As Time Goes By
In our town there were many small shops, one selling
buttons the other socks; and a hardware store should
you need a hammer and nails to hang up a picture of
your mother -in- law, in the living room.
There was also a shop selling scarves, another selling
ladies hats, and a third one, quite posh, selling suits and
ties. I mustn’t forget the shoe shop, leather footwear
black or brown and white tennis shoes.
In our street of trade most shops have shut, those still
open are run by the Orientals where you can buy all
you need for a very small price. If your shoes wear out,
no point going to the old cobbler, buy Chinese instead.
Red lanterns sway in the fiscal breeze of decline where
wistfulness has no price tag. But you must remember
this, a shop is just a shop, yet, for us sentimental fools,
are remembered as a sweet memory of times gone by,
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Related quotes
Shop, she shops!
Once she constantly smiled
Bought cloths and jewelry that gave her style
Shop, shop, shop
She shopped till she dropped
Shop, shop, shop
She just could not seem to stop
Her credit was on top
Her spending way rocket up
She paid with cash or credit card
This Lady was absolutely shopping mad
Shoping malls!
Markets stalls!
Shoes, clothing, and handbags she bought all year long
Spend, spend and spend daily was her beloved song
Shop, shop, shop
She now shops like a flop
Shop, shop, shop
This lady has now put a stop
Today is different shopping expedition
This time spending with supervision
No more that crazy spending addiction
Her credit card is cut
Her goods seized, the whole lot
Today she spends, her pockets hurt!
She has become street wise
Haggling with each price
She has become precise
About what she needs and not what is nice
Shop, shop, shop
She shops like a flop
Shop, shop, shop
Her spending has taken a big drop!
This lady has now put a stop to shop!
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Avenue Of Love
(9/24/12)
Love is an avenue of which to explore
Go to any shop and open the door
Shops for every feeling known to man
Walk in to understand.
Shops for pain, sorrow, bitterness and heartbreak
Shop around - it's not to late.
Shops for joy, happiness, contentment, devotion
Shops for every emotion.
Stop in - look around - feel every emotion
That can be found.
Shop around ahead of time
To find out what awaits down the line.
But do not be fearful of pains
That may await
Take the chance - don't hesitate.
You can search every shop that's on this street
But there is nothing that can compete
To the love that you have deep inside
A love so beautiful that you can not hide
All these shops are in your soul
Open the doors and life unfolds.
© L. RAMS
poem by Louis Rams
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The Quality Of God
In torn dress a poor boy,
Was standing near a shop,
Greeding eyes of this boy,
Bare footed, seeking joy in the shop.
The shop was full of rich people,
There was selling garments and shoes,
Toys too, something in the shape of apple,
People were in fine dress and shoes.
Nobody paid heed at this boy,
And his eyes were tearful,
All were busy in buying toys,
But boy was standing thoughtful.
A lady came there who had bright eyes,
Accompanied the boy and entered the shop,
Bought for him garments, shoes and toys,
Buying all they left the shop.
Lady put her hand on his head,
'Go now' said with love,
Boy smiled and turned up his head,
' Are you God? ' asked with love.
She replied with smiling face,
'I'm His slave not God.'
Answered the boy with confidence,
'I knew that you must belong to God.'
poem by Mohammad Muzzammil
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Down the Sweet Shop
The little corner shop
full of special treats
Chocolate, bottles of Pop,
and jars and jars of sweets.
With pocket money in hand
given to me by my Dad
sometimes a little bit extra
if he heard I'd been a good lad.
I really loved that little shop
it was every young boys dream
you could get everything you'd want
Football Cards, Toys, and Ice-Cream.
My dad used the shop as well
he'd pop in to buy his fags
and Mum did her weekly shop
she'd get me to help her with the bags.
Then along came the big supermarket
the little shop began to lose it's trade
so sadly it had to close it's doors
an end of an era again I'm afraid.
