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Weekly Poetry Stuffage > Week 275 (August 25-31). Poems. Topic: Flea Market

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message 1: by Ajay (last edited Aug 25, 2015 02:54AM) (new)

Ajay (ajay_n) | 1135 comments You have until the 31st of August to post a poem, and September 1-3, we’ll vote for which one we thought was best.

Please post directly into the topic and not a link. Please don’t use a poem previously used in this group.

Your poem can be any length.

This week’s topic is: Flea Market

The rules are pretty loose. You could write a poem about anything that has to do with the subject but it must relate to the topic somehow.

Have fun!

message 2: by Ryan (new)

Ryan | 5334 comments What a cracker topic! Love it. Thanks, Ajay :)

message 3: by Ajay (new)

Ajay (ajay_n) | 1135 comments Thank you, R!

message 4: by Joci (new)

Joci (kdemiweall) | 434 comments Interesting :) I always learn new things over here :D

message 5: by Connie (last edited Aug 25, 2015 05:07AM) (new)

Connie D. | 656 comments Non-Stop Shopping
by Connie D.

I've already been up an hour or two
I can't sleep, but that's nothing new
Darkness surrounds this house of mine
and as I wait for the sun to shine
I keep poking about for something to do
to focus my thoughts like mental glue
and stop me using my brain as a sieve
sifting negative thoughts I don't need
I finally decide to sit down and write
boot up the computer and turn on a light
I'm really hoping for a priceless find
as I stroll the flea market of my mind.

message 6: by Angel (last edited Aug 25, 2015 05:08AM) (new)

Angel Untamed Melodies

Untamed Melodies
Unchartered, unabashed fallacies
Parables of soft broken sunlight
Fables of what cannot be set upright again
Too many pliable friends, liars who pretend to support and defend my God given means, the original me
But, they only see what they can take
Forsaking what secretly they hate

They’re all criminals
Villains in my wake
Trying to snatch me from the depths of where my soul is kept
Those hungry bastards
They want to hold my words captive, hold me like a prisoner
Again because of these raptors I’ll be invisible again
Scurrying back in my shell
Taking my stories, bleeding heart and dark soul off the shelf
Leaving them nothing else but, dust and ashes and a sordid reflection of themselves
I’m one of the Great Ones
Not quite discovered

But, if this madness continues
I’ll go back undercover
Enjoy me
Never leave me
Never take what is in me
Be inspired
Never tire of me
What I’ve allowed you to see, which is rare that I care to share
I’ve been shattered before
Twenty three years, I’ve procured my talent
Please don’t force it to hang in the balance
I’ve been blessed with this natural gift from the Almighty himself
It’s one of the very few hopes I have left.

message 7: by Billie Jo (last edited Aug 25, 2015 11:04AM) (new)

Billie Jo (jojolov333) | 232 comments *Check Yourself*
Critique welcome..

Stop looking at girls as if they're for sell
You'll soon find yourself in hell
Stop wishing upon stars nothing is coming true
Stop trying to make me the girl you're going to use
Girls are human and they have their own thoughts
They listen to your feelings and give you gifts of which they bought
They'll pour their hearts in your hands
Even though you never can
Girls are sensitive and easily excused it seems
That girls to you are just a part in your schemes
You need to get your head on straight and realize what you're doing
Before the girl you played and lied and said you're screwing
Finds out you're not what she believed you were and fights back with all she's got
Us girls aren't weak or slow we're simply planning our own plots.
Revenge is such a lovely thing except when you're the receiver
She'll leave before you have the chance to even think to leave her
And soon she'll have plies of belongings giving her profit
Because she'll be selling your favorite necklace in the local town's flea market.

message 8: by Julie (new)

Julie Grenness | 137 comments From Julie: (Feedback welcome.)

Spent today at the Flea Market with she,
All for nothing, nothing for free,
Bought some clothes for she,
A potplant for me, no weed,
Food and books I didn't need,
All for nothing, nothing for free,
Anything old was new again,
Vendors on the gravy train,
But, I had fun today with she,
Sunshine and good company,
Simple things in life are free,
Flea market was such fun with she!

message 9: by Edward (last edited Aug 25, 2015 05:05PM) (new)

Edward Davies | 1727 comments Title : One Man’s Trash...
Poet : Edward Davies (feedback always welcome)

The tat that others just don’t want
That clutters up their attic
Might be a gift from heaven above
And make someone ecstatic

You might have kept it in the loft
Or deep down in your cellar
You might not know it’s worth a grand
To the right gal or fella

And so you take it to the market
Hoping just to sell it
The eagerness of passersby,
Why, you can almost smell it

They hesitate just by your stall
They stare then look away
They perform this act for a while
The finally they say

“How much for those?” they point askance
At nothing that’s too certain
A book, a toy, an ornament,
An off-cut from a curtain

You state a price, they um and ah
Then finally they settle
And walk off with an ornament
An old toy and a kettle

You wonder later what it was
That drew their lusty interest
You look the goods up on eBay
Then curse about self incest

The kettle, fine, that was just junk,
The toy worth not a thing
But when you saw the ornament
It really made you sting

It fetched about twelve thousand pounds
For more than one keen seller
And if it went to auction, well
You’d be one loaded fella

So careful what you give away
Or sell on from a stall
It might be worth a bob or two
Or nothing much at all.

message 10: by C.P., Windrunner (new)

C.P. Cabaniss (cpcabaniss) | 637 comments I'm really enjoying all the poems so far! A nice mix this week.

