En.Citatepedia^®.ro

That Man

I saw him
the other day
In the shopping area
He was
leaned up
against a tree
I looked at
my own hands
I had
a shopping bag,
I had my dad's hand
to hold,
I had keys
in my pocket
not that man
All he had
were his clothes
with holes
as people
walked by
he shook this can
I wondered why
As I passed
I peered
inside the cup
there were a few coins
thats all
Then I went away
I asked my dad
who he was
he is homeless
that man
my daddy said
I closed my eyes
and went to my car
and that was that
I never saw
that man
again

poem by Ammie Sparks
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Shopping

Were buying and selling your history
How we go about it is no mystery
We check it with the city, then change the law
Are you looking forward?
Now you want some more
Were s-h-o-pp-i-n-g, were shopping
Its easy when you got all the information
Inside help, no investigation
(no investigation, investigation)
No questions in the house, no give and take
Theres a big bang in the city
Were all on the make
Were s-h-o-pp-i-n-g, were shopping
Were s-h-o-pp-i-n-g, were shopping
Our gain is your loss, thats the price you pay
I heard it in the house of commons: everythings for sale
Were shopping
Were shopping
Were s-h-o-pp-i-n-g, were shopping
Were s-h-o-pp-i-n-g, were shopping
Ah ah ah, ah ah ah, ah ah ah, ah ah
Ah ah ah, ah ah ah, ah ah ah, ah ah
Were s-h-o-pp-i-n-g, were shopping
Were s-h-o-pp-i-n-g, were shopping
(were shopping
Were shopping
Were shopping
Were shopping
Were shopping)

song performed by by Pet Shop Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Matter of Trust on a Summer's Day

Jane's mother said
she was up by the church
and so you went up

the path leading
to the church of St Mary
and there she was

laying some flowers
on a gravestone
she looked up

as you approached
and smiled
your mother told me

you were here
you said
I think Mother

must like you
she wouldn't
have told you

otherwise
Jane said
getting up

from the graveside
and brushing her hands
on her summery dress

who are the flowers for?
you asked
looking at the flowers

placed in a small jar
on the grave
a parishioner

we used to know
who used to like
this type of flower

oh I see
you said
looking at the graves around

and the Downs further back
and the trees nearby
where did you want to go?

you asked
how about a walk to Cocking?
we can do some shopping

while we're there
and enjoy each other's
company in the process

is it far? you asked
a mile or so
she replied

ok
you said
and you followed her

down the path
and along the lane
to her house

and you waited outside
while she went inside
after a few minutes

her mother came out
with her and said
it's very good of you

to go with Jane
all that way
I wouldn't like her

to go alone
that's all right
you said

and she smiled
and went in side
and Jane said

see she trusts you
not many boys
around here

she'd say that to
oh right
you said

looking at
her dark hair
and her eyes

gazing at you
and her hand
holding a shopping bag

and her lips
breaking into a smile
come on

she said and
so she took
your hand

and you walked
along the lane
keeping close

to the hedgerow
the sun warm
and the sky blue

and you sensed a joy
of it being
just her and you.

poem by Terry Collett
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Shopping for Yesterday

Busy crowds, lonely hearts, broken dreams
Shopping for yesterday.
Visiting the shared moments,
In all the familiar places
When shopping for yesterday.

We are all prisoners of the past
When shopping for yesterday
Knee deep in our loneliness
Surrounded by the crowd
We’re shopping for yesterday.

Pictures and memories
Half-forgotten words
Time slipping away
From the windmills of my mind
When shopping for yesterday.

poem by Adrian Wait
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What Others May Think.