But I'll always remember the little shop
stood there at the bottom of our lane
yes it may have only been small
but it had more style than any supermarket chain!
poem by Kevin Halls
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The Video Shop
The local factorys been pulled down
By an overseas corporation
Now all of my brothers are looking around
For alternative occupation
I was sitting by the telly with my brother, kenny
When suddenly the penny dropped
While all of my brothers are sitting at home
Ive got a bank loan and Ive opened up my very own
Video shop
Video shop
At the video shop
I can fly, fly you away
Comedy and tragedy are all sitting on my shelf
And if youve got a fantasy
For a small rental fee
You can set yourself free
At my video shop
At my video shop
At the video shop
I can fly, fly you away
At the video shop
Let me fly, fly you away
From all of the depression in you head
Caused by all the living in the red
Ive got a bootleg version of citizen kane
A second hand copy of psycho
Ive taped them off the telly so you shouldnt complain
And theres no guarantee youll get your money back again
From my video shop
My video shop
If you want to escape, I can rent you a tape
To relieve your situation
If you feel a bit low, I got a good peep show
cos everybody knows almost anything goes
At my video shop
At my video shop
One fifty a day and Ill fly, fly you away
Its nothing to pay to fly far, far away
I can help you through that lonely night
Ive got technicolour, black and white
I can guide you through those empty days
Make you smile and take your blues away
O let me fly you away
At my video shop
Fly, fly you away
Another factorys been knocked down
But nobody ever complains
And all of my brothers are customers now
We all play video games
I can see it in the eyes of all the lonely wives
If theyre bored and they feel like a change
I do sales, rentals, even a swop
And if you feel like a change, well it can all be arranged
At my video shop
At my video shop
At my video shop
At my video shop
Let me fly, fly you away
And everyone who walks in through that door
Has got something that theyre looking for
At my video shop
At my video shop
At the video shop
I can fly, fly you away
At the video shop
Let me fly, fly you away
Oh, at the video shop
Oh, at the video shop
Oh, at the video shop
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nor the Sun its Selling Power
They say her words were like balloons
with strings I could not hold,
that her love was something in a shop
cheap and far too quickly sold;
but the tree does not price its apples
nor the sun its selling power
the rain does not gossip
or speak of where it goes.
poem by Brian Patten
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Hardware Shop
There's nothing so becomes a man
as a local hardware shop - it expands
the horizons of his home improvement, and
brings harmony to his home life as
those little jobs get done;
and although these days a car-trip
would take you to an out-of-town
with wider variety and lower price,
there is greater delight in detailed chat
with that little man around the corner
who's been there since - oh, you knew his father.
He's got it; or will get it; you chat; come out feeling good;
there's order in the world. Things get done.
But they're a dying breed. We had two - didn't know
just how lucky we were until Mr and Mrs Tidy
(how many Tidy generations of hardware had there been?)
with their two shops run together - he in one, she in the other - and
he identified just what it was you wanted; she
knew just where they kept it - suddenly they went, still sprightly young, to
a well-deserved retirement, after a life of virtue.
They exuded some sort of spiritual strength
between them; as if your purchase had
a hint of allegory in some non-conformist book of life.
Which left the other hardware shop. I hoped
that their departure would encourage his own trade
but it was not to be. The stage set of his shop is perfect -
behind the obligatory front-of-shop basics, put out
each day - camping gas, the bags of dried manure,
plastic bins of every size -
the shop is filled in every nook and cranny, leading to
a further vista of boxed shelves, a hint of aisle on aisle
to joy the DIY-er's heart - and
that faintly oily, metallic, woody, dusty, smell - the precious essence
of a hundred years in that same shop, of visits by
a century of proud home owners, treasuring their addiction..
but this is a man upon whom no tidy destiny, no spiritual path
has fallen. Enter his crammed shop with hope, of the friendly chat
that from the furthest depths, produces just the size
of split boggle ring of finest brass that you were looking for,
and what do you get? Twenty minutes of sad-smiled, patient
explanation of why he hasn't got it; couldn't get it,
because they'd want an order of two dozen. It's only done
in industrial sizes anyway. And the supplier's changed hands
and you'll need to change the whole system to metric.
You should have known - for it was always so:
for this he exists, as if living out a punishment for past sins
against the gods of hardware. Or should you (itching to get away)
join in the sad elegaics for a world in ebb, the small shopkeeper
who existed only to serve his fellow villagers? To talk to him
makes you feel that somehow, somewhere, in the back room
of shared humanity, it just might be - your fault...
At last you get away, empty-handed; and wonder at
this world of little shops and shopkeepers:
the joyous absurdity, the hidden tragedy
of lives you daily knock against, yet never really know.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Pressed Rat & Warthog
By ginger baker and mike taylor
Pressed rat and warthog have closed down their shop.
They didnt want to; twas all they had got.
Selling atonal apples, amplified heat,
And pressed rats collection of dog legs and feet.
Sadly they left, telling no one goodbye.
Pressed rat wore red jodhpurs, warthog a striped tie.