Now I just need to figure out one to post. :)

message 11: by Robert (new)

Robert Hobkirk Saturday

Saturday market
secondhand clothes, worn out shoes
my dog brought home fleas.

message 12: by Neal (new)

Neal Syrette | 80 comments Fleas for Sale

Come, see what's through the loupe...
Entertainers for a Carnival or Circus show,
Active enough for any travelling troupe.
Where one only needs to be in the know.

Witness the blood-thirst in each tiny terror,
Lashing outward, resilin tight as a drum.
Cheap they be, no single price is fairer...
The whole plot for such a pitiful sum.

Come, watch them play as if in trance,
Miniature musical instruments all in tune;
Losing themselves to the old song and dance,
"Freedom from ourselves." they'll sorely croon.

Such simple minded creatures to care for,
With nary any trouble or exertion for your part;
Merely apply some glue to the cage floor,
For the years of revelry each will impart...

message 13: by Joci (new)

Joci (kdemiweall) | 434 comments Details...

It has been such a long long time
Since I've last seen those marron hairs
Curtains balancing through the window…

It has been such a long long time
Since I’ve last seen that elegant smile
Guitar playing all night long…

It has been a while ago…
But it is the tic-tac that keeps me awake
My senses flowing in all directions…

It is the smell of the wood floor
The frames along the parlor
The drawer at my bedside

It has been such a long long time…
But my body firmly turns around as my hands scour its bottom
The spot is only a detail...

As my memoirs refuse to forget them all

And they suddenly throw me to that turmoil of voices
Of the vide-grenier... just across the street
Where I’d religiously go
Only that my eyes could meet your gypsy eyes
Your brown hair and your dazzling smile
That used to make my anxious heart vibrates...

And it is only a second until I discover
That vinyl I bought from your grandparents
The same vinyl that would play at our wedding

It has been such a long long time…
That I bought something so cheap
That would become something so treasured
That would represent someone so deeply loved
That would become this poem...

J.L. 28.08.2015

I'm always opened to critiques!

message 14: by C.P., Windrunner (new)

C.P. Cabaniss (cpcabaniss) | 637 comments Trinkets

At times I feel
like the trinkets at a flea market
Parceled and sold off
piece by piece

Heart to one buyer,
lungs another
He thinks my eyes look fine
She fancies my lips

Have I lost all real appeal?
Is the whole not as great as its parts?

Now here I go
Under the knife
They each bought a piece of my life

message 15: by Mandy (new)

Mandy Blake | 1231 comments Patient

In gas station sunglasses,
and flea market clothes.

She fights with a darkness
that only she knows.

Her perfect love,
stolen away in a flash.

All of her dreams,
have been turned into ash.

Now treated so dirty,
yet her soul is so clean.

She moves thru the world,
never heard, hardly seen.

She waits thru the pain,
she's time's lonely slave.

Until she finds him again
on the other side of the grave.

message 16: by Mark (last edited Aug 29, 2015 02:23AM) (new)

Mark (crawdadddy) | 402 comments Shabby Items Up For Sale

They do it every Saturday,
The empty field by Denny's.
Card tables from rebel pick-ups,
Selling anything to please.

Sunburned faces look away,
Dollar bills and cigarettes.
A girl too young to dress that way,
He fingers dirty Disney stamps.

Some may call it Market,
But that's really not complete,
And you can't quite place that smell,
Stumbling drunk as if I had three feet,
Shabby items up for sale.

Here's a man who just sells shells,
Among piles of rusty tools,
A redneck with baseball cards display,
Shower slaps stir pain,
Next card table is spray-on tan,
She paints her toes as if she cares,
Her daughter sleeping in the trunk,
Hugs a two-dollar teddy bear.

Some may call it Market,
But that's really not complete,
And you can't quite place that smell,
Stumbling drunk as if I had three feet,
Shabby items up for sale.

Neat, thin man, secluded gay,
Buys things for his friend at work,
A speeding twit is goggled-eyed,
His boy and girl begin to twerk,
A chubby girl feels a faint,
The wind it blows broken fan,
A tender man now goes astray,
Peeps inside the tinted glass.

Some may call it Market,
But that's really not complete,
And you can't quite place that smell,
Stumbling drunk as if I had three feet,
Shabby items up for sale.

message 17: by Arun (new)

Arun Iyer (aruniyer) | 369 comments Flea Market

Struggling for the next meal,
a cheap ring can speak volumes,
to a maiden's heart in the
intimate silence that follows.

