Best Carts Poems
I want to mingle
with the people of Walmart
as they regally push
their shopping carts
Eclectically dressed perfection
each a work of art
Camouflaged chic
or an old guy
dressed like a tart
Back and forth my eyes dart
Over there
a sequinned heart
and here
a bedazzled jacket
that looks real smart
Some saunter,
some sashay
reaching into pockets
and purses to pay
The happy faced discounts
make everyone’s day
Treasure troves in hand
life’s better than okay
See the flying nun
with her habit hiding her gun
Today’s discounted ammo
is tomorrow’s fun
As I watch her pay
I wonder if her beads and bullets
help her to pray
A coupon cowboy
basement bargain pleasure
a new pair of jeans
some pork and beans
for good measure
Get in, get out
no time for leisure
Here the world moves too fast
he don’t like the pressure
Low cut tight tops
girls searching for cheap
bargains galore
listen to the cash registers beep
I let the sights and sounds
into my brain seep
None of these people are sheep
humanity is well beyond skin deep
Lingering laughter later
might make it hard to sleep
Perhaps too much butt cleavage
and beep bleep bleep!
Inspired by Kurt Ravinda’s poem “A Metophor” his is a brilliant piece.
A faceless man is standing in produce.
He’s crying. No one stops.
No one asks him why.
He says the sky is falling
He says it again and again.
He grabs a passerby’s arm
and tell them it’s falling.
The passerby drops
a head of lettuce onto the floor.
A woman in tattered jeans
says the cost of meat has gone up.
A young mother
with a baby in the basket
wheels a cart of formula
and wonders how anyone
can afford to live
while outside a boy in high school
races an empty shopping cart
through the parking lot.
A woman with stringy, long hair
standing near the entrance
plays guitar
and the case is open
for dollar bills and quarters.
A weary clerk brings
in a line of carts
and says the task never ends.
The woman says life’s a show—
Bring in the clowns, she sings.
Displays of Doritos lined
up by the entrance
say buy more—
one bag is never enough.
The clerk stands near the front
and keeps his hands in his pockets
as he watches a wave of humanity
walks in and out the entrance.
The manager looks at him.
Smile, she says.
One month after his lady friend
transferred to another store
he is standing alone
in a crowd.
This game of golf as is this life,
Played all life, perfect still can't be,
Ever reminding of one’s wife,
Put on pedestal, upon tee,
Handicaps, roughs, bogies stay rife,
And played as if on edge of knife!
Easy to start, hard to finish,
And harder ever to master,
Followed like an unfulfilled wish,
Always one stroke from disaster,
As in life, handicaps bridge gap,
Eagles two, birdies claim one clap.
What rage be this game every age,
As many highs as there be lows,
A game ever on players grows,
Ageless be this sport in image—
To my liking a bit high brow,
Pricey clubs, carts, caddies in tow.
And if ye think you the ball drive,
Beware of game that drives you naïve,
This game of greens, good to relax,
Greener still goes envied player,
And greatest of a leveller,
Pro or novice likes it like sex.
_____________________________________________
Reflections | 01.10.04 |
Ah, to this land of the monsoons
or should it have been the sunsoons?
Yet for frozen land tourists, a tropical hot boon.
Where bullock carts, stray dogs, horse carriages and cows
pedestrians, goats, bikes and rickshaws
scooters, trucks, motorbikes and cabs
all compete together in quirky medley of traffic jams
On crammed roads you could ram into bulls and rams
So brakes forever screeching, the cars forever honking, hooting
while beggers begged and pickpockets could go a' looting on a footing
But where else you'd see, ducks and ponds in the city
buffaloes wallowing in mud without fear or pity!
Urban jungle eh, you'd think with a wink
and in many's esteem this land shan't ever sink.
Then pass the huge expanses of paddy fields and the rice farmers
and next come face to face with those Indian snake charmers!
Ah and the imposing edifice, Tajmahal, one of the seven wonders of the world
is no where else found, nor are the epic himalayas on any map unfurled
except for India, and a whole ocean with her name
The Indian ocean knows and salutes her fame!
As for me, meeting relatives there, is the best best part
then shopping too in each and every crowded mart
shopping like crazy, filling my spree's shopping cart!
A former place this, a patch where roots rattle,
where stubble has a ferrous frizzle.
A long truncated railroad stop
humming still within a surrogate reality.
As dry voices on the wind, they return
- the homesteaders and journeymen,
the harnessed horses.
Pants' cuffs carry kernels
long planted elsewhere.
Caps, coats, and carts
employed again by the magnetic
echos of an iron labor.
The brown weeds are talkative.
Brown boots seem to shuffle.
A hollow clock clacks,
its guts a nest for ticking birds.
Dandelions anticipate
a faraway flight,
A mid-day heat
thrums fragmented rails.
The station seems almost ready
to receive
as if its world
had not disembarked forever.
The neighbours went off on their yearly vacation,
Off to visit some foreign nation.
Leaving me keys and a list a mile long,
To watch their pets. What could go wrong?
The rottweiler is a gentle soul
As long as there's always food in her bowl.