Apart from the water tower
and the farm

and a few scattered cottages
there were no other buildings

for a mile or more
just you and Jane

and birds in the early morning sky
I like it at this time of day

she said
I like the fresh smell of nature

and the farm
and having few people about

you walked beside her down the lane
that led away from the farm

you noticed how her black hair
seemed freshly washed

and blew slightly in the mild wind
does you father mind

you being out with me?
you asked softly

he doesn't know
she replied

he thinks I came out alone
for a morning walk

why didn't you tell him?
you asked

he was busy writing his Sunday sermon
and it was easier to just go out

and not disturb him
she said looking around at you

her eyes studying you
as she walked on down the lane

would he mind you being with me?
you asked

I don't think he knows you as yet
seeing as you have only moved here

a few months and don't come
to the church

you stopped and took her hand in yours
it was warm and soft

and pulsed with life
she looked at your hand

holding hers and she rubbed
her thumb over the back

of your hand
you wanted to kiss her lips

or cheek just to feel
her flesh on yours

but you didn't you just looked at her
and waited to see

what she would do next
she let go of your hand

and looked around her
there might be people looking

from those cottages up there
she said suddenly pointing up

at the rising bank which went up
to two cottages high up

if they see us they may tell Father
and then it would be awkward

and he might suspect things
and then she went quiet

and looked at the running stream
by the lane

but we haven't done anything
we just walk out and talk

and hold hands now and then
it's not what we do

it's what others think we do
she said softly

and stood looking at you
waiting for you to speak

but you said nothing
just leaned in close to her

and kissed her cheek
and said

even Christ permitted kisses
even the one from Judas

and she smiled
and the early morning sun

pushed through trees
and shone on her hair

and there was the sound of birds
singing in the air.

poem by Terry Collett
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His Touch

She leaned against the brick wall,
Letting him feel her body.
His hands rested gently on her waist,
He looked into her hazel eyes.
She looked back into his brown eyes,
Threw her arms around his neck.
He pulled her towards his body.
She stopped breathing
everything around her had frozen.
He leaned forward to kiss her,
Fireworks burst everywhere,
She was floating on a cloud.
He walked her to her door,
Kissed her hand gently goodbye,
And left.
From her life,
Only leaving his touch with her.

poem by Scarlet Outlaw
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The Phone Gift

Cedric gave you a photograph
in the playground
making sure no one

was looking his way first
Christina said to give you this
he said

you took the photograph
and gazed at a picture
of a girl laughing

with dark hair
looking at the camera
in mid pose

thanks
you said
putting the photo

in the inside pocket
of your jacket
she said she'd meet you

on the playing field lunchtime
Cedric informed
unimpressed

ok thanks
you said
to Cedric's departing back

at lunchtime
after eating your sandwiches
and fruitcake

your mother had made
and the watered-down juice
you went to the playing field

and looked for Christina
amongst the hordes
of boys and girls

basking in the sun
or playing ball
then hands covered your eyes

and a voice said
guess who?
you said

Marilyn Monroe?
the hands left your eyes
and Christina said

no it's me
and she stood there
her eyes almost feeling you

as they moved over you
did you get my photo?
she asked

yes it's in my pocket
you said
don't show it to others

she said
I'll keep it under my pillow
you said

I sneaked it out
while no one was looking
this morning

she informed
I'll be for it
if they find out

she said
when was it taken?
you asked

last summer
she said
when I was 12

you don't look 12
in the photo
you said

do I look 13 now?
she asked
she grabbed your hand

and walked you across
the playing field
not waiting

for your reply
you wondered if Goldfinch
or Rolland were watching

while kicking ball
Goldfinch said girls
were an alien race

and best steered clear of
at best ignored
she stopped on the edge

of the playing field
where a small woods
formed the boundary of the field

and looking back
towards the school
some distance away

she whispered in your ear
you'll see just how 13 I am
in that woods one day

and you gave a sigh
noticing big puffy clouds
in a bright blue sky.

poem by Terry Collett
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And You Don’t Remember Me

I sat on the park bench
pen and notebook in hand.
I watched all the people
as they passed on by.
I wondered how in life
each one of them had fared
with their happiness
and their sorrows.
I looked for inspiration
for something to write.

She looked at me and smiled,
I smiled back
thinking that was that.
“You don’t remember me? ”
She said and sat down.
I looked at her again
as memories swirled
around in my mind.
She was right
I didn’t remember her

Her hair was mousey colour
with flecks of grey
starting to appear here and there.
There were thick lines
across her forehead,
crow feet lines
near the corners of her eyes.
The corners of her mouth
drooped just slightly.