And that stuttering table fan,
can feel lavish to the young ones,
as it bellows cool wind, from the
corner of a damp cracked wall.

An old man buys a tall-case,
in remembrance of his father;
vows to protect it - a penance?
Is there a sad back story I wonder?

I walk around the flea market,
a place where people purchase,
old items for less; or maybe
items trade old memories for new?

message 18: by Mark (new)

Mark (crawdadddy) | 402 comments Mandy wrote: "Patient"

Haunting and bittersweet, the opening lines are great!

message 19: by M (new)

M | 11047 comments I agree. This is a beautiful poem.

message 20: by Guy (last edited Aug 31, 2015 03:57PM) (new)

Guy (egajd) | 11105 comments Bargain Books and Other Stuff
       by Guy Duperreault (Feedback and critique welcomed)

I walk to the unwanted books,
I spend time here,
feeling for the book that will fill the hole in my soul.
There is nothing else here that can do that for me,
all the other detritus of this flea market being
a humble secular creche to the fleeting nature of our short time here.
As I complete my browse
I am left to wonder at the books put here,
why and who read them and why, and why they are
empty and lifeless, now, after so much promise.
Perhaps this is their penultimate place of rest, too,
a gaudy tired display of the intangibility of permanence.
I turn away unfulfilled,
and look at the other stuff and wonder at the wonders
that others have the ability to find in them.
I move from table to table
pretending to a feigned interest
while projecting, I hope, an air of sophistication that will
transform me into a proper buyer of the treasures hiding here,
somewhere where my eyes cannot see,
either because I have gone blind reading books,
or the truth others seem to see is too small for me.

message 21: by Mandy (new)

Mandy Blake | 1231 comments Thanks Mark
Thanks M

message 22: by Ryan (new)

Ryan | 5334 comments Mandy! Welcome back :) Magic poem.

message 23: by Guy (new)

Guy (egajd) | 11105 comments Non-Stop Shopping by Connie D.
Yes, that restless searching for a piece of mind to bring us the priceless peace of mind.

Untamed Melodies by Angel
Wow! I loved the vivid power of the imagery and fight in the narrator, struggling to free herself from the world of fantasy and delusion and join the ‘real’ world despite it’s friable and failing humanity. Thank you for sharing such a personal appeal to being enjoyed by Life.

Check Yourself by Billie Jo
This made me smile, the arc it took. If I were to offer one suggestion, relax the need to force the rhyme. The first line starts the poem badly, because I read it as an editorial typo, and the reading the second line kind of clunked because then I realized that you were forcing the rhyme so I read the first line again to see and… Well, you see what I mean. I noted that later on, you were at times nicely relaxed with strict rhyming, but then other times forced it awkwardly.

Flea Market by Julie
This made me smile at the well expressed simple pleasure of being with a friend, even when or especially when doing something light and trivial.

One Man’s Trash... by Edward
LOL! Cautionary tale indeed.

Saturday by Robert
Another cautionary tale.

Flea Market Queen by Alex
I enjoyed the gentle pace and exploration in this. And it leaves me wanting to know what it is that the flea market knows.

Fleas for Sale by Neal
Another smile engendering homage to the joys of flea market exploration. Nicely rhymed and a good read.

Details... by Joci
This is a lovely and heartfelt poem! I thoroughly enjoyed reading its movement to a perfect ending.

Now for a small English language critique — or just a typo. ‘Vibrates’ needs to be in the singular in your line ‘That used to make my anxious heart vibrate’. That is because in this line’s structure it is being used as a modifier of heart, i.e. an adjective and not as the verb. My heart vibrates, or my anxious heart vibrates (vibrates is the verb here). But in the sentence ‘You make my anxious heart vibrate,’ ‘make’ is the verb and ‘vibrate’ is being used to modify heart.

Also, and this is not a critique of your poem, but more English usage: You are ‘open’ to critique, not opened. Just a tense issue, here, as the latter is past tense and makes it sound like you will be undergoing surgery to open you up.

Trinkets by Courtney
LOL! Sorry, likely an inappropriate response, but this is so true in this world of vanity and appearance. A fun read.

Patient by Mandy
Great use of rhyme here! And this is perfectly expressed melancholia and hopelessness.

Shabby Items Up For Sale by Mark
Great imagery and a very fun read.

Flea Market by Arun
I thoroughly enjoyed the imagery in this poem.

message 24: by Arun (new)

Arun Iyer (aruniyer) | 369 comments Guy wrote: "Flea Market by Arun
I thoroughly enjoyed the imagery in this poem."

Thanks for the feedback :-)

message 25: by C.P., Windrunner (new)

C.P. Cabaniss (cpcabaniss) | 637 comments Thanks, Guy. I think your response is fine. :) Glad you enjoyed it.

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