simple chords holding her music together in the form of a forgotten book
the cover hanging off. tied on by determination and love of music
simple cords, her grandmother used to say, make it easy to listen to
she was a patient loving woman who mastered a piano in every showroom
the torch had been passed, and Sophie was now the family maestro
all musical ability had bypassed her mother and her siblings
her satin ruffled dress made a crispy sound as she shuffled to the bench
the orchestra was waiting for her to take the lead.
Simple chords she whispered under her breath
feeling her grandmother next to her.
Our pain is not your entertainment
We don't exist purely for your amusement
My skin is not a costume
Don't treat us like we are some display In a showroom
We won't apologise for our presence
We will walk in every room with our heads up
Our silence our greatest weapon
It honours our intelligence
Your biggest flaw is your smugness
Our existence is your weakness
No wonder you try to demean us
Our afro is not an invitation
Your hands don't get to ruin hours of preparation
It is not for your exploration
And no we won't explain why it's so sacred
You dont get to be racist
But be in awe of our self made creation
We are proud of our blackness
You dont get to witness our greatness
Or be a part of our self celebration
Especially when you spent all your life on hating us
You dont deserve us
Nor our forgiveness
How could a corpse like me ask for more
Than this faucet from the showroom floor
It may look a dud
But it cleans off blood
And came dirt cheap from the Zombie Store
Colorful butterflies, shadow's midst light,
impressively, true blue male hue, in spite
of the female shadows in a brown hue,
yet, it's the white margin, brilliant sky blue
the wing topper real showroom stopper,
BLUE STEEL ... VICTOR/VICTORIA ... partner.
A kin to Euro, "The hills are ALLIED ...,"
to well TORN in the Eastern CURTAIN side,
the species mate truly RUSSIA WITH LOVE.
Pupae flights May through October ... speak of,
open spaces, fallow ground, sunny slopes,
while within day's light, wings open and scopes
bound to tall grass, midst others -- falls in threats,
one of nature's pleasant, worthwhile assets.
He walked around the showroom
the cars were shining bright
He told the nearest salesman
I do not see a bike
They thought he meant motorcycles
instead of brand-new cars
The little green man got offended
so he pedaled on back to Mars
An indoor showroom for
Invaluable art pieces
To attract your attentions
To the beauty of nature
Or your admirations
To the beauty of creations of men
Maybe for the eyes only
But no bargains
when I married Mike
I thought that our marriage would last forever
but in retrospect
I should have listened
to my dear old pa
as he walked me down the aisle…
pa said I could put the brakes on the wedding
but I was young and in love
Mike simply
adored my sleek curves
and shapely body
he'd get my motor running
but soon the polish
wore off our relationship
and he began working late
at the car showroom
later, much later
I discovered his ‘work’ was taking place on the back seat of a Buick
I wish that pa had warned me
that one day
my used car salesman husband
would 'trade me in' for a much younger model!
FICTIONAL POEM
Suzette Prime Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
01/29/21
Behind the fence in somebody's vacant lot,
stands an old automobile that has been left to rot.
The metallic body is falling apart with rust,
while the upholstery reeks with mold and must.
The glass is shattered. There are missing parts.
It's a sure bet that this auto never starts.
While the tires are flat, it certainly appears
that the car hasn't travelled roads in many years.
Even though the last owner gave it the heave-ho,
it may have been in a dealer's showroom long ago.
I wish I could shut you up
Then all my troubles would go
I wish I could escape for a while
And relax without this constant row
I was born with you pestering me
I grew up with your doubts and negativity
You stopped me achieving more
You said just enough to make me stop
And fed my disbelief and fear
You hinted at things that never happened
You gave disaster a possibility
You said she’ll never love you
You urged me not to try
You’ll not get the job you crave
Or the car in the expensive showroom
Not once did you encourage me
Through your optimistic negativity
And you’re still here- after all this time
You’re whispering to me now
This poem’s just not good enough
And you’ll probably die on the plane
Oh my god what I could have achieved
Without you as my bloody brain.
David Cox 8/02/18
Old stained mattress
in a ditch looking forlorn
cast aside without a second thought
Old stained mattress
blown off a truck by a strong wind
or placed here by two men lugging?
Old stained mattress
shabby and streaked
I pass her daily
Wondering if she has feelings
Making up stories about her
Thinking about her first day off the showroom floor
Poor old stained mattress
Poor poor old stained mattress
She makes me feel badly.
Used to sell cars, it was a few years back.
I sported a tie, white shirt, and of course dress slacks.
It's good to know what's on the showroom floor.
Answer a customers question wrongly, they'll race to the door.
Knowledge is key, with a ton more of tact.
Lying sometimes, yeah, I've done it, that's fact.
Agreeing upon numbers, pen pointing to bottom line.
All that matters, is you get them to sign.
A hard fought sale, numbers juggled a bunch.
This guy got a deal, that's my salesman's hunch.
Delivery's been made, car rolls off the lot.
Will my commission be high, yeah right...probably not.
Vehicles, muscled cars were built, to be fast;
creatures of iron and steel;
the wildest beasts.
In the day of manufactured power, Lynx and Jaguar raced; thunderbirds flew low to ground with wings,
as fast as, a road runner.
The mighty Chevy of “57” dreams;
leant compassions ear to young Edsel,
when he failed his popularity test.
Lightening swift, these darts did fly;
racing down, route “66” back then,
the pride supported its own.
Metal, mega-mammals, like all others;
live and die their last wheeze and cough,
recorded by the crusher.
Those who signed away body parts;
the donors left a re-built legacy.
Beautiful and powerful, as their ancestors;
legacy lives on but, route “66” is a much milder path.
In Heaven’s showroom;
lion and lamb lie, side-by-side;
these are the souls of the metal mammals.
Blissfully arrayed,
they sit idle in showroom grandeur
akin and accustomed to the cuff
the cuffs of a man respected, a man cosmic.
Wondrously gilded,
the aqua sea glimmers between its hands
I can see the stars in its eyes
a glimmer so intense, the envy of all constellations.
Tastefully bedazzled,
golden brims mark distinction
characteristic ticks echo silently, restlessly into the void
counting one, two, three, a celestial metronome.
Carefully crafted,
beige snake scales caress the links
and mingle with my cuffs
a watch from the man who watched over me.
Together we lie on the crimson sheet
Hands pressed together, we are now complete
Worlds apart in so many ways
Our eyes fixed on each other with agaze
Years have passed since we last laughed
We need to rediscover our craft
But, Time is short when you reach life’s peak
Our body’s are worn down like a showroom antique
Our love for each other will never falter or cease
It’s now time for us to close our eyes and make peace
Ford Anglia
Ford Anglia, Ford Anglia,
You were always my favourite Car.
Distinctive shape and two-toned colour,
In the showroom, you were the Star.
Cortina, my Cortina,
Your sleek lines made a statement.
People would often turn their heads,
In wonder and amazement.
Zodiac, mighty Zodiac,
A real Man’s motor was this big boy.
Leather seats and chrome hub caps,
The Daddy with his pride and joy.
Escort, oh classic Escort,
You certainly broke the mould.
A family car that thrilled a generation,
So popular, millions were sold.
The old Fords had some character,
Unlike Fiesta, Mondeo or Focus.
Though the exhaust fumes weren’t too green,
Carbon Monoxide used to choke us.
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