broken, only bent.
This mind for hire, this mental **********
Can tell the half-lie hardest to refute;
Knows how to hide an inconvenient fact
And when to leave a doubtful claim unbacked;
Manipulates the truth but not too much,
And if his patter needs the Human Touch,
Skillfully artless, artlessly naive,
Wears his convenient heart upon his sleeve.
He uses words that once were strong and fine,
Primal as sun and moon and bread and wine,
True, honourable, honoured, clear and keen,
And leaves them shabby, worn, diminished, mean.
He takes ideas and trains them to engage
In the long little wars big combines wage...
He keeps his logic loose, his feelings flimsy;
Turns eloquence to cant and wit to whimsy;
Trims language till it fits his clients, pattern
And style's a glossy **** or limping slattern.
He studies our defences, finds the cracks
And where the wall is weak or worn, attacks.
lie finds the fear that's deep, the wound that's tender,
And mastered, outmanouevered, we surrender.
We who have tried to choose accept his choice
And tired succumb to his untiring voice.
The dripping tap makes even granite soften
We trust the brand-name we have heard so often
And join the queue of sheep that flock to buy;
We fools who know our folly, you and I.
11.1k
Home is where the heart is.
Home is where Taiwanese people
Hock their wares at the top of their lungs
As you're pressed on every side
By the crush of people filling the lanes
Of the night market.
Home is where crazy San Franciscians
Roam the hills in shorts with jackets in hand
In case the fickle Weather changes his mind
Or they wander too far west
Into the land of perpetual fog and mist.
Home is wherever you are.
Or at least that's what home used to be.
But since you've gone away,
My heart is a thousand pieces.
Home needs a whole heart.
And mine isn't anymore.
So every day I'm homesick
For a place that will never be.
Home is now just in my memories.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 11:25 PM UTC
I made my own stop.
I made my own end of the line.
I made my own terminal.
I end here.
Someone died here today;
the start of their journey,
and the end of my own.
oil blood urine
fluids of mechanic and natural origins.
I peddle my wares;
I sell my sweat;
I am an energy salesman.
I ride this rail on rubber, not steel.
I do not intend to steer clear
but still be clear when the front-end is near.
Electric elephants bound to acrobat playgrounds.
Painted Tusks as valuable as my soul.
I do not meddle with my pedal:
joules of life grow more valuable.
energy exchanged
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 4:35 PM UTC
Ye who enter here, beware
Of wolves and mine shaft pits, take care
Or ye shall taste the bitter death
That comes upon the creeper's breath
Thy survival, on the good
Of other players rests
Upon thy house a naming sign
Each person must *****
And when night falls, take care that ye
Who stalk the halls at dark
Set up a light for ev'ry turn
A stick lit with a spark
A bone to catch a wolfie with
Some cookies fresh to eat
And in a furnace, toasty warm,
We have to roast our meat
To mine the caves and tunnels deep
To delve into the mountains
And when the water gushes forth
We then create the fountains
Sell your wares, o Cobbler man
I've melons many to spare;
An axe, a sword, a shovel stone
Oh? You like my hair?
Here we go, see yon moon rise
The world in the starry twilight
I have not seen the whole world yet
Would you take me there by starlight?
Unspoken fear; the creeper hiss
Blew up my trusty door
And now all manner of verminous things
Have crawled across the floor
If only I had a wolf to my name
Three bones to win his love;
Then he could save me from--I shudder--
The Enderman above.
No armor have I, nor sword of iron
Stone and wood are mine
The wooden stairs that lead up high
Tell me, who had all this time?
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 5:47 PM UTC
*She is on the street in her little kiosk ,
at the break of the dawn ,
When many are still on a lucid dream.
Selling the most delicious of grapes
Sourced straight from the vineyards
Assembling the previous day's discards all in a tray
Discards For humans it maybe ,
But
for her birds its a treat to relish .
Swooping
down for it ,day after day..
Mostly bought by the morning walkers ,
Many in numbers are they
old patrons , as they say.
Every day she sells her wares
Holding the loveliest of smile
That I have seen in years,
All Knowing , the pain that she hides behind .
Never misses a day nor business,
And back home she is before sundown.
Only to return the following day,
With a new stock ,at the break of the dawn.*
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 1:45 AM UTC
I look up from my book
to find beams of warm sunlight
touching my face,
the chugging of the train
accompanied by its whistling,
become my aural companions
for the journey,
as I look at scenes that
unfold before my eyes :
I pass by hawkers
trying to sell their wares,
their calls mingled with
joyous voices,
of children
excited about their
first train journey,
of families
on their way,
perhaps, to attend a wedding,
or to celebrate the birth
of a much awaited child.
