Best Carting Poems
We’re monopolized by the Saran-wrapped food,
the plastic cutlery,
absorbed by the clutter of the food tray.
Numbed by hours of jiggling,
the carting of torpid bodies through interminable distance,
we’re wedged now into boredom, uncomfortably numb.
Anesthetized – we fear nothing.
If the aircraft stalls, few will scream.
We’ll keep decanting small bottles of vin de table,
butter buns.
As the aircraft plummets
and drops like a stone to certain death
we’ll still be struggling with condiment sachets,
coffee creamers, with small, molded cruets
oblivious now to anything less important.
Gifting dreams of hope to my eyes, he vanished in a flash
Carting away the treasure of sorrows, leaving mirage a trash
Thorns of grief were, in all, the earning on whose part
Left a delightful rose in the derelict mansion of my heart
He wasn’t the Socrates, yet he drank the poison of apathy
And with wine of love, he filled my heart’s vessel so empty
The bride of night ascended the horizon unfurling her hairs
Hands of that Azar have given my thought’s idol such glares
Love, sympathy and loyalty are qualities profound
Anguish is what they reward you with, soothing although they sound
Walked he himself, to the hangman, carrying his cross of soul
To show me how my courage faltered in playing its role
Wisdom was rendered, Yamin, by vainglory inept
The book of vision he flung into the worthy hands of zest.
----
Azar, the father of Prophet Abraham was an sculpturist of fame for carving beautiful idols worshiped by infidels as deity
Devotion Poem - Our Dance (For Jim)
You are the first and last poems
God wrote for me.
You are the sparkler
I found flaming sun yellow between
The sprigs of early green grass,
Before the shoveled piles of February
Snow had melted away
Their last signs of winter.
You came unexpectedly,
Beyond probability, carting too
Much physics homework for your
Left-brained studies, and
Declaring, “I don’t dance for anyone.”
Emphatic. Like an evergreen.
But I had seen trees dance, just as I thought
I might go on dancing if I knew you.
Then you fell silent, telling your life to me
With your smile, while your eyes glanced
Through space dismissing time, sparkling
A reach to my heart for a continuous dance…I
Have never stopped my wonder, or my own
Silent joy surpassing the physics of falling
Through dimensions into your heart.
————————————————————————
(c) sally young eslinger 6/2/22
Thanks be to God
Light minded people say I’m an uppity darkie
They color me bad,
with a black face, felt pen Sharpie
Vanilla voices downright don’t like
the audio sounds of this mouthy darkie
They say I’m way too uppity,
don’t know what my proper place be
Snow cone hats say they gon have to teach me,
there's a painful cost for thinking free
They wanna call the fascist calvary and give me
some old-fashioned triple Kord rope justice,
by them good ole boys neo-Nazi vigilantes
They say my strait Nazarene speech
borders on treason,
that it needs to be muzzled
But I’ve always given king Pharaoh Caesar
his required slave taxes —
His printed paperweight metallic tribute ...
so what’s the dispute?
My Herodian enemies want so bad
to reach into their torture trick bag,
and gag my mouth with a gasoline soaked rag
Then lie in wait for my muffled words
to set that tri-colored cloth on fire
Red cheek coconut meat,
dressed in blue uniforms pressed neat,
wanna beat, kick, pound
some patriotic sense into me
Giving thinly veiled warnings:
saying ship that ghetto talk back to Africa
Carting rice-colored evil thoughts
that are Balaam Iscariot store bought
Walking weeds in the Goshen grassroots,
wearing bloodstained slaughterhouse coats,
got indigo disdain for this uppity darkie
They wanna sell some
strange rotting fruit hanging from a tree
Hating me because I stood up
in the open free market place
And declared with Lion of Judah boldness,
they were selling the people rancid red meat lies
wrapped in waxy white packages
And giving State-Don’t-Care samples away
of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer bottles of hate
I ain’t nothing but a pseudo-smart, intellectual wannabe
It’s what my rabbit ears detractors say ...
yeah, that’s how they regard me
As just another trouble making uppity darkie
Dirranbandi River
Dirranbandi river, grows the cotton,
Waiting for the rains to come,
Dig into the sandy bottom,
Fill your bucket, water some,
Three years of drought,
And then the flood it comes,
Brown snakes are swimming all about,
See the Sand Goannas run,
Get the sheep to the higher ground,
Drown it will, if you leave just one,
Horses standing in the water, bound,
to put em on the sand hill son,
Kookaburras are a laughing,
Food drops on the station runs,
Bread an milk an butter carting,
Parachuted in the sun.
