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The Sailor and the Market Man
'I ask you to see reason'
Says the sailor who is stern;
'You know full well that from the sea
A living I must earn;
I'll bother you to shake on it,
I haven't got all day;
Come on now make your mind up,
It ain't a lot to pay! '
'My friend, your price is far too high'
The market-man declares,
'Go find another buyer now
Who'll rid you of your wares.
I know the fish you bring to sell
Are fat and fresh and sound,
But I must make a living too
By watching every pound.'
The sailor and the market-man
They argue every day,
As if there's no tomorrow,
And each must have his say.
The sailor and the market-man
At odds they'll always be,
Until they've taken all
The little fishes from the sea.
Written Dec 1994
poem by John Carter Brown
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If fools went not to market, bad wares would not be sold.
If fools went not to market bad wares would not be sold.
Damascus
Set up places for yourselves in Damascus,
For my lover is like two small flocks of goats;
And i am ready to market my wares with you all.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Why Do You Post A Poem Posted Days Ago?
i notice it
you keep on posting
and reposting poems
days ago
like wares
in the flea market
left unsold
last sunday
on a monday
i see your
poem again
looks like
a commodity
and you the
poet becomes
the cheap
vendor
shouting
for the
possible
victim?
i see, poems
too are goods
that you display
over and over
again
and reading
them makes
me feel
like i am
this shopper
repelled
by this
persistent
hawker?
ok, today
is another
poetic market
day
excuse me,
how much
is that poem?
yes the one
with lesser words
the one that
is worn out
yes, the one
that never
sells
yes the one
that is
outmoded
discount, please.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Desert Walk
Two maidens in the desert walk,
Windy sands blow, they don't talk,
Selling their wares in the market place,
Weathered look on charming face.
Product Appeal
Mine is for niche, not wide market promotion
And only some have opted to' buy the full version'
The parts are functioning and well organised
But I, forever scrutinise
If I am not happy with my wares
Who is going to want to buy shares?
poem by Stevie Taite
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Quick
Quick to dismiss,
That which is misunderstood.
And quick to do this often.
Because one can and could.
Quick to define something wrong.
Quick to complain about it,
All day long.
Quick to sit to nitpick and pull apart.
As if this quickness was intended from the start.
Quick to resist a comprehension that exist.
Quick to allow a temper tantrum fit.
Quick to whip up excuses...
And split to disappear.
Quick to discover the nearest exit!
That's what troublemakers do...
When they stir up others in raging fits!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Braid Claith
Ye wha are fain to hae your name
Wrote in the bonny book of fame,
Let merit nae pretension claim
To laurel'd wreath,
But hap ye weel, baith back and wame,
In gude Braid Claith.
He that some ells o' this may fa,
An' slae-black hat on pow like snaw,
Bids bauld to bear the gree awa',
Wi' a' this graith,
Whan bienly clad wi' shell fu' braw
O' gude Braid Claith.
Waesuck for him wha has na fek o't!
For he's a gowk they're sure to geck at,
A chiel that ne'er will be respekit
While he draws breath,
Till his four quarters are bedeckit
Wi' gude Braid Claith.
On Sabbath-days the barber spark,
When he has done wi' scrapin wark,
Wi' siller broachie in his sark,
Gangs trigly, faith!
Or to the meadow, or the park,
In gude Braid Claith.
Weel might ye trow, to see them there,
That they to shave your haffits bare,
Or curl an' sleek a pickly hair,
Wou'd be right laith,
Whan pacing wi' a gawsy air
In gude Braid Claith.
If only mettl'd stirrah green
For favour frae a lady's ein,
He maunna care for being seen
Before he sheath
His body in a scabbard clean
O' gude Braid Claith.
For, gin he come wi' coat threadbare,
A feg for him she winna care,
But crook her bonny mou' fu' sair,
And scald him baith.
Wooers shou'd ay their travel spare
Without Braid Claith.
Braid Claith lends fock an unco heese,
Makes mony kail-worms butterflies,
Gies mony a doctor his degrees
For little skaith:
In short, you may be what you please
Wi' gude Braid Claith.
For thof ye had as wise a snout on
As Shakespeare or Sir Isaac Newton,
Your judgment fouk wou'd hae a doubt on,
I'll tak my aith,
Till they cou'd see ye wi' a suit on
O' gude Braid Claith.
poem by Robert Fergusson
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Go miser go, for money sell your soul. Trade wares for wares and trudge from pole to pole, So others may say when you are dead and gone. See what a vast estate he left his son.
quote by John Dryden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Market Day
There’s a market in our town, two days a week.
It’s nice to have a browse and take a quick peek.
There’s a riot of colours up and down the street,
And mouth-watering smells from all the food to eat.
There’s an explosion of different sights and sounds,
And dozens of people are leisurely milling around.
At the market, there’s always a great atmosphere,
And there’s nothing for sale there which is too dear.
A mobile van serves up spicy German bratwurst,
Plus a variety of different drinks to quench your thirst.
On one stall, they sell leather purses and handbags:
Cheap ones, plus designer ones, for the would-be WAGs.
In his mobile truck, a rotund butcher chops up some meat:
He promises his customers that his prices can’t be beat.
There’s a stall which sells low price pet supplies.
This is always a big attraction for the penny wise.
Hoping that none of his food will end up in the waste,
The Mediterranean food stall holder offers a free taste.
There are crisps and cakes stacked in crates,
Which are not long off of their sell by date.
