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The buyer first disparages.

Sicilian proverbs
Added by Lucian Velea
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I am a seller, Arent you?

I am a seller
A seller of different kind
I sell my dreams
in lieu of better dreams
sometimes to 'time'
sometimes to 'fate'
And sometimes to 'reality'
I am a dream seller
Aren't you?

I am architect
an architect of different kind
I build my dreams
block by block
only to dismantle
sometimes because of 'time'
sometimes because of 'fate'
And sometimes because of 'reality'
I am arcitect
an architect of different kind
Aren't you?

I am a buyer
A buyer of different kind
I bargain for dreams
sometimes with 'time'
sometimes with 'fate'
And sometimes with 'reality'
I am buyer
A buyer of different kind
Aren't you?

Inspite of knowing
ultimately i will sell
I concieve dreams
Inspite of knowing
ultimately i will dismnatle
I build my dreams
Inspite of knowing
ultimately i will fail in bargainig
I bargain for my dreams

because
its better
to sell, dismantle or bargain for

[...] Read more

poem by Anjesh shekhar
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A Miserable venture

A vendor next comes to another buyer,
After his failure with many buyers.
A buyer grants access to a vender,
After her refusal to many vendors.
Yet the vender with hopes meets the buyer
And again fails to click with her a deal.
18.03.2004

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Alliterative Abilities Await Accolade

Deftly drawing deep desccriptions, denigrates dupes, demarcate
Drive divinely dated, daring, duty disparages degenerates.
Discord difficulties discarded, differences demonstrate
Decision's dream, deems drafted ditty deliciously delectate.

Entertaining enterprising epistolary erudite,
Elite exquisite eùicited esteemed efforts expedite,
Ever enchanting episodes elaborates ensures exite
Each enjambment's epilogue's euphuistic eremite.

Magic momentum measures meter making mellifluous meditation
Minor mistakes, mispunctuations mated, music's maximisation
Mood majestic makes manifest, metonym manipulation
Methodically modifies monosyllabic metrication.

Lighthearted lines link letters lively, lovingly liberates
Lilting lullabies linguistic, laconically literate,
Literature lighthouse lighting locution lordly, loculate
Lexicon lamenting language limits lack length legitimate.

Incredibly idyllic ideal in insightful illustrate,
Intense impressions interspacing, intelligence impressionate,
Indicate in ink indelible impromptu index intimate
Incomparable imprints issue, imagination incarnate.

Words work wonders wander willfully will, wily, waterfall
With wizardry while weakness, waste, wanes, wretched with windfall
Waxing wonderfully writing with wisodom, wit, Wordsworth's weight,
Workmanship well written, writer withholding worthless wait.

Opportunities offered open onto opus overlaid
On outstandingly orchestrated original serenade.
Outperforming overacting opponents outplayed.
Obsequious opposition overcome, only one's obeyed

Reviewer rightly respond! Rhyming roundel's repaid
Reading rave reviews rising round rhymster, reliably relayed,
Ringing reasoned ruminations readymade,
Routing rough rookies' rash reiteration raid.

Stanza stanza swift succeeding, senses sweeps, song swifter swims,
succulent succession seeding, substitutions, surface skims.
Scrupulous semantics subtle switchback scrabble summarize,
seek solutions smart, scrolled, supple, solve set spectrum's smallish size.

Appropriately authentic ambitions assiduously aid
Adept alliterative abilities awaiting accolade

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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A horse and an ass

A buyer had a seller in a deal.
Each did it as that was the best.
To the buyer it was like a horse
And to the seller it was like an ass.
30.06.2005

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Compromise lacks

The vendor expectation was more.
The buyer’s offer did not match.
The deal broke.

The buyer is lured by another.
The vendor waited for another.
The process repeated.