Don Johnson20-sep-11
Francine Roberts
Contest Name Flowing water
Present, but not independent,
Of societal flows, expectations,
Not understanding sisterhood,
Out with reachability and love.
Together with a voice each,
But screeching sometimes,
In a soft note or look away,
Fondling community law.
Hard for me, but it’s ok,
As we all exist existentially,
Relationship are assumed,
Between you and punter.
Our fine speech narrates,
Our posture, our identity,
With the joy of free will,
Carting societal standards.
Not our families or friends,
Nor TV, teachers or crooks,
But our lives are formed,
Only by our own voices.
In a job where time and motion had an impact that was nil,
I was introduced to modern trends that mentioned soon I will,
but I could buck the system if I chose, by opening up me ‘gob’
although it meant that very soon I wouldn’t have a job.
It was a man of time and motion with a smooth and silver tongue,
who delivered his impression on how workers should be stung,
and then mentioned data figures that would see his work implode,
when he waved a note to caution these techniques at our abode.
This puzzled all us union folk who had listened to him sprout,
and we whispered all amongst us what this buggers on about,
then he mentioned of his married life and with a gentle notion,
he said there’s times that can be duds within his time and motion.
So with murmuring and whispers from us listeners in our chairs,
we tried to fathom proper answers from this question as it flairs,
and we pushed a proposition for an answer to his grave concern.
That’s when our tutor curtly answered on a lesson we should learn.
In a tone that had a scary trait with quite a warning he did say,
he watched his wife at breakfast with her routine every day,
and by working time and motion there were signs that un-fulfils,
so he thought he’d help a little bringing home his working skills.
He noted she made extra trips between a table and the stove
From cupboards to the benches back to the fridge she’d often rove,
carrying one single item, which time and motion couldn’t stand,
therefore time that she was wasting sort of brought forth a demand.
So one morning he was forthright with a plan to ease her plight,
and he mentioned a suggestion on his way to make things right.
Instead of going willy-nilly with her routine filled with waste,
he placed a ban upon discretion and a plot to gain her haste.
Instead of carting items one by one; he suggested two or more,
then his conversation’s interrupted from a bloke upon the floor.
“Did this save time with breakfast?” And it’s replied “No worries mate.
It used to take her twenty minutes - now I cook it in eight!”
How Blissful Thy Smiles Honey
In Thy First Lob Into My Arms
The Grin Of Thy Upturn'd Mouth So Sweet
When We Dissolve In Blended Embraces
Thy People Produce The Best Of Raffia Wines
When I Taste The Sweet Of Thy Breathes
In Thy Kisses Merrily Must I Drink
Of A Rare But True Romance In The Air
How Blessedly The Day I Glimpse Thee
In Barefoot Thou Strut To Stream
Carting Water Calabash I Wish You Were Mine
Not? And Where It A Dream?
Now Thou Lie Cleav’d In My Love
Sweet Wine In New Calabash
The Scent Of Thy Breathes Like Fresh Wine
Recline Thou In My Promise Under My Thatch’d Roof
I was carting horse manure in a trailer that’s on loan.
I’m driving on the back roads ‘cause I know that I am prone,
to be courting a disaster if I take a major road,
with no brake lights or blinkers and no cover on the load.
I took me time by driving slow but then uttered in disgust,
when I saw a blue light flashing in amongst the swirling dust.
No blinkers and no brake lights, and added to the cop’s report,
was the unsecured load and so I’ve booked a day in court.
This meant a day off work for the ‘bluey’ stated ten o’clock.
I dressed up in a suit and tie for me day out in the dock,
but as I sat back and listened at the cases being heard,
I was getting pretty restless - ‘cause the protocol’s absurd.
They said ten o’clock be there and when one o’clock had passed,
call goes out ‘its lunchtime,’ and so I gave the clerk a blast.
I told him I’m a working man and that he’s wasted half me day,
so how much longer must I be here, before I can get away.
The clerk didn’t offer favours and in fact he didn’t budge.
He mentioned quite sarcastically “Why don’t you ask the judge?”
So I sauntered back in to the court and waited for me turn,
and listened to the judgments that are handed down quite stern.
And then the call goes out for me and so I walk toward the dock.
The judge looked up and said “Hold on, it’s gone past four o’clock,
and then declared “Court is adjourned; I’ll hear your case next week.”
I thought, “You bloody rotten mongrel! I’ll give you some cheek.”