Her blues eyes were striking
and I knew I had seen them before,
but they were with a younger face
a long time ago.
A face that lit up
whenever she spoke.
“You still don’t remember me? ”
She asked once again.

I shook my head,
but unfortunately, I did.
I could remember
all the beauty
she had had in her youth,
before time had ravaged her
and taken away her beauty
and her youth.
She looked so sad.

I wanted to reach out
like I always wanted to,
but something deep inside,
a little voice you could call it,
kept telling me no.
My urge to hold her
was trying to win out,
but I couldn’t do it.
She was no longer
a part of my life.

All she was now
was a memory I clung to,
a memory of my youth
so long, long ago.
With notebook and pen,
I smiled and bit her farewell.
I whispered her name
as I said a last goodbye.
I didn’t look back
or I would have looked back with regret.
She was a past,
something none of us can ever relive.

poem by David Harris
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The Market!

I remember taking you shopping,
Which is something I don’t like to do.
But the memory is a pleasant one
Because I was there with you.

I watched you as you filled your cart,
While following from behind.
The graceful way you moved about,
Is branded into my mind.

You fondled some bananas,
That nearly drove me wild.
I wished I was that piece of fruit,
That thought still brings a smile.

You turned toward me bending very low
To reach something that I do not know.
My eyes were pulled like a magnet then,
Looking down your blouse, till you stood again.

You leaned over again at the check out stand.
Your tight blue jeans, enticed this man.
Shopping has become a favorite thing.
As long as you, my girl, I bring.

Let’s shop till you dropp right into my arms.
For shopping now has a fresh new charm!
If it’s raining out and I need a parka,
I now suggest, we go to the Market! (Wink wink)

poem by Robert Edgar Burns
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Bombsite Walk

Fay walked with you
across the bombsite
off Meadow Row

the bombed out houses
like decaying teeth
in an old jaw

if Daddy saw me here
he'd spank me
she said

looking over the site
where weeds grew
in cracks and over

once backyards
and living rooms
there's no danger

if you step careful
you said
Daddy says

it's walking on the dead
Fay uttered
looking at you

sideways on
her hands raised at her sides
as if learning to fly

all things born
will some day die
you said

standing on a broken wall
come on let's go in
the haunted house

or so it seems
you laughed reaching out
for her hand to bring her forth

she hesitated
looked around
fearing her daddy's

beady eyes
then took
your hand

and followed in
the semi dark
of bombed out room

it stinks of piss
you muttered
she giggled and set her foot

on bricks and stony floor
what if it all falls in?
she asked

looking up at the sky
through cracks and holes
her hand felt warm in yours

her fingers curled
around your own
it's just adventure

you said
you got to take a few risks
we're a long time dead

and her eyes widened
and stared
and she whispered

I'm scared
and clung to you
what do think

the people here thought
when the bombs fell
and they hadn't made the shelters

or didn't know
you said
she shrugged

her narrow shoulders
and bit her lip
my mother said

all they found
of her neighbours' child
was a blown off hand

don't tell me
Fay said
I will dream of that now

sorry I shouldn't have said
you uttered
feeling her fingers

grip your arm
her thin nails
marking skin

let's go out
she said
and off she went

dragging you behind
out into the sunshine
she looking to see

if her daddy'd seen
her sinful tread
but for you

looking back
it was just an adventure
on land of the dead.

poem by Terry Collett
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Scavenging For Coal

