Best Cartwright Poems
Being stuck in a traffic jam
I was shocked to see
A sticker in the window
of a car in front of me:
It held a lurid message
Of dark and deep despair;
Ex husband locked in the boot
Open it if you dare.
I laughed a bit, then paused for thought!
What if it really were true,
How do I know theres nothing there?
If I did, What would I do?
I decided I would follow her
Then take a peek inside'
After all you don’t post a note
Of what you wish to hide!
I opened the boot cautiously
And much to my surprise!
A jack-in-the-box sprung out
and hit me between the eyes.
I now know why the boots are up
In the car sales sites I pass:
It confirms no husbands are in them
Who’ve been poisoned shot or gassed.
Robert Cartwright-Davidson (RabCD)
There was a day on TV
Where westerns were all the rage
You could take your pick
From your TV paper page
Together our masked hero the Lone Ranger
With Tonto kept outlaws in a spin
Have Gun Will Travel was the card
For black dressed professional gunfighter Paladin
Wagon Train kept rolling along
Seth Adams the leader
Flint McCullough chief scout
Old Charlie Wooster was the feeder
Rawhide kept the cattle moving
Gil and Randy kept control
In Dodge City it was Gunsmoke
Marshall Matt Dillon was key role
On the ponderosa it was Bonanza
Where Ben Cartwright was the boss
With his family of three boys
Adam, little Joe and Hoss
Wells Fargo was the stagecoach
Where Jim Hardie was the star
Now these are only some
For they were many more by far
They were the Virginian and the Rifleman
Laramie, Maverick and Cheyenne
The High Chaparral not to mention alias Smith and Jones
These made us all a fan
Cowboys where are you?
Memories of you is our lot
On TV we can’t see
Is this our last shot?
poetgord@2013
One night I dreamed I wandered, weary in a desert
until a clear blue water lake emerged ahead
midst the new pine landscape of my dream.
Four specks far away, approaching. . .
soon turned into four strong ranchers wearing big brim cowboy hats.
My memory was stirred in tune with an upbeat melody.
And suddenly I knew just who they were!
One, dressed all in black, sat tall and handsome in his saddle.
Another, plain and burly, gave a toothy grin.
Another, young and charming, smiled and winked at me!
The silver-haired gent, their father,
met my gaze with warm and honest eyes.
Seeing my exhaustion, he offered me a place to stay.
Oh, happy dream that I had drifted into:
that bygone era of my youth
when Adam, Hoss and Little Joe,
along with the grand patriarch Ben Cartwright,
had been invited into living rooms on Sunday nights
as families like mine watched their televisions all those years ago.
A bonanza of romance, friendship, loyalty and courage
had given us the good-hearted milder side of the wild wild west.
Alongside the Cartwright clan,
I rode inside my dream toward the cozy ranch house
built on the land of legend called the Ponderosa,
anticipating Hop Sing’s home-cooked supper.
Inspired by the Wild Wild West Poetry Contest
* hear the lyrics of the Bonanza theme song as sung by Lorne Greene (Ben Cartwright)
at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kA-PdP4k4Xw
What is justice? What is right
In a world consumed by greed?
What can we do when justice is gone
and the law can't intercede?
We need to heed sound instruction.
We require the power to trust.
We desire a new dimension.
This directive is a must!
So sack the politicians;
The judges should all go.
Disband committee meeting;
Quangos are a 'no'!
Innuendos and intentions
must fully be explored.
Appointing Peoples' courts;
Should, at first, not be ignored.
Heh! Hang on just a second,
I've just thought of something new:
Human rights will be denied.
Let's forget about this review!
Robert Cartwright-Davidson Jan. 2011
The snow has come,
everything is at a standstill.
Everything grinds to a halt except,
for the little children sledging.
A little snow and the schools shut,
The nurseries close down, nowhere
to send the children. Ah, Grandparents"
Must get to work, big project on, alas
when I get there they too have shut down.
Car stuck in the snow; how do I get it out?
No shovel! "Heh, can I borrow your shovel?"
"Not mine it's his but sure you can use it."
"Thanks for the use of your shovel!"
"Ok, can you give me a shove?" "Sure!"
Back hurts, slipped disk, oh no, not again.
Go to hospital, no staff, where are they?
"Didn't you know, we had a snowfall today,
no one turned up. I am the only one here.
Never mind love, if you sit in the waiting room
I'll make sure someone will come and see you.
It could take three or four days but hang in there!"
Copyright Robert Cartwright-Davidson February 2009
The Cartwright Brothers
the Ponderosa owners
and Ben Cartwright's sons
1908
Last day at school for me
Some thirteen years Ive had
And Im going to be a farm hand
Just like me dear old Dad
Here now its Mr Peters
A silence falls over the class
'Registration' he says as he does every day
I am Williams and always called last
Boys first as always he starts,
I know it off by heart,
Abbot, Brown then Carter,
Cartwright and Cathcart,
Edwards, Jones and Needham,
Penny, Potter, Ryan
Sadler, Seedhouse, Setters,
The Smiths both John and Brian,
Taylor, Tonks and Tromans,
Walters, absent he,
Watson, Wigg and Wilberforce,
Then Williams, thats me.
1915
We'd never been out of the county
But here we were grabbing our chance
With butterflies, rifles and bayonets
Here we were heading for France
We crossed on the good ship bravado
Yearning for war stern to aft
Back slapping loud gallows humour
We were young, we were keen.... we were daft
1920
My sister asks if Im going to see the plaque
Then quickly says sorry
I just mean do you want to go
I tell her yes and dont worry
Its cold, my sister holds my arm
'Here comes your teacher' she whispers
'A fine day for it Williams' Peters says
'This must be one of your sisters'
'My wife' I lie and he buys it
I hear someone giggle behind
He tells her she must be a very brave girl
To marry a man who is blind
I swear at him spitting my venom
Like a serpent cornered and trapped
But a voice speaks over a megaphone
And everyone cheers and claps
We are moving along at a shuffle
People queuing to look at the plaque
My sister describes the ornation
Upon cedar wood names carved in black
'What does it say?' now I ask her
And she read me the words that she saw
To those of this village who gave their lives
for their country in the Great War
Read me the names I tell her
And slowly now she does start
Abbot, Brown, Carter,
Cartwright, Cathcart
She hesitates a little,
She is crying a little as well,
I say it doesnt matter
She is finding it hard I can tell
The list is very long she says
And though so much I care
The very best thing about it is
That your name is not there.
This is based on a story about David 'Deacon' Brown The Open Golf Champion of 1886 at
Musselburgh, Scotland.
Davy wis a genius
at climbin' up an' doon.
A chimney sweep o' sure repute
frae Musselburgh Toon.
He won The British Open
in 1886;
Ah'm share awbody whae wis there
thocht it wis a fix!
The Championship Officials
had a player oot o' sync.,
So they thocht o' 'Deacon' Broon,
A player whae'd played the Links.
They fund him up a chimney,
Cleanin' oot the Lum.
They washed him an' they claithed him
An' filled his achin' tum.
The course wis fu' o' champions
linin' up that day.
'Deacon' mumbled tae hissel',
"Weel ah'm jist here tae play!"
He played his gowf wi' panache
an' beat them at their game:
"Ah'm the world's best chimney sweep
an' that is NOO, ma claim tae fame!"