Just as the judge had turned his back, I let out with a spray,
“Hey listen here you goat, I can’t miss work another day!”
He spun around and glared at me, and with a sharp retort,
“I’m fining you one hundred dollars - for contempt of court.”
A hundred bucks! You mongrel … and so I pulled me wallet out.
The clerk scurried up beside me for what he thought that I’m about.
“You don’t have to pay it now” he said -
“I know you pair of nerds,
I'm just seeing if I have enough for two more flamin’ words.”
The smell of joy
Filled the atmosphere
Painting the maidens
With “Uli” designs
Footsteps of music
Traverse the square
Moulding youthfulness
Into ecstatic gods
Waters, dancers of death
Flood the arena
Carting enroute
All to the earth’s bosom
Ezenwuba, Uche
Within the sketch of a house top my hair laid.
In bewilderment on the street I saw a disarrayed
feet for the clarion's call.
Not in honour of a man in metallic monster for life
restore or death gain.
Nor the second coming could uplift anxiety for our
bones to lay in waste.
Behold him coming, making his parts straight.
in whose shoulder our liberation do glory.
In adoration and praise we gave you our hearts but
chief whip you've ordained on us.
The glory of our womb you're turning to serpent for
hope of your households.
Beast, beast is your name.
Every four years you've ordained to atone our
gluttons in carting away our fortunes.
Be it far from you that our heads live in debt to your
masters.
Our ears are block to the sound of your daily
funeral.
Our laws are void to the manifestation of your
power but swords they're to the poor.
Our hope do lay to see nail being screw into your
ears sisera.
Our veils will be lifted into human rights activism,
That Sahara will be a place of snow to you,
merchant.
While your Hall of shame Will lunch out soon that
our lost hope is restore.
Linda with the crippled fist.
Knarl to her smile.
Walking with the slightest limp.
Cap held on in style.
Moving like an Engineer.
Cane to shrug her on.
Spectacles of smiling eyes.
Pain as good as gone.
On her way to see a friend.
Pleased to share her time.
Often helping with a task.
Spirits on the climb.
Staying out for many hours.
Later to return.
Carting back a tired smile.
Proof of fun but stern.
Humble in her quick hello.
Greetings left to say.
Linda quick to say goodnight
moving on her way.
Finally back at her apartment.
Resting on her mind.
Entering her speeding door
expecting what she'll find.
Home at last to end the day.
Completely Satisfied.
Tomorrow coming just as fast
as Linda to be tied.
Snuggling in her bed at night
remembering the day.
Thankful for the one she had;
tomorrow on the way.
That will have to wait for now.
Linda's fast asleep.
Dreams are what the world needs now
and Linda's just that deep.
Son, I talk you life:
be not eunuch by being,
dream peace and bring to realm,
trace your grace and dance your chance;
in your name you fame.
O Child, dwell well in yours, I tell.
I love shame not. Oh Ye! for you.
And now that you are about to be,
soon you be at wheels carting,
set your belt, by now time must have come.
Reason life a season
so much ransom you pay on your way
and drive your path as you heed...
Welcome Son, you got to be by now,
look at them not loosen,
nothing in life, you got to splash,
flash your best and leave the rest;
before you, gifts were there, what have you?
O Charming, be grateful,
you will live a peace, if you wished
and if you make be, live by peace,
in peace you rest.
How Blissful Thy Smiles Honey
In Thy First Lob Into My Arms
The Grin Of Thy Upturn'd Mouth So Sweet
When We Dissolve In Blended Embraces
Thy People Produce The Best Of Raffia Wines
When I Taste The Sweet Of Thy Breathes
In Thy Kisses Merrily Must I Drink
Of A Rare But True Romance In The Air
How Blessedly The Day I Glimpse Thee
In Barefoot Thou Strut To Stream
Carting Water Calabash I Wish You Were Mine
Not? And Where It A Dream?
Now Thou Lie Cleav’d In My Love
Sweet Wine In New Calabash
The Scent Of Thy Breathes Like Fresh Wine
Recline Thou In My Promise Under My Thatch’d Roof
Taking into account; the Poeter's quip
Shant it be unfurled to reveal thine
Penned and newly coined path of authorship
Paying out the Poeter’s plumb line
Veering from the course
Plotting new wave points
Carting the next rhyme before the horse
Beginning each line with the next conjoint
Taking time to proceed; and dote
Forsaking time tested ways
Remaking each verse concave and connote
Breaking the norm; within this phrase
Plucking the strings of a mental violin
That one trains to adroit and therein
Making each intellectual a rational linchpin.