I see :
village belles toiling away
on fields;
shabby looking buildings
speaking of years of neglect;
temples ringing with the sounds of
bhajans being sung with religious fervour,
bells being tolled, pleading
the gods to look down
from their divine abodes;
roadside stalls filling the air
with aromas of food,
promising hearty meals.
They are all ephemeral sights, and yet,
they have become a part of me -
the smells, the sights -
they shall bring back memories
that will become my companions
in solitude.
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 4:17 AM UTC
One badass chick,
she strutted like a peacock
all the way down the block.
Men craned their necks
just to catch a glimpse
of her,
flicking her cigarette,
shaking her wares.
She walked right on by me
& winked,
had a little smirk
on her precious puckered-lips.
Geez, what a head of hair.
And though it made me sick,
I kind of giggled
to check out her aftermath.
Guys just stood there in awe,
dumbfounded,
bug-eyed
& I counted
no less than
six hanging-tongues
drooling.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 4:50 PM UTC
Bricks and mortar, steel and boards,
Phone poles lined with power cords, on
Pothole streets, where engines roar,
'Neath smoggy skies, where jet planes soar,
Where penny merchants peddle wares,
And news reports pretend they care,
Where vagrants sleep, and children stare,
And people work for lives not theirs,
That's life in the jungle, adrift in the herd,
Where terrestrial beasts envy free flying birds
Where the pundits stand polished, and speak empty words,
And the artists paint portraits, while posted on curbs,
Where the men push carts, full of empty cans,
And the women spend paychecks, for spray-on tans,
Where the truckers drive loads, 'cross a thousand mile span,
To appease the great gods of supply and demand,
Asphalt and tarmac, girders and glass,
Terrarium trees in cemented sod grass,
Ripe with the stench of exhaust fumes and gas,
As the choir lines up for the 10 o'clock mass,
While the brokers all scream, at a packed stock exchange,
As the veterans in wheelchairs sit begging for change,
That's life in the jungle, it's just a big game,
But remember you're playing, lest you go insane.
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 11:01 PM UTC
Look at me. What do you see? A boy crying out for sanctuary? I morn only myself for the life I lead.
see I ware a mask to shelter the past. To keep thoughts away who do not plan to stay. It might be lonely it might be sad, but when I meet my reflection I know ill be glad. Where ever she is, where ever she may be, I know she wares a mask just like me. Together we will chase the bad guys away. Ill see her scars and she will see mine. Below our skin our hearts will align. I can't see her face yet but I know she's out there. The girl who carried my heart all my life. Through heartache and hatred and anger and strife.
And I will thank her for saving much more than my life.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 5:48 PM UTC
written on his face
the story of adversity
the trials he'd met
through his life's journey
nothing came on a silver salver
he did it tough
all his times were
rougher than rough
his boozing mother
sold her wares on the streets
she liked nothing better
than to be between the sheets
his daddy died in the winter
of nineteen fifty two
he had fallen victim
to an awful dose of flu
that boy had seen
so much sadness in his days
he struggled and battled
through those darkest of days
nothing was easy
it never was meant to be
his journey through life
was one of adversity
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 10:14 PM UTC
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
that which used to take ten minutes
now takes an hour or
two
something's that used to take an hour or
two,
now take ten minutes, give or
take,
(mostly I do the taking)
(or as the little voice whispers, the mostly
faking)
betcha you'd like to which is what
and what is which being bewitched,
I ain't spilling no beans
cause I value my insanity's privacy,
and I don't got to give that up just yet
but if you want the worst of what little I got left,
unhappily I will approach the old muse
begging me giving me something to use,
bad she turns away bad she say
*"You all tricked out,
you wares worn,
ye old styles from yester last month
you been styled by
H&M;
30 days max,
then
ring in the new, and if all sold,
or none-at-all,
too bad for you*
then you gotta decide:
wear a watch
or watch the wearing
with small
pleasures sighed,
confirming, night-moves,
gonna
Keep On Keeping On
Living
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 2:31 AM UTC
747
It dropped so low—in my Regard—
I heard it hit the Ground—
And go to pieces on the Stones
At bottom of my Mind—
Yet blamed the Fate that flung it—less
Than I denounced Myself,
For entertaining Plated Wares
Upon my Silver Shelf—
4.7k
That Chinese box
Your wares untasted
From whence arose
The lunar doom
Of my obsession.
Some oriental harmony
I never heard
Auspicious omen of prosperity
That passed me by
Like cloud shadow across moon
On a restless night
Long ago.
Your pale and autocratic beauty:
Moon over wall-gate in frontier
Long gone
Like life on a distant planet;
I am out of your orbit . . .