At the back
of the coal wharf
you and Fay
picked up coal pieces

that fell through
the iron railings
and put them
in an old bag from home

Fay looked
at her blackened fingers
and said
if my daddy sees

these fingers
and finds out
what I've been doing
he'll spank me

for sure
you gazed at her
beside you
and said

you can wash your hands
at my place
she looked around
at the bombsite behind you

the evening sun
slowly going down
behind the railway bridge
and nearby buildings

what if someone sees you
she asked
picking up these pieces?
no one worries about this

all the kids do it
you replied
my daddy says
it is evil to steal

she said
you put a black piece
of coal in the bag
and lifted it

to feel the weight
that's enough
you said
too much

and I won't be able
to carry it
Fay stood up
and looked around

at the darkening sky
you held the bag
in one hand
and scanned

the area around you
let's go
you said
and so you both

walked away
from the coal wharf
into Meadow Row
by the public house

where piano music played
and down towards
the flats
where you lived

and after climbing
the concrete stairs
to your landing
you opened the door

and put the bag
by the indoor
coal bunker
and showed Fay

where to wash her hands
turning on
the cold water tap
you both washed

your hands
with the red
Life Buoy soap
her hands near yours

her wet flesh
touching yours
the black water
running away

and another adventure
and another day.

poem by Terry Collett
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Shopping Without Edgar Allan

We will always shopping go
Without Edgar Allan Poe.
We go shopping, hopping, hopping,
From this store to that.
Edgar Allan was a Poe
Who never ever had to go
Shopping.

O.K., and so perhaps I lied,
And so perhaps his lovely bride,
Annabelle Lee and he
Went shopping, like
The rest of us.

poem by Fred Babbin
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The Lottery

The Lottery

Through their mind’s eye, patiently they stood gazing to the sky,
peering through the floating cloud, hoping to spot the pot
of gold at the end of the rainbow.

From a shorter distance, a day in the month of May,
and in the solitude of self, I studied the long line of
Mona Lisa faces against expectations and probabilities.
Some leaned on canes; others rode in wheelchairs;
still others held up under their own weight.

As the single column shrunk, it grew with young mothers
and their laughing children ducking under their
grasping hands, and using them as Maypoles.

My mind got a glimpse of a young mother with a cute little
house etched on her face for she and the baby
on her hip, and the toddler tugging at her skirt.
In the stillness of self, I was able to see beyond my likeness
into the mind of a round- woman silently, moaning as she
leaned on inflamed knees that ached for a knee replacement.

I even eavesdropped into the thoughts of an adult male,
weighed down under jobless, moneyless, and homeless.
The gold at the end of the arc is certain to replace
“less” for “more”, he thought!

I could not help over hearing the long conversation of two men
standing side by side, in the single line, making loud talk:
''I'm behind in child support payments and can’t see my child, said one.”
'Are you saying, you sat quietly in the courtroom waiting for
a judge to evaluate your family's needs, the other asked sharply? '
MAN, we got to do better!
We can’t keep letting others adjudicate our worth and that of our families!
Let’s take back our dignity, and with pride,
place it in custody of our sons and daughters.”

As the front of the line was dwindling, I plainly saw a silver haired woman, time lined her forehead; her eye lids drooping like weeping willow branches. Yet she held tightly onto the plastic holder bulging with blessed lotto cards. She fixed her eyes and mind to the heavens, silently praying that God would not forsake she and her three small grand children…though, she had fruitless results before.

The procession moved closer. I stood in awe at the speed and accuracy of the cashier’s fingers pecking the keys; as the machine violently spat out handfuls of lottery tickets. And like a robot, taking customers money- at the same time- placing the tickets in their hands. I patiently shuffled along not thinking myself as part of the aggregate in the shopping mall.

Nearing the front of the line, I pulled my cell phone from my pocket,
(Unknowingly) a ten spot fell to the floor. “Hello Boo. I’m good. No.
I’m waiting to buy my lottery tickets. Son, hopefully the cashier has that
“BIG CHECK” we have been waiting for. Okay, bye”

I leaned forward; handing the cashier my number list, then reached into my pocket and pulling out an empty hand. I wondered if gamblers count the times they lose or win.

poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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A poem a day - Shopping with a friend

Shopping with a friend is cool
There's nothing forbidden, no rule
And no parents to say what's suitable
Or to tell you what's unaffordable,
Actually you don't need to be rich
To try on whatever your eyes wish.

Shopping with a friend is so nice
You might forget budget and price
And buy things you don't need
Just by habit, not by greed
Like get ten or eleven similar tops
From two or three different shops.