The trick is filling it as quick as can be,
So you need to be fast, faster than me.
The birds take pride in emptying their dishes
All over the floor, and then there's the fishes.
So there's food and water and then food again,
Making sure there's enough to last until when
The next day begins and we start it anew.
I'm told there's a cat. Really! Who knew?
If there is , it certainly keeps itself hid.
It's like playing hide and seek with some little kid.
Walking the dog has become quite a chore.
She sees the leash and runs for the door.
After being dragged two miles the walk finally starts.
The dog is immense, she should be pulling carts.
Back to the house and the hide and seek game.
If there is a cat, it doesn't come to it's name.
The birds are now staring at their seeds on the floor.
I refuse to refill the dishes as I head to the door.
So this daily ritual will last another week
And I'll keep trying to win the game of hide and seek.
Thank goodness their vacation only comes once a year.
After watching the pets ....I could sure use a beer.
Prairie Women
I love the road-map faces of Prairie Women,
Piercing, knowing eyes looking far away,
Sinewy strength 'neath calico dresses,
Did they hope beyond - to us someday?
So tanned and competent to fill in the blanks
When someone became sick or some man would fall,
They could toss themselves on a horse's back,
Ride fearless to a neighbor's child's call.
Then after holding man or child with fever,
Cook brown biscuits and drive cows' hay carts.
Put on a black church dress, hair in a bun,
Sing faith with strong and noble hearts.
Love was action, nor pretty words,
Rough hands smoothed many a brow
They didn't live long, but lived so well,
I love the road-map faces of Prairie Women.
I’m just sitting here drinking coffee.
The morning air is so crisp and clear.
I know there’s so much going on out there
While I’m just sitting here.
Too many people are roaming around out there
On a day they’re destined to roam.
They’ll push their carts up to garbage bins
Too many people – who have no home.
Too many children are left unattended
Because their parents have sold out to dope.
Too many children in reckless situations
Too many children – too little hope.
Someone’s loved ones are saying their last goodbyes
In a hospital room filled with tears
As they each have to deal with losing this person
This person they all loved for years.
My heart is weeping for all of them.
I’m just a person who really does care.
And someday I’ll do something about it
But right now – I’m just sitting here.
New city street
With the wink of an eye
and a shuffle of feet
We wandered about
down a new city street
Where vendors wore blue
with a tangerine sash
In hopes to look good
with no chance it would clash
Their carts were adorned
with ribbons and beads
And funny designs
made of cantaloupe seeds
They hollered and bellowed
and beckoned us near
And when we did stop,
they let out a loud cheer
They offered us products
like peanuts with cheese
And daffodil handkerchiefs
in case we sneeze
Belts made of feathers
with buckles in red
And weird little cones
you could wear on your head
We bid and we haggled
but always were nice
To get a good deal
and a much better price
The street lined with houses,
most two stories high
With windows like shamrocks
reflecting the sky
The balconies all featured
ribbons and bows
That hung from the railings
such colorful throws
Where women were calling
to neighbors across
For clothes pins and hampers
they hoped they would toss
They spoke in a language
so funny to hear
For what they were saying
was not always clear
The men were all mending
and tending the place
Their hats cockled sideways,
a grin on their face
The knees of their jeans
were all covered in patches
While they polished the brass
on the handles and latches
It seems they were singing
an old fashioned song
We tried to join in
as we walked right along
We laughed and we giggled
so much fun was had
But we had to leave
and that made us both sad
So we promised each other
that we both would meet
Again very soon
on this new city street
She has abounding beauty and long may it stay,
Far deeper than looks,
It keeps aging at bay,
For she is a fair maiden,
The cream of the crop,
As sweet as ice cream, with a cherry on top,
She seeks but a man to complete her life,
To stand by her side through trouble and strife,
But good men are rare as rare as fine gold,
And she needs one quickly before she grows old,
A man of good breeding, to make her smile every day,
Who will bring rays of sunshine and make clouds fade away,
Oh what should she do as ‘Players' abound,
She just wants a man who’s as sound as a pound,
Well here is the secret, go heed my advice,
Just find a man who is much more than nice,
You find a man who is not so unkind,
As to make love to your body, before making love to your mind,
Talk about carts before horses, talk about gain before pain,
Such habits of men can drive women insane,
Yes the main course should be mind, through the meeting of hearts,
As two become one, now that’s where it starts,
But men are so vain, so they suffer in pain,
But suffer they do and suffer they should,
Until they understand, they must cut out the hurt,
They must savor the main course, long before the desert.
Autumn and a zigzag of memories,
bare cornfields replace luscious heaths.
Forest tracks zigzag in vales
as hikers' joy blooms
admiring the half dead dahlias.
From the verdant hills I spy
The green ferns thrive
from recent downpours;
goats graze before the winter blasts
and hay-laden carts amble by.
Here and there old farms dot
the countryside, smoke silently
curling slowly out of blackened chimneys.
Oh how I yearn for my past childhood
And zigzag the vales among the mild climate.
