Now I Have My Eyes On Dinner
When I say I am seeking something substantial in my life?
Why does that make you laugh to see me at a flea market?
I am seeking something that doesn't need to be high maintenanced...
Looking for wrinkles to moisturized.
To get nipped and tucked when bags begin to sag.
'And...
You are going to find that at a flea market? '
OH yes.
Some people don't know quality to throw it away.
Just like that.
Maybe recently divorced?
Or separated?
'You are talking about being at flea market,
Right! '
Ab-so-yes indeed-lutely!
And today must be my lucky day.
Because I am looking at a bargain.
A steal that's too genuine to leave.
And...
What do you think I've discovered?
'A day you found something priceless? '
Is there such a thing...
Of hoping to spend every moment,
With something so priceless...
To wish it is available?
'What can I say?
Your discovery is as good as mine? '
Are you sure you don't want to look around?
'What makes you think I haven't been doing just that?
I was hoping to see those candleholders you purchased,
Last week...
Again.'
So you had your eyes on 'them' too?
'Very much so.
Now I have my eyes on dinner! '
With breakfast?
'And lunch? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
That's How Disconnected 'Some' People Are
The best way to keep a happiness achieved,
Is to remember...
How it was obtained.
Since many who envy it,
Believe what one has...
Can be purchased at a flea market.
Or received by way of a fling at a bar!
And they are upset,
A bargain was uncovered...
Before they got the opportunity to flaunt it themselves.
That's how disconnected from reality,
'Some' people are!
The others automatically assume it's fresh dicreeted sex.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Flea
A flea that bit you had bitten me too.
The two bloods mingled for single blood.
The flea’s body is our marriage lobby.
Neither shame nor sin would accrue since than.
Nor would you have grown any weaker too.
By yielding to me and getting my blood
You would shed no grace nor honour either.
You will make me than the flea happier.
Your yielding to me will not do more harm
Than what the flea has done to you, dear.
[the verse of John Donne, The Flea, rewritten]
20.12.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Flea Market (Fun Poem 68)
When I was just a little nipper,
I cycled along to see
a flea market on the green.
I parked my bike,
and then sat down in the tall grass.
No one had to me
that they gave away fleas there too.
Therefore, while I was sitting there
one jumped on my ass,
and when I got back to school
and went to park my bike.
The little beggar bit
and I went dancing around
doing the flea-a-me-jig.
I must have looked a sight for sure,
a sight for sore eyes
as I racked my rear end to bits,
jumping around like a bouncing ball.
I either got him,
or he fell of dizzy as hell,
but he never bit me again.
29 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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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The Flea
Mark but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deniest me is;
It suck'd me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be.
Thou know'st that this cannot be said
A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead;
Yet this enjoys before it woo,
And pamper'd swells with one blood made of two;
And this, alas! is more than we would do.
O stay, three lives in one flea spare,
Where we almost, yea, more than married are.
This flea is you and I, and this
Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is.
Though parents grudge, and you, we're met,
And cloister'd in these living walls of jet.
Though use make you apt to kill me,
Let not to that self-murder added be,
And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.
Cruel and sudden, hast thou since
Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence?
Wherein could this flea guilty be,
Except in that drop which it suck'd from thee?
Yet thou triumph'st, and say'st that thou
Find'st not thyself nor me the weaker now.
'Tis true; then learn how false fears be;
Just so much honour, when thou yield'st to me,
Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee.
poem by John Donne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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At a flea market I always head for the junk jewelry table first.
quote by Ethel Merman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I actually picked up copies of Decline I and II at a flea market once. I walked out without paying.
quote by Penelope Spheeris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Automanic
On automanic!
People in a panic.
Looking for a switch...
That stops the twitching,
And the itch.
We're standing frantic,
In the midst of antics...
Trying to find,
Reality
Somewhere in our minds!
On automanic!
People in a panic.
Looking for a switch...
That stops the twitching,
And the itch.
We're standing frantic,
In the midst of antics...
Hoping in time,
Darkness
Doesn't leave us blind!
It seems we have been,
Too busy being dizzy.
Taking the wrong medication!
We've come to deadends,
Thinking turning back was easy.
But we hid inside...
Behind lies,
That fight us!
We market...
Rascism!
We market...
Disrespect and fast rejection!
We market...
Fear!
We market...
Peace to tease in pieces!
Trying to find...
A few kind reminders!
On automanic!
Psychomanic panic.
Looking for a fix and quick!
To stop this mental fit that's sick!
We're standing frantic!
In the midst of antics...
Trying to find,
Someone who hasn't lost their mind!
On automanic!
People in a panic.
Looking for a switch...
That stops the twitching,
And the itch!
We're standing frantic,
In the midst of antics...
Hoping in time,
Darkness
Doesn't leave us blind!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Take That Jive To Moontaine
What makes you 'think',
I am going to continue...
To put up with your intolerable behavior'
'I said I was....'
Who or WHAT do you think I am?
A pile of cheap sheets,
You attempt to sell overpriced at a flea market?
To have people believe they are getting a bargain?
Huh?
'You wont give me a chance to apolo...'
GIZE?
Don't you dare say 'gize' to me.
Who do you think I am?
Moontaine?
'Moontaine?
WHO 'is' Moontaine? '
EXACTLY.
I'm not the one here suffering,
From a convenient loss of memory.
And I'm not going to put up with yours any longer!
'But...
Who is Moontaine?
I have never heard of Moontaine! '
That's between you and your guilt ridden conscious.
I'm not putting up with it any longer.
That's it.
'Moontaine means nothing to me! '
Sure.
Sure.
But know this...
You can forget sleeping on high thread counts,
Ever again!
'What? '
You heard me.