Shopping with a friend is funny
Even if you don't have money
You can try a formal blue shirt
With a long gypsy orange skirt
Pretend to buy them but act lost
Then don't, because they're low-cost.

Shopping with a friend is naughty
You can act humble or haughty
Change personnalities between stores:
Be a girl who laughs and snores
Or an english tourist, elegant and neat
Who went walking on the street.

But shopping is more pleasant with a friend
Who has a thousand dollars to lend.

poem by Rita El Khoury
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Helen and You and The ABC Cinema

In the evening after tea
of bread and jam
and a glass of milk
you went out

and met Helen
under the railway bridge
in Rockingham Street
next to the Duke

of Wellington pub
and she was waiting
there looking up
and down the street

and when she saw you
she waved and walked
towards you
where's your doll

Battered Betty?
you asked
mum's washing her clothes
and I didn't want

to bring her out
with nothing on
she said
no that wouldn't be decent

you said
where are we going?
she asked
I want to show you

the passages behind
the ABC cinema
you said
it's like a cavern

of dark passages
and once I saw a rat
running along by a wall
oh god

she said
putting a hand
to her mouth
not a rat

yes it run along
one of the walls
not sure
I want to go there

she said softly
one little rat
isn't going to hurt you
you said

besides I'll chase it away
if it comes
will you?
she said

yes of course I will
nothing is going to harm you
while I am here
you said

you showed her
the toy gun
tucked in
the inside pocket

of your jacket
she nodded
and she took
your hand

and you walked her
along and up behind
the Trocodero cinema
and onto

the New Kent Road
and you crossed quickly
before the traffic lights changed
and once you got

to the other side
you took her
to the ABC cinema
and went down beside

the cinema walls
along the dark passages
that went on beside
and behind the cinema

all the time
she gripped your hand
and now and then
her grip tightened

when she thought
she saw something
out of the corner
of her eye

what was that?
she said
stopping still
clutching your hand tight

just a piece of paper
blown by the wind
are you sure?
yes just paper

she untightened
her grip
and you both
walked on

with the sound
of traffic and voices
in the distance
and at the back

of the cinema
you came to an entrance
where two doors where
and you said

sometimes the doors are open
and you can sneak in free
she looked at you
her eyes behind

her thick lens glasses
large and innocent
is that allowed?
she asked

no
you replied
if they catch you
you get into trouble

but if you're lucky
you can get in
no trouble
you said

oh
she said
my mum wouldn't like it
if I got into trouble

we won't get in tonight
anyway
you said
the doors are locked

another time maybe
and she gripped
your hand
and her face looked shocked.

poem by Terry Collett
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Two Little Turtles

I saw them-
two little turtles holding hands
standing heads up above a dark stone;
One was slightly above the other,
clutching his lover's hand.
I went near them and stared as the
one below hid her face from me.
Sweet as they seem, I wondered
if ever they, in their graceful moves
feel the heat of the passion built.
The passion of touching one another-
of just even being close to each other.
I wish you'd see them too...
two little turtles holding hands.
I looked up at the sky waving at me
as though he saw the loneliness in my eyes.
And then i wondered where you are
and when can i hold your hand,
or when can i just be with you;
when can we be together
like the two little turtles
sweetly holding hands.

poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
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Fay and You and the Ruler.

Fay met you
on your way home
from school
standing by the entrance

of Meadow Row
she was in her school uniform
a satchel
over a shoulder

how was school?
she asked
boring and the day
too long

you replied
but at least
you can learn things
she said

like how
to make a candle
holder in woodwork?
finding some river

in India
I'll never see?
you said
she smiled shyly

well maybe you will
she said
how are you?
you asked

ok
she replied
got told off
by Sister Bernard

for not having a ruler
what did you do
with your ruler?
you asked

lost it
she said
ah well
there you are

you said
naughty naughty
she walked on
down Meadow Row

and you walked
beside her
actually
she said quietly

my daddy took it
she stood still
and stared at you
he beat me

with it
she said
in a whisper
you looked

into her eyes
and saw your
reflection there
two yous

staring back
why?
you asked
taking in her paleness

her fair hair tied
in a ponytail
he said l hadn't done
my jobs properly

jobs?
you asked
around the house
helping my mum

and did you? help?
yes usually
but I forgot
this time

big crime
you said
won't he give
the ruler back?