Marriage is easy to break.
Divorce is easy to obtain.
Compromise lacks
28.03.2011

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Loan man and woman

A lone woman among men
And a lone man among women
Are the centres of attractions,
She akin to a buyer
And he, to a seller and
Yet a buyer is dearer
As she will not buy from
As many as are offered to sell..
06.11.2009

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Heaven West

buyer Lil rode west, found heaven
and gave agent Kevin his asking price

buyer Lil rode east, found a hellish mess
and gave agent Kevin a piece of her mind

agent Kevin said 'Lil, whats heaven and whats hell
depends on your point of view'

'build windows west and fences east
and heaven is what you'll find'

poem by Steve King
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The Priest They Called Him

fight tuberculosis, folks. christmas eve, an old
Junkie selling christmas seals on north park street.
The priest, they called him. fight tuberculosis, folks.
People hurried by, gray shadows on a distant wall.
It was getting late and no money to score.
He turned into a side street and the lake wind hit him like a knife.
Cab stop just ahead under a streetlight.
Boy got out with a suitcase. thin kid in prep school clothes,
Familiar face, the priest told himself, watching from the doorway.
remindsme of something a long time ago. the boy, there, with his overcoat
Unbuttoned, reaching into his pants pocket for the cab fare.
The cab drove away and turned the corner. the boy went inside
A building. hmm, yes, maybe - the suitcase was there in the doorway.
The boy nowhere in sight. gone to get the keys, most likely,
Have to move fast. he picked up the suitcase and started for the corner.
Made it. glanced down at the case. it didnt look like the case the boy had,
Or any boy would have. the priest couldnt put his finger on what was so
Old about the case. old and dirty, poor quality leather, and heavy.
Better see whats inside. he turned into lincoln park, found an
Empty place and opened the case. two severed human legs that belonged to
A young man with dark skin. shiny black leg hairs glittered in the
Dim streetlight. the legs had been forced into the case and he had to use
His knee on the back of the case to shove them out. legs, yet,
He said, and walked quickly away with the case.
Might bring a few dollars to score. the buyer sniffed suspiciously.
kind of a funny smell about it. its just mexican leather.
well, some joker didnt cure it.
The buyer looked at the case with cold disfavor.
not even right sure he killed it, whatever it is.
Three is the best I can do and it hurts. but since this is christmas
And youre the priest... he slipped three bills under the table into the
Priests dirty hand. the priest faded into the street shadows, seedy
And furtive. three cents didnt buy a bag, nothing less than a nickel.
Say, remember that old addie croaker told me not to come back unless
I paid him the three cents I owe him. yeah, isnt that a fruit for ya,
Blow your stack about three lousy cents.
The doctor was not pleased to see him.
now, what do you want? I told you!
The priest laid three bills on the table. the doctor put the
Money in his pocket and started to scream.
Ive had troubles! people have been around!
I may lose my license! the priest just sat there, eyes, old and heavy with
Years of junk, on the doctors face.
i cant write you a prescription. the doctor jerked open a drawer
And slid an ampule across the table. thats all I have in the office!
The doctor stood up. take it and get out! he screamed, hysterical.
The priests expression did not change.
The doctor added in quieter tones, after all, Im a professional man,
And I shouldnt be bothered by people like you.
is that all you have for me? one lousy quarter g? couldnt you lend

[...] Read more

song performed by Nirvana
Added by Lucian Velea
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Our New Horse

The boys had come back from the races
All silent and down on their luck;
They'd backed 'em, straight out and for places,
But never a winner they's struck.
They lost their good money on Slogan,
And fell most uncommonly flat
When Partner, the pride of the Bogan,
Was beaten by Aristocrat.
And one said, "I move that instanter
We sell out our horses and quit;
The brutes ought to win in a canter,
Such trials they do when they're fit.
The last one they ran was a snorter --
A gallop to gladden one's heart --
Two-twelve for a mile and a quarter,
And finished as straight as a dart.

"And then when I think that they're ready
To win me a nice little swag,
They are licked like the veriest neddy --
They're licked from the fall of the flag.
The mare held her own to the stable,
She died out to nothing at that,
And Partner he never seemed able
To pace with the Aristocrat.

"And times have been bad, and the seasons
Don't promise to be of the best;
In short, boys, there's plenty of reasons
For giving the racing a rest.
The mare can be kept on the station --
Her breeding is good as can be --
But Partner, his next destination
Is rather a trouble to me.