Between them, they carried a three-legged sack,
Went straight round the corner and never came back.
Pressed rat and warthog have closed down their shop.
The bad captain madman had told them to stop
Selling atonal apples, amplified heat,
And pressed rats collection of dog legs and feet.
The bad captain madman had ordered their fate.
He laughed and stomped off with a nautical gate.
The gate turned into a deroga tree
And his pegleg got woodworm and broke into three.
Pressed rat and warthog have closed down their shop.
They didnt want to; twas all they had got.
Selling atonal apples, amplified heat,
And pressed rats collection of dog legs and feet.
song performed by by Cream
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pressed Rat & Warthog
By ginger baker and mike taylor
Pressed rat and warthog have closed down their shop.
They didnt want to; twas all they had got.
Selling atonal apples, amplified heat,
And pressed rats collection of dog legs and feet.
Sadly they left, telling no one goodbye.
Pressed rat wore red jodhpurs, warthog a striped tie.
Between them, they carried a three-legged sack,
Went straight round the corner and never came back.
Pressed rat and warthog have closed down their shop.
The bad captain madman had told them to stop
Selling atonal apples, amplified heat,
And pressed rats collection of dog legs and feet.
The bad captain madman had ordered their fate.
He laughed and stomped off with a nautical gate.
The gate turned into a deroga tree
And his pegleg got woodworm and broke into three.
Pressed rat and warthog have closed down their shop.
They didnt want to; twas all they had got.
Selling atonal apples, amplified heat,
And pressed rats collection of dog legs and feet.
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Wont Buy It!
if you're selling salvation
for a one time donation...
i wont buy it!
if you're selling comfort
at the expense of the poor...
i wont buy it!
if you're selling protection
at the cost of individual rights...
i wont buy it!
if you're selling love
bought with diamonds and drugs...
i wont buy it!
if you're selling truth,
but your version of truth...
i wont buy it!
if you're selling today
at the final cost of tomorrow...
i wont buy it!
if you're selling freedom
fed by guns and invasions,
i wont buy it!
get it through your head...
i wont buy it!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Guillotine
the guillotine stands
alone in the square,
the pinnacle of pulse....
that drains the heartbeats....
traffic heavy, horns honking,
hurrying, hurrying....
trucks and buses puffing clouds
of death into the air....
neon signs keeping score.
billboards selling the dream,
street preachers selling Jesus....
corner whores selling themselves....
in sterile rooms atop the skyscrapers,
far from the stink, far from
trash strewn in the alleyways
like tiny lives forgotten,
gum stuck to the shoes.....
they gamble with futures,
trading hungry mouths without faces;
never looking back.... vultures
in black suits and ties...
winning, winning, or losing it all.
while the homeless and the addicts
walk the streets below....
looking for something they cant remember....
light dancing on the razor-like blade.....
heads from bodies, hearts from souls......
profit from the last heartbeat!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Selling My Soul
Man of madness, who lives in my head
Keeping me awake at night, he sits on my bed
He drives me crazy, he wont go away
Playing his game every night and every day
Yeah
My mind feels heavy, my body feels weak
Suicidal thoughts crying out for some sleep
Impending doom is what Im about
Think Im going out without a shadow of doubt
I search for serenity yeah,
Is it really out there?
I dont read the holy books cause
They take me no where
I cant hold on yes Im losing control
Im paying the price now for
Selling my soul, selling my soul
I search for serenity, yeah
Is it really out there?
I dont read the holy books cause
They take me no where
I cant hold on yes Im losing control
Im paying the price now for
Selling my soul, selling my soul
Yeah, for selling my soul
Yeah, selling my soul
Yeah, for selling my soul
song performed by by Black Sabbath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our Small Town
Love going for walks around town
A small town a holler from the big city
The many old building lining the main street
Which by the way isn't main street that's a block away
From the small library to the high school a jot to get to
The sidewalks resemble the old boardwalks from yesteryear
The shops vary as the street winds to the highway
The country air blows thru the street full of manure
Good ole air, they say around here
The small diner with the local farmers dwell at
Talking of this year's events from farming to politics
The ladies at the sew shop talking gossip
It's amazing how time don't change as years pass
Every year the town picnic to the 4th July jamboree
To the harvest dance and everything in between
Small town people living the old time ways
Wishing every town was as good as it
Walking thru saying hey to neighbors all around
Can make everyday a good day
Seeing people in the park enjoying the kids play
The banner welcoming you to our small town
Small town America, loving it, living it
poem by Michael Peterson
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Everybodys Selling Something
More 4/4s in the neighborhood
Banging on the same guitar
Dreaming of living in hollywood
Puffing on a big cigar
Prima ballerina in a magazine
Call her on the telephone
Tell her that youre sending up a limousine
She say: I dont know...