no
she said
he said he will keep it
as a lesson to me

can't you buy
a new one?
you asked
I haven't any money

she said
you can have
one of mine
you said

I have plenty at home
can I borrow one?
you can have one
she smiled weakly

her eyes lit up
and she took one
of your hands
and held it

I'll have to hide it though
she said
or he'll take
that one too

quite a guy your dad
you said
she looked away
at the bombed out houses

on the left hand side
you saw her hurt
and sadness
some things you can't hide.

poem by Terry Collett
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Waiting By The School Gates

Look who's over
by the school gates
Reynard said
and you looked over

and there was Christina
with her school bag
over her shoulder
and her hands tucked

in the pockets
of her green coat
see you tomorrow
Reynard said

and walked on
giving Christina a stare
as he did most girls
finding them an enigma

yet to be solved
when you got
to where Christina was
she took her hands

out of her pockets
and put a hand
on your arm
I wish I was going

on the school bus
with you
then I could sit next to you
and I could tell you

about myself
and not have to cram
everything into a rush
of words as I do

at school
you looked over
to where the school bus
was waiting

you still had
five minutes
or so before
it took off

and you knew
Fred the driver
always did
a head count

before hand
don't you wish
I was there
on the bus too?

she asked
squeezing your arm
with her fingers
you turned

and looked at her
sure I do
you said
but you live here

and I live miles away
I know
she said
and I miss you

once your bus goes off
and I know
I won't see you
until the following day

and the weekend is worse
because then
I don't see you
for two whole days

other kids
passing through
the school gates
stared at you both

and Hill said
come on
or you'll miss
the bus

and he laughed
and moved on
and Christina stared
after him and said

what's his problem?
and you said
oh he hasn't been born yet
he gets this way

and she laughed
and said
maybe I'll come
on the country bus

to your village
and we can meet?
sure that'd be good
you said

and her eyes lit up
and she smiled
and leaned
towards you

and gave your cheek
a peck
and you said
look I got to go

and you took her hand
and gave it
a quick kiss
then turned

and walked quickly
towards the bus
knowing her eyes
were following

your every step
and that maybe
she dreamed
of you at night

and imagined you
beside her
and her dolls
and Teddy Bear

and you in turn
maybe imagined
at night
you too were there.

poem by Terry Collett
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The Low Down

Mother; remember I am small
a little over two feet tall
My view from here is limited
the shopping mall a place of dread.

Boots and shoes are all I see
as people rush impatiently.
You have forgotten how it feels
to see only toes and heels.

You hold me firmly by the hand
but I don’t think you understand
Just how it feels to be so small
and dragged around a shopping Mall.

If you ere small and couldn’t see
then you would know what frightens me.

16-May-08

http: //blog.myspace.com.poeticpiers

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Christmas At The Big-K

At Christmas she went to K Mart
Which wasn’t very smart.
She got in the way
Of a mob that day
And was floored by a shopping cart.

Shopping sucks at Christmas time
Even at the five and dime.
Try shopping on line
And you will be fine
And you won’t be the victim of a crime
Or what’s more you won’t miss your Miller time.

poem by George Hunter
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Life Lost Its Sheen

Just an old-fashioned busker
with a tattered guitar,
entertained local people
and those from afar.

For years he had stood
in the shopping parade,
bringing joy and delight
with his sweet serenade.

He sang all the old songs
with an Irish accent
and crowds gathered round
his voice - heaven sent!

But one cold winter's day
no busker was seen
no love songs were heard
the Mall lost its sheen.

For that poor entertainer
had disappeared overnight...
the shopping area was ghostly
a gloomy funereal sight.

poem by Joyce Hemsley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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