"We can't sell him here, for they know him
As well as the clerk of the course;
He's raced and won races till, blow him,
He's done as a handicap horse.
A jady, uncertain performer,
They weight him right out of the hunt,
And clap it on warmer and warmer
Whenever he gets near the front.

"It's no use to paint him or dot him
Or put any fake on his brand,
For bushmen are smart, and they'd spot him
In any sale-yard in the land.
The folk about here could all tell him,
Could swear to each separate hair;

[...] Read more

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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The Auction

'Who'll bid? Who'll bid? ' the question rang
Where throned Death was calling.
I seemed to sense his charnel tang,
Mephitic air appalling;
And every tick I heard the clang
Of his steel hammer falling.

Come great men who upon our earth
Had held a lofty mission,
The spacious ones of lordly birth,
The cunning politician,
And gentlemen of holy worth
Or wondrous erudition.

One buyer in a corner trolls
Beyond the ghastly revel.
He buys by lots or single souls,
His voice is low and level.
And paltry is the price he doles.
The buyer is the Devil!

poem by Edward George Dyson
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Dialogue

DIALOGUE
'Prior, I'm sure you'll agree,
though external beauty,
be but dermal, no higher,
sea sole, fowl from my fryer
prior approval would see,
should assuage thy belly!
Wine, fine spirits as well! '
When his menu he'd sell
.
Answered D in return:
'As my guest you will turn
in V.I.P. suite sweet
prior approval must meet,
meat and mince in mint sauce.
course with nothing too coarse
beet none other may beat
eat so bring your two feet
for feat rich to earn
all your stomach could yearn.'
.
'Pause not, for your paws
can crunch boiled lobster claws,
liken lichen to green
lettuce, let us to scene
be seen to add chili
unheard of in Chile
You will find my cuisine
tasty delicate lean
Mourn tomorrow morn 'cause
woke from dream by crow caws.'

./.

Replied brother in C.
'To mistake, maître D.
sole for soul as you tell,
augurs almost of Hell,
Lucifer's clause, roast fire.
But you've just found a buyer!
Mind your spirits stay well
when your fishes indwell,
for indulgence you'll fee
should they foul prove to be.'.
.
'In your inn no heartburn
' would I feel, tummy churn,
I your guest guessed jest fleet
owing naught to conceit.
There must be no remorse

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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All You Want Is Just To Snack

You went across the border,
And you met a certain match.
Now you've got buyer's remorse,
And what you gave you want right back.

Oh you went across the border,
And you met a certain match.
But you don't wish a relationship.
And all you want is just to snack.

And like the wind,
You are gone...
To only reappear to snack like it's your private snatch.
And on and on and on and...on!

You brought it to the border,
And you met a certain match.
Now you've got buyer's remorse,
And what you gave you want right back.

And like the wind,
You are gone...
To only reappear to snack like it's your private snatch.

And on and on and on and...on!
But you don't want a commitment,
All you want is just to snack.

And on and on and on and...on!
You don't want a commitment,
All you want is just to snack.

And on and on and on and...on!
You don't want a relationship,
But you come back to snack.

And on and on and on and...on!
You don't want a commitment,
All you want is just to snack.

And on and on and on and...on!
You don't want a relationship,
But you come back to snack.

And on and on and on AND...on!
You don't want a commitment,
All you want is just to snack.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Buyer's Remorse

Buyer beware.
What you see,
Isn't what you always get.
That has been known.
But not always shown to reflect.
Now...
If we can only get you to listen,
And compare that to the rotten apples
You've been sold decade after decade...
There 'might' be some progress,
Instead of buyer's remorse...
You've been too comfortable to accept.
To later express regret!
With medical prescriptions,
Sought that are the best.
How does one get rid of an addiction,
To receiving disappointment...
That does not cure these afflictions?
How does that happen?
A change in routine...
That creates a different more meaningful scene.
That hasn't been figured out yet!
Since being duped,
Is what most look forward to get!
But an awakening 'has' to come.
That's the only thing that hasn't been done,
By some!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A House Broker with Knack