And don't try to 'gize' me either.
Take that jive to Moontaine.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fifi The Flea
(ransford)
Fifi the flea fell in love
With a clown from a flea circus fair
She gave him her heart
But he still couldnt see
That for such a long time she had cared
He put himself round all the other girl fleas
Unaware that he hurt her so badly
She cried in the arms of his manager friend
And declared that she loved the clown madly
One day fifi went
And this drove the clown wild
The poor little flea started crying
Never you mind his manager said
I ought not to tell but shes dyin
Dyin for love of you little flea
Youve broken her heart with your lyin
She couldnt stand to see you throw
Her love away without tryin
The day fifi died the little clown vowed
Hed tend her grave every hour
He broke down and cried
When he saw her grave
And on it he placed a small flower
Poor little flea he wasted away
Hed lost his fifi forever
So they opened her grave
Put him inside
Now at last they are together
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In deep silence
a distinguished violin
at the flea market—
the seller arranging
the strings in the lily’s shadow
tanka by Eduard Țară from Haiku: Magazine of Romanian – Japanese Relationships (2004), translated by Magdalena Dale
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Flea Market
It is claimed,
After nine years of conflict...
A man labelled,
To be the originator of it...
Can not be found.
But children in our grade schools,
Know his name.
And his comments are given more attention...
As 'if' aired like a TV series.
And this man can not be found?
But a citizen minding his or her own business,
Can be detected walking on Earth...
By a satellite orbiting,
Miles above the ground?
And...
Uh...er...
Are there any other bargains at this flea market?
Or should we wait for something else fresh to be sold,
At the 'next' tag sale?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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With A Wish To Keep Appearances Kept
Seeking a service or product to sell,
For the purpose to market successfully...
Only those with an expanding approach,
To include an unlimited demographic...
Have their eyes on the bottom line.
Those seeking to achieve an exclusiveness,
With a wish to keep appearances kept...
Have the right to do so.
And that is why many people like this,
See their businesses fold.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Am Hoping You Have Chosen To Soar
I am not out seeking,
To crush your feathers!
Nor do I wish...
With my own ambitions,
To search the sky...
To see how high you fly!
I am hoping you have chosen to soar.
And if in your flight,
Your eyes are on me...
To see whether or not,
You are ahead...
Or I may overtake your lead.
You are not flying high just to succeed!
You are hoping in your heart,
My ego is not pleased.
I am hoping you have chosen to soar.
Nothing less.
Nothing more.
I have my own sights,
On how high I choose to fly!
There is just too much sky,
To keep you blocked in my vision...
And locked in my eyes!
I am hoping you have chosen to soar.
Nothing less.
Nothing more.
Your success is yours to explore!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If' You Picked Up The Beat
Remember when we first met?
And we couldn't wait,
To touch our nakedness next?
The thrill of those sessions...
I confess I miss!
But after the hunt,
And we captured each other...
We allowed our bliss,
To turn into sssshhhhhady kisses...
Pecked to flea!
We spend no time together.
We can't wait from each other to leave.
Sssshhhhhady maybe we've become!
Because we haven't kept up together...
Our long lasting fun!
Remember how we use to stroll,
Hand in hand as if hypnotized?
Remember when we walked into that tree...
That day our eyes we could not leave.
Do you remember saying forever,
Together we would be?
And I remember us making love...
As if we were rabbits in heat!
Where is the spark that ignited,
My arched back?
Where has the thunder gone...
Between your thighs you packed?
Sssshhhhhady kisses...
Pecked to flea!
We spend no time together.
We can't wait from each other to leave.
Sssshhhhhady maybe,
We've become!
Because we haven't kept,
That togetherness...
We've done!
Remember when we first met?
And we couldn't wait,
To touch our nakedness next?
The thrill of those sessions...
I confess I miss!
But after the hunt,
And we captured each other...
We allowed our bliss,
To turn into...
'Sssshhhhh...
I am tired of hearing that same tune sung!
'If' you picked up the beat,
Under the sheets!
Perhaps we can have that heated fun! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In The Market Of Ideas...
in the market there are good apples,
luscious ones and we buy them and we do not regret
the money that we part with,
there are rotten ones, who buys them must be fools
ditto with our creations,
we think what we make are the best
in the market of ideas
we rely on the proof of the goodness when others begin to buy
what we display
we think they are best
but look at the flies, look at the the emptiness of the market place
smell the stink,
then we decide not to display at all
we keep what we make as our own
after all, it is ours, and we protect them in our homes
not for sale
but for domestic consumption
we do not wish to compete
we are home now and then we are happier this way.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Investment the Heart Accepts
When people are taught to assess others,
Like property and other things that lose value...
And judged on the basis not of trust...
But how folks look,
Who makes the approval...
And who they know with comparable,
Rusting points of views as such!
Like a search one makes for clothes to buy,
Or a pair of new shoes...
To wear until they have lost the reason,
Why they were purchased and used!
People like this,
Make themselves insignificant!
Like 'hand me downs'
Some throw and toss around.
And when people like this,
Are discovered and found...
It makes better sense,
To use your time on truer friends,
And a better way to exist!
Until one uncovers a wiser choice to make.
To upgrade when seeking something genuine.
Something lasting that will test...
A wise investment the heart accepts.
People like this...
Make being in their presence
One of joy,
Purpose and happiness!
With a mental rest deserved...
And a peace of mind one gets and serves!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
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A Flea (Fun Poem 120)
You get into bed with your partner
and they toss and turn
as if they have a flea up their arse.
They keep you awake
with their fidgeting,
eventually you get to sleep
and believe it or not
they start to do it again.
By now, you are ready
to give up trying to sleep
or get the bug killer spray
to kill that damn flea.
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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