I know where to go!
Now 4/4s in a different mood
Thinks hes gonna change the world
Making all the money that some others should
Guess its cause we dont deserve
Meet a lot of people in a magazine
Tell you where not to go
Tell you that Im living out a fantasy
You say: you dont know
They play me on the radio
You gotta walk before you crawl
Remember everybodys selling something
You gotta talk before you know
Remember everybodys selling something
Theres like a racket on the ball
Remember everybody wants attention
You gotta rock before you roll
Remember everybodys selling something
Sell me something
Sell me something
Sell me something
Now!
Now 4/4s into mother earth
Hurry up and wait t.v.
Funny how your lifell take a different turn
And how you get to dance for free
See a lot of freedom in your magazine?
Does it tell you what you want to know?
Tell you once and maybe twice and maybe three times
Thats all right!
Were coming out in stereo!!!
You gotta walk before you crawl
Remember everybodys selling something
You gotta talk before you know
Remember everybodys selling something
Theres like a racket on the ball
Remember everybody wants attention
You gotta rock before you roll
Remember everybodys selling something
Sell me something
Sell me something
Sell me something
Now!
Sell me something
Sell me something
Sell me something
Now!
song performed by by Men Without Hats
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm a bit of a nerd, I wouldn't mind working in a shop selling records, or having a radio show where I could play obscure singles.
Admiral Mike
(michael nesmith)
Peaceful music (bmi)
Lead vocal: micky dolenz
Youre selling ads you slimy toad
Dont smile at me and shake my hand
Youre killing me
Youre killing us
Because youre only
only selling ads
Youre selling ads you stupid twit
The naked lunch is on your knife
The homicides are suicides
Because youre only
only selling ads
Your copy kills
Your copy smells
Realities are crushed beneath the ads your copy sells
Go back to hell you giddy fools
There is no truth you cannot maim
He killed himself
You killed him first
Because youre only
only selling ads
Your copy kills
Your copy smells
Realities are crushed beneath the ads your copy sells
Youre selling ads you slimy toad
Dont smile at me and shake my hand
Youre killing me
Youre killing us
Because youre only
only selling ads
Because youre only only selling ads
Because youre only only selling ads
Because youre only only selling ads
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Loving Fun
Old lady
Age - 65
Old man
Age - 80
Booth are
Begger's...
shop to shop...
Begein
On the road...
shop to shop
They are not
Husband and wife...
They are
Friends
To companian...!
But;
Booth are
Beger's
Enjoy the life
Loving fun...! !
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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The Goldsmith's Apprentice
My neighbour, none can e'er deny,
Is a most beauteous maid;
Her shop is ever in mine eye,
When working at my trade.
To ring and chain I hammer then
The wire of gold assay'd,
And think the while: "For Kate, oh when
Will such a ring be made?"
And when she takes her shutters down,
Her shop at once invade,
To buy and haggle, all the town,
For all that's there displayd.
I file, and maybe overfile
The wire of gold assay'd;
My master grumbles all the while,--
Her shop the mischief made.
To ply her wheel she straight begins,
When not engaged in trade;
I know full well for what she spins,--
'Tis hope guides that dear maid.
Her leg, while her small foot treads on,
Is in my mind portray'd;
Her garter I recall anon,--
I gave it that dear maid.
Then to her lips the finest thread
Is by her hand convey'd.
Were I there only in its stead,
How I would kiss the maid!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Sex Model
Sex model,
Sex shop,
Sex act;
Selling your body to all!
But, try to know the truth and come out of this act! !
For, your body, was made by the Creator for a righteous purpose.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Shop of Broken Heart
Baby if all you are selling is broken hearts,
I am not buying any,
Can't repair the broken parts,
Can't fit in the many
Baby if all you are looking for is tender hearts,
To harden them and then tear them apart,
I am not the right kind of guy,
I don't tear my heart.
Baby this is my heart,
See the patches and the stiches left there,
I guess I am not smart,
To break my heart on every count
And if you have a shop of broken hearts,
I don't want to get in there,
I will be the one, and the only one,
Who would have the broken heart.
So I am leaving the smart ones behind,
And if you are selling broken hearts,
I don't want any,
I got plenty of them.