Sitting on the step
of a corner tea-stall in the morning,
he dunked a butter biscuit
in his cup of tea and ate it.
Every new passerby
caught his rapt attention.
If anybody queried about a plot or flat,
he would order one more cup of tea
and insist the guest to take some biscuits too
and push down his hand into his pocket,
as if taking out money and also buy some cigarettes
at the expense of the visitor.
He would then take him to some worthless plots
and after stemming all his financial status,
would show plots at moderate rates,
quoting costly prices as it was in the heart of the city.
The buyer fell himself into pleasure
And the broker swelled in his treasure.
The buyer pays back his loan till he dies
and the broker says goodbye to his hut
For he had to move to his royal inn.

But time has changed
and status of the people improved now.
People are picked up in A.C. cars from their homes
to see the plots and flats and have a nice lunch
before booking commences with all fanfare.
---------

poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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Here's Breath For You - Upon Purchase & Buyer's Remorse - A Letter Poem To A Literature Professor

Dear Low,

Not to worry.

I am the man most pursued in last night's dream.
That emaciated thing at my back keeps tracking me.
I remain just out of reach. Classic. Even there,
as here, I am escaping something, a life time of
practice in this 'Kingdom of the Canker'.

It was no banker who followed me last night
but a starved lacklove rejected by 'Canker' and, well,
by me. Who'd want that part, all start and no finish?
Replenishment has often enough meant hiding out
and a demand that it keep at least 5 arm lengths away.

I will try, I tell it, to look at it but I find its presence
most disturbing, its handful of leaves continually
proffered leaves me in a quandary. What do they
mean, this offering, though my father was a lumberjack?
Perhaps this is a track of sorts to follow for an end
to the mystery. I am stumped.

Again, not to worry.

After a life time (now almost 60 years) of identity crises,
which is a low grade fever in the personality, such is poetry.
I am very weary of it as I now move into yet another identity,
OLD MAN. And who gives a damn in that new
'Kingdom of the Cracked & Crank'? Invisibility awaits, or worse,
pee pants.

Do I become that thing which follows me in my sleep,
leprously white, pale wanderer of the empty pockets,
eyes dark and full of something deeply known?
I am not yet ready to know such things though the
dream indicates that I am for it is very near.

How can I expect the culture to pretend to be interested,
it having pushed the thing even farther away than I ever
could? And since this has turned too goddamned
confessional I do confess that I am beginning to lose
heart for it, all this pushing, this running away, which is
perhaps good news to the very few who know me truly.

Rather,

I sit on the cultural dunce stool in my corner of the room
reading, reading, tracing, tracing the chase of 'logos'
through time. No rhyme or reason can I make with my

[...] Read more

poem by Warren Falcon
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Growing In Grace

His love
He is King
He is with us
He is God
He is with us
He is God (Not a clue)
In refuge and strength
Ever present help in trouble
Without fear
As the nations uproar
And the kingdoms fall
He lifts
His voice melting
He is with us
He is God
He is with us
He is God
In His purpose
I will stand
I've been renewed by Him alone
We've been made by the Maker
Bought by the Buyer Broken
by the Breaker
I am His. (x2)

song performed by Zao from All Else Failed
Added by Lucian Velea
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Bologna

[parody of my sharona by the knack]
Goin to the market now, market now.
Im the citys biggest bologna buyer.
Walkin down the shopping aisle, shopping aisle,
Filling up my basket with oscar meyer.
Never gonna stop, eat it up,
Such a tasty snack.
I always eat too much, and throw up,
But Ill soon be back
For my-my-my-y-y woo!
M-m-m-m-m-m-m-my-my-my-y-y woo!
M-m-m-my bologna.
M-m-m-my bologna.
M-m-m-my bologna.
M-m-m-my bologna!

song performed by Weird Al Yankovic
Added by Lucian Velea
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A Wool-seller kens a Wool-buyer.

Scotch proverbs
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Buyer beware.

Sicilian proverbs
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For the buyer a hundred eyes are too few, for the seller one is enough.

Italian proverbs
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