From yet another stall, drifts an amazing perfumed smell.
They sell a variety of novelty soap and bath bombs as well.
A Jeweller displays a variety of items made of silver and gold.
He also buys any old unwanted jewellery, if it is being sold.
Then, of course, there’s the doughnut man –
Of this particular stall, I’m a very big fan!
Each market trader has their own unique call,
Trying to attract the customers to their stall.
They brave all weathers – the heat and the freezing cold,
Hoping that, by the close of day, their wares will be sold.
At the end of the day, there are real bargains to be found,
Such as a box of mixed fruit or veg for only a pound.
Come late afternoon, they pack up after a long day.
They load up their vans and are soon on their way.
When they have all gone, all that is left is a space,
And, of the market, there isn’t left a single trace.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I think the market is always going to be around. The goal is not to say, let's get rid of the market, because the market does render a huge number of services, and I don't want to have a fight about the price of something every time I buy a book or a bottle of water.
quote by Susan George
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Watch
I wakened on my hot, hard bed;
Upon the pillow lay my head;
Beneath the pillow I could hear
My little watch was ticking clear.
I thought the throbbing of it went
Like my continual discontent,
I thought it said in every tick:
I am so sick, so sick, so sick;
O death, come quick, come quick, come quick,
Come quick, come quick, come quick, come quick.
poem by Frances Darwin Cornford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Watch
I wakened on my hot, hard bed;
Upon the pillow lay my head;
Beneath the pillow I could hear
My little watch was ticking clear.
I thought the throbbing of it went
Like my continual discontent;
I thought it said in every tick:
I am so sick, so sick, so sick:
O death, come quick, come quick, come quick,
Come quick, come quick, come quick, come quick...
poem by Barry Cornwall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Get Stiff Quick
When your backbone bends,
And your vision dims...
You've got to,
Get stiff.
Get stiff quick.
When you know you need to move,
From foolish doers...
Get stiff.
Get stiff quick.
No need to put up more with that funky stuff.
You've got to,
Get stiff.
Get stiff quick.
No need to ride a roller coaster,
You know was tough.
No need to do a shuffle singing those sad songs.
Or get along with others you wish from you gone!
Just,
Get stiff.
Get stiff quick.
You've got to,
Get stiff.
Get stiff quick!
When your backbone bends,
And your vision dims...
You've got to,
Get stiff.
Get stiff quick.
Mean what you say and be done with it.
You've got to,
Get stiff...
Get stiff quick!
Don't let just anything fall from your lips.
Or bite your tongue to let an old patience sit.
When you wish to make a point you know wont quit.
You've got to,
Get stiff.
Get stiff quick.
You've got to,
Get stiff.
Get stiff quick.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dandenong
Hard by the gate-way of the East
She dips within her market square
With provender for man and beast,
And goods and chattels round her there.
A cheery, buxom market dame,
A well-filled basket on her arm,
She calls her wares and makes due claim
Alike on factory and farm.
The neutral ground of her domain
Is loud with talk of crops and herds,
Where hucksters bargain for their gain
With judgment keen and weighted words;
Where sunburnt farmers, slow of speech,
Match wits with dapper city men
While she impartially from each
Takes toll and bids them come again.
With talk of rise and fall in stock,
With keen eyes for a horse's points,
The shrewd-eyed dealers hither flock
To peer in mouths and handle joints.
And shake their heads and turn away,
Then back again to name the price;
And jokes are mixed on market day
With loud-mouthed praise and sage advice.
Hard by the Western gate she sits,
Between the farmland and the town,
To gather all the scraps and bits
Of gossip that fly up and down;
And these she turns to her own good
A comfortable dame and keen,
Who earns an honest livelihood
As town and country go-between.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Food Left To Rot
market price
market fixed
market profit
not worth picking
costs more picking
than sold price paid
never fruit picked
never taste eaten
never starving fed
global waste sickening
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Quick Is The Beat Of My Heart
Written by lewis mark
Lead vocals by james young
If its my time to die today
Please God oh make it fast
Balanced on this point for a year and half
I just dont think I can last
Theres a man whos laid to rest
The man who gave me my start
I wish I could quit but I cant and its rough
Quick is the beat of my heart
Quick is the beat of my heart
So please all you people
Dont you grieve for me
The blood in my veins is black and I cant bleed
Ive suffered the pain
And all I can face is the dark
Oh, lord, quick is the beat of my heart
Quick is the beat of my heart
Now my bags are almost packed
The trains about to depart
I wish I could quit but I cant and its rough
Quick is the beat of my heart
Quick is the beat of my heart
Quick is the beat of my heart
Quick is the beat of my heart
Quick is the beat of my heart
Quick is the beat of my heart
If its my time to die...
song performed by by Styx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Oh Mr. Bernanke!
Oh Mr. Bernanke
Are we going to have that Rate-cut today?
Aha, you are the candy-man
Could wave your wand
Make the dying Market stand.
Ah, but it ain’t working anymore
The Market is a falling man
Oh Mr. Bernanke
You wave your wand
But it’s fallen over the stands!
Oh Mr. Bernanke
Swayed the Market just your own way!
But banks aren’t making money
The cuts to them are one too many
Candy-man, the Market won’t stand!
Got my only heifer and sacrificed
At the altar of Dow and Nasdaq, paid a high price
The Dow, oh it fell through the Year’s low
Now here I come, Candy-man
Look through your store
We need something more!
poem by Dennisa Davidson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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