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The oil merchant handles gold and diamonds; the grain merchant does business with silver, but the wine merchant is a poor man.
Ladies First
Pamela Purse yelled, 'Ladies first,'
Pushing in front of the ice cream line.
Pamela Purse yelled, 'Ladies first,'
Grabbing the ketchup at dinnertime.
Climbing on the morning bus
She'd shove right by all of us
And there'd be a tiff or a fight or a fuss
When Pamela Purse yelled, 'Ladies first.'
Pamela Purse screamed, 'Ladies first,'
When we went off on our jungle trip.
Pamela Purse said her thirst was worse
And guzzled our water, every sip.
And when we got grabbed by that wild savage band,
Who tied us together and made us all stand
In a long line in front of the King of the land-
A cannibal known as Fry-'Em-Up Dan,
Who sat on his throne in a bib so grand
With a lick of his lips and a fork in his hand,
As he tried to decide who'd be first in the pan-
From back of the line, in that shrill voice of hers,
Pamela Purse yelled, 'Ladies first.'
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mr Dream Merchant
(ross / weiss)
Hey, mr. dream merchant
Everything depends on you
Oh, hey, mr. dream merchant
Bring him back to me
And make my dreams come true
When I said goodbye
To my love
I didnt mean to make him cry
I didnt realise that I had love
Now I need him by my side
Oh, hey, mr. dream merchant
Everything depends on you
Oh, hey, mr. dream merchant
Bring him back to me
And make my dreams come true
You should have told this fool
To stop it
You should have made this blind girl see
I got my pride back in my pocket
Wont you bring him back to me?
Oh, hey, mr. dream merchant
Everything depends on you
Oh, hey, mr. dream merchant
Cant you make him see
We need each other?
Im no good alone
I really really, really love him
Bring him back to me
And make my dreams come true
Oh, hey, mr. dream merchant
Cant you make him see
We need each other?
Im no good alone
I really, really love him
Bring him back to me
And make my dreams come true
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grabby Gabby
Grabby Gabby was a little boy who was talking all the time
One day as he was walking, he saw on the sidewalk a dime
This started him to be grabby
Whenever he saw something shining, he would be grabby
One3 dayas he was walking, he saw a black shining lady's purse
He grabbed it and looked inside and found a lot of money in the purse
Also, he found a driver's license so he knew who the person was who owned the purse
So, he hurried to the ladie's house to return the purse
She was so happy that Grabby Gabby returned to her the purse and money
She gave him a reward of a large amount of money
June 29,2006, Clarence A. Graham, Jr.
poem by Jr. Clarence A. Graham
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The thought in my mind was that I must be a good merchant. If I were a good merchant, the rest would probably take care of itself.
quote by James Cash Penney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fair Cop
Hissed blond constable Bond, on the beat,
to a pair there more fond than discreet:
Miss Chris Bliss miss a kiss,
give the next kiss a 'miss',
for a kiss is amiss on the street.'
Tart replied as her heart missed a beat
while she eyed him with come-on complete,
I need neither dark veil
nor a trip kip parked in jail,
both are of no avail to compete
So although some dumb blonds stroll the street
up and downtown with busty conceit,
when they're bust they find bail,
beyond bond, pause or pale,
skirting law, pawing skirt, purse replete.
Second 'fair cop' may turn on the heat
whatever excuses some bleat,
condemnation repeat
for both worker, elite,
more than 'fine' words turns sentence complete.
But one sin, once begun, can be fun,
especially when time's left to run,
though the law has its uses
life makes up excuses
to justify undone well done...
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Terse Verse
Terse little verse, gold from beauties purse
In my soul thou so give
And on its worth my life I live
Terse little verse, gold from beauties purse
Love is a morsel of thine treasure
In one ounce is my immense pleasure
Terse little verse, gold from beauties purse
Sing like a muse
and in poetry fuse
my soul into verse from beauties purse
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Ballad of the Murdered Merchant
All stark and cold the merchant lay,
All cold and stark lay he.
And who hath killed the fair merchant?
Now tell the truth to me.
Oh, I have killed this fair merchant
Will never again draw breath;
Oh, I have made this fair merchant
To come unto his death.
Oh, why hast thou killed this fair merchant
Whose corpse I now behold?
And why hast caused this man to lie
In death all stark and cold?
Oh, I have killed this fair merchant
Whose kith and kin make moan,
For that he hath stolen my precious time
When he useth the telephone.
The telephone bell rang full and clear;
The receiver did I seize.
"Hello!" quoth I, and quoth a girl,
"Hello! . . . One moment, please."
I waited moments ane and twa,
And moments three and four,
And then I sought the fair merchant
And spilled his selfish gore.
That business man who scorneth to waste
His moments sae rich and fine
In calling a man to the telephone
Shall never again waste mine!
And every time a henchwoman
Shall cause me a moment's loss,
I'll forthwith fare to that office
And stab to death her boss.
Rise up! Rise up! thou blesséd knight!
And off thy bended knees!
Go forth and slay all folk who make
Us wait "One moment, please."
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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An empty purse can't stand alone and a full purse can't bend.
I Give It a Year
Rose Byrne, Rafe Spall, Alex Macqueen, Stephen Merchant, Stephen Merchant, Minnie Driver, Jason Flemyng, Nigel Planer, Clare Higgins, Anna Faris
by Dan Mazer from I Give It a Year (2013)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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When My Voice Stops!
When my voice stops for ever
There will be no tumults of words ever.
The stars will still twinkle and rivers will still die.
When my voice stops I shall dive into your oblivion
And in another costume someone will impersonate me.
The hymns will still be heard and the fresh idols will surface.
When my voice stops a lone sheep may bleat
As it stands near the tender leaves aplenty.
I think it may bleat for a while and cease to do so thenceforth.
When my voice stops those who loved me once for a while
May shed a few drops of tears innocent
And I may turn on my tomb for a sigh!
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Empty pockets empty purse
Inside my pockets
the wind..
continues to play
an old game, hide and seek
But then too bored,
not pleased enough
starts searching for
a playmate or a friend
who does he find?
Just take a guess? ?
My purse, thats right!
The wind tries hard to
hook him up
and Mr Purse?
naahh...
Too lazy and too weak..
promises to play
actually starts but
then, just hide away and
sleep.
Sweet dreams, you clever
empty Mr Purse,
Sweet dreams! !
poem by Elena Sandu
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Peace to Turmoil
When I omitted a line to read
I felt I lost the cost to that extent in
A tamil weekly that I then bought
With four annas of my privy purse.
I now buy it for seven rupees
To see across and throw it.
Is it due to the purging of my purse
Or mind running ahead of events?
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The merchant
Who could play Portia, but you?
The quick-witted woman
who really loved
and came to the rescue.
The merchant - just me. And it
was that way, with our life together
and the way that life went
and how quickly
my meagre savings was spent.
Inhuman Shylock could probably be
each and every employer
that misused me
and only offered a contract
of which the time ran out
as quick as the job was done
and no sure permanent job
could appear.
My ships sailing against the storm
would probably be my stories and poems
and when the script overtook us
I had to find other lodgings
as quick as magician
pulls a rabbit from a hat.
And then I wondered sweet Portia,
who’s hand held the knife
to slice into the inmost core
of the heart,
was it Shylock’s or yours?
But now you love me still
and sometimes your sweet voice
thrills me intensely
and your touch makes my hairs rise
and still I am in love
and not really wise.
[Reference: The merchant of Venice by William Shakespeare.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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