4 December 2021
theme: ZIGZAG
''Z'' Contest, New or Old - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Placed 1
Written: February 26, 2025, for Antony Biaanco Contest
*************************
City hum drifts through spurious ways,
teeming in a wild, woody ward.
The jasmine vine twists down to
a jagged sill for a moment before
sinking into a cool, katabatic pit.
Early rush-hour sounds—farts and snorts—
cram the air, moments blending
into the drive-by without a stroll,
as rain-soaked, worn stone slabs
Mark the corner store—
where you used to grab milk,
soap, or other staples.
The chill of an icy night—
gives way to a sun-kissed morning glow.
Sitting at my desk, chatting on the phone,
canceling appointments for the boss.
He’s staying a little longer in Honolulu,
musing over which states—
the neighbors moved to.
Do they remember how
crabgrass took over?
The streets are empty except—
for a fridge that somehow
made it to the avenue,
lingering there,
its story is low and uncertain.
Does this questionable life count?
We can’t amend it,
it won’t yield precious plums,
only a mournful structure,
shadows lurking,
and worn trousers that tell tales.
The horizon lies obscured—
by haphazard highways,
stretching into stark,
barren spaces,
where even the flowers have wilted.
Countless scorched dreams,
strained savings,
and buried letters—
linger in forgotten corners.
The fire hydrant no longer
cries out for the world.
"Honky Chateau" continues to compel—
as it meanders the sporadic streets,
streets cloaked in anonymity—
and emptied of life.
The dwindling dirge of
a forsaken place hangs heavily,
with dreams dangling—
in line for food stamps
and community cheese.
Buildings shatter, splinter, and crumble—
crashing, crushing, collapsing
submerged with rivers of fire within.
Crisis tamed,
calamity curtailed,
the police stroll in pairs,
collecting discarded shopping carts.
Dust gently falls—
as yesterday's laments hush
the pigeons to sleep,
mold mingling with the memory—
of barbecued ribs,
those hardened bones
left since last year.
In the world of today girls feel the need to sexualize themselves.
Social validation is more important to them than personal values, family, and getting good grades.
Makeup and skincare can be found in their online shopping carts—
replacing Christmas wish lists
along with clothes that are two sizes too big or two sizes too small.
They get so anxious when they can’t find their makeup
that they hyperfixate on their hair and clothes and pray that their face wont receive as much attention.
Their crooked teeth and hairy legs start to feel like defects that are yet to be fixed.
They let their old interests sit in boxes and collect dust in the attic because they’ve been peer-pressured into believing that they’re childish and uncool—
just like they were convinced that food was bad
and teaming up with their own bodies to fatten them
and make them too big to fit in their own minds.
In the world of today, some cant afford to buy food.
And those who can often wish they didn't need it,
because they can also afford screens,
and they can afford to spend all the time they’re not working
getting addicted to the digital drugs we’ve convinced ourselves are not the problem.
Because nothing is ever a problem—
not to those with cool vacation pictures and straight A’s.
Nothing is ever a problem
for those whose perfect teeth and smile serve to display their picture-perfect lives.
In the world of today, life starts being difficult at age fourteen.
Labubu grins, a curious work of art,
Kasing Lung’s dream, brought forth from the heart.
Pop Mart displays, collecting carts start,
Lisa’s embrace gives trends a new chart.
People of faith, consider your part,
Not every craze should capture your heart.
Fame’s shining lure can pull us apart,
Discernment and wisdom must always take part.
Enjoy what is lovely, but don’t let it chart
A course that could lead your soul to depart.
The world may entice with treasures and art,
But truth and love must anchor your heart.
Let light be your guide, not just what is smart,
For faith is the truest and timeless art.
Born into a life of poverty crime and squalor
where hunger and cold winds bite
and disease is rife
and it was a daily battle to stay alive
and find some food to stay alive.
Uneducated illiterate caught in the poverty trap
drinking polluted water
from the same polluted cholera riddled tap.
An impoverished woman
sells her body for a cheap bottle of Gin
and a lodging for the night
while a pickpocket and mutcher
ever watchful
look for a pocket to alight.
The deafening clunk and clatter
of horses and carts on the cobbled ground
and shouts from the street market traders
echo all around.
Children play and run through the narrow
crowded streets
dressed in rags no shoes upon their feet
The putrid stench from the gutter
and thick choking bellowing
smoke from factories
make one heath and make it hard to breath.
Dilapidated hovels and buildings
covered in black soot
horse manure and raw sewage
under foot.
Beggars with large mournful eyes
reach out pleadingly to the passing gentry
to fill their empty bowls with plenty.
A peeler pins a notice of a forthcoming hanging
at the local Gaol for the few who can read
upon a rusty nail.
A Mother desperate to feed her hungry children
steals a loaf of bread from a market stall
but is soon captured in the sprawl.
The judge sentences her to 10 years
penal servitude far over sea in Botany bay
but she dyes aboard the ship of fever
upon the way.
Her 9 children are sent to the workhouse
for the poor to gain some education
and work hard behind it's hellish door
never to see their Mother or escape poverty
ever more.
Peter Dome.copyright.2012.