Still you circle
Serving others more worthy
Of your light.
I still love you, Mooncakes
Though I shall never taste you.
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 7:33 PM UTC
Innocent Hyacinth tinted with mint
Tingèd grey hinged on stem singed
With chestnut leaves flowing, to me a fair hint
Of off-centred carousing, black eyes perusing
Wares of all sorts and stocks of all shares
The leading on of a pleasure most gracefully enthusing
Drops dews of all shades, of selfsame structure
And we full of rowdy Sedition;
But Wait! Recognition.
In my hopes and tired efforts, a puncture.
Music blaring loud, aftertaste of rejection
And full on full strand of all smoke addled people
Oh! How great Quasimodo I fell off my steeple
In the midst of the crowd, full dejection.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 4:03 PM UTC
Slimy sea feet.
Sandy salt tongues.
Gabby gulls and cautious *****
Boardwalk smiles and sticky ice cream fingers.
Ripened hearts and eager tide eyes.
Tears in my ears from the satisfied sun seeking silence.
This is where I belong.
This is where I know God.
I don’t belong in a town that can offer me nothing.
I don’t belong in a massive city that’ll swallow me up.
I don’t belong at silly soirees or late night parties.
I don’t belong at the top tier or down with the underdogs.
I belong on the shores.
I belong arm in arm with my confidantes, walking through downtown streets of some sweet town.
I belong hand in hand with my true companion with our toes in the sand.
I belong sipping soda with my sisters giggling endlessly as we watch some cheesy chick flick.
I belong hugging my mama who I will never stop loving for an instant.
I belong sitting with my father drinking tea in the purest, sweetest silence, for that is how we were made to be.
I belong listening to my dad’s tall tales and my mothers soothing words.
I belong holding my stomach with my face streaked with tear drops from some joke that is only funny if you were there.
I belong forever in the future with that one, the one whom was made for me; the Tilney to my Catherine.
I belong holding the gazes of my friends as we try to hold back our cackles, tears, and even our own words.
I belong in the waves of the sea.
I only belong in the happiest of salty tears.
I can’t belong where I’m too afraid to face my fears.
I won’t belong in broken gears.
I’ll not for a moment belong in heartbroken wares.
I’ve never belonged in them, but they live inside me.
They have and always will be
My demons and my skeletons
Yet you will always see them on my sleeves
So everyone can see they do not devour me.
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 12:09 AM UTC
You want a make out
Without a ring on it
You call it attractive
I call it infactuation
They call it seductive spirit
They just want the pudding
Bunch of irresponsibles
This kind goeth not away
But by fasting and prayer
A generation of sadomasochists
Bunch of nymphonaniacs
Do I look like a loose ball?
Even if I wanted to play
"Shoe get size, 'mbok'"
Open your legs at your peril
When it's time to settle down
Men look beyond beauty
Character and intelligence tops the list
Even love is not enough
When he is ready to "ring it"
Don't say I didn't tell
When you advertise your wares
Frontally and from behind
You attract what you represent
Men don't like exposed wares
If you cover it very well
They will pay fire to posses it
Trust me, I speak from experience
Queens of the night
Their office opens at night
Adorned in skimpy gowns, no brassiere
Sometimes, with their nieces knickers
Exposing all exposables
You attract what you are
You get what you desire
Do you have a banging body
With seductive shape
All you get is a one night stand
No one wants to marry an empty barrel
Before you open your legs
Please, open your sense
Do you understand?
Before I drop my pen
Please repeat after me
Lord, Jesus, I come to you today
As my personal Lord and saviour
Deliver me from seductive spirit
That I might be made whole
Write my name in the book of life
Thank you for saving me. Amen!
Dec 13, 2019
Dec 13, 2019 at 1:07 PM UTC
The end of summer is such a ******
The end of picnic's in the park
The end of Fireworks in the dark
The end of State fairs
The end of outdoor booths were people sell their wares
The end of camping and roasting Smores
All too soon we will back indoors
The end of outdoor Music Fests
Too soon to be replaced with books and taking tests
I hope what remains is some good memories of Summer to keep us warm all fall and winter long
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 9:47 PM UTC
Caressing my face,
Bubbles rush to greet me
Tickling like a sweet spring sigh.
This is only the first.
I am still half
A visitor. Stuck in suspension
Between this world and mine.
Slowly I pass
Through the threshold.
My air-sick ears adjust
To the sounds of the sea.
I stare down
At the small colony
On the sea floor,
My landing gear is down.
Customs arrives.
A grey, French Angelfish
Of the most industrious kind.
But he isn’t obtrusive.
As he flits in and out
Checking my bubbles
Ensuring I am not bringing
Any more air than I should.
No doubt he will stay near
Most of my stay
I have finally arrived,
The coral city stretches before me.
I catch the current trolley
And it whisks me past
Rocky storefronts and coral motels.
Lobster shopkeeps
Rush out of dark
Stores and stand in the street
Giant claws raised
Toward me in supplication.
Beckoning me to come
And browse his wares
While a fish I don’t know
Is busy cleaning homes and stores.
They must’ve dropped out of the school
Which passes by
The pupils in matching uniforms
Of flashing silver and black.
Clown fish wave
To me from their Lawns
Of sea anemone
Before darting back inside.
Here is the kind of place
Where I could put down roots.
Live out an idyllic life
Living in a coral townhouse.
But for me to stay
Would be severely fatal.
I’m just a visitor
And my visa is about to expire.
I look back one more time
As my head breaks the surface.
The sun stings, I blink.
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 2:07 PM UTC
***** feet
***** of them ache
they're dry
all dried out, moisture to face and digestive tract make little difference
but comfort a little sort of; maybe
subdue to replenishing
skip the pain with a drink fucken, fucken drink fucken
dust lingers in the brain, it swirls
a cloud of ground envelops the shape of u
u become covered
u have a layer,
salty,
and dry
and 'organic'
(surely bio (though im not sure what is or why are))
full city boy, suburban boy, not particularly gritty boy
along side hippies
and volunteers all tripppy
and unwashed, and un plastic
yet forcefully hemped
drunk of micro beer
and burnt brown and blotchy red
and wire-y
and dry
and matted
as if nothing really matters except for principles
misguided and randomly enforced
feel like a husk; peanut shell
insides swallowed by the mouth of the party embodied
a monsterous sweaty man tanned and thickly bearded
and beered
fat dreads fall around and surround u; a forest of hair
a circle encroaching of fuzzy pillars in fibres
entrapped inside them; feel their lingering time matted hold
a wealth of effort to become unkempt; they are bars
they are walls
and the FACE!
……………………… ………………………………… oh
looming down, wafts of armpit vapour cloud; a looming puft that surrounds
engorged by the scent as it circles u, the mouth that lowered onto u
chews u and spills bits of u
chomp chomp
protein for vegetarians; u; ur rigour ur vigour ur guts
eaten in a flurry of chomps and slurps and it crunches
and it grates
like the rocks on the ***** of ur feet it grates
u are digested
and reused
as they would like
but for them; for a collective u dived into
for fun
2 days to peddle ur wares
to progress ( admittedly through some days of regression…)
for all humans, and Humans; for fun
on monday we will repent
for the damages waged on the inside of the body
and the outsides too
for some gain
i guess on this which we settle
for always for display for fun
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 2:10 AM UTC
the politics
of mirrors
lies out of sight
while the frogs in the pond
fashionably late
sing the swan song
of separation
no-mind-all-one
the ******* tree fruits teeth
and eats itself on impact
leaving behind no trace
of heart beat
or throbbing veins
but instead remembers itself
on the earth as a skeleton
bones made of the
finest silver set of dining wares
for to feast
on the slack remaining
weightless brain of a thing
that spins the circles is sails
like a tailor
in a fire
Jun 19, 2012
Jun 19, 2012 at 6:00 AM UTC
Perplexed by the lack of emotion
This service once the fight of the nation
Little thought now that war was won
Little thought to who receives the funds
One nation is what was told
All services were once ours to hold
Now the deeds of greedy done
The profits to them shall become
The needy the poor will rot in the gutter
Whilst a city is built like no other
Care not for the want or needs
The delinquency has sown its seeds
No blankets in a harsh winter
No shelter for the wars that splinter
Gone the door where free could roam
Pay your dues again or face the laws at your home
Do not whinge nor whine
Your lapse behavior sees you fine
When its you that seeks their wares
You will find a cost too much to bare
When your cut or wound lays rotting
Reflect your moment of desertion
Remember this the choice was yours
You chose to watch as they dismantled
The Nations Health service and Closed the doors.
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 5:34 AM UTC
Exotic ladies flaunt their wares
to joe publics wanten stares,
'They' do this to earn their crust
'They' do this out of lust.
In the darkness of the narrow street
the gawping public shuffle feet,
The lights illuminate carnal pleasure
while 'they' peruse at their leisure.
Here is a woman drenched in red
a female who works from her bed,
How did she get here?
Why does she stay there?
A parade of cat and mouse
at the seedy brothel house,
Gestures of blazing desire
fuel the burning ****** fire.
Dec 30, 2011
Dec 30, 2011 at 9:02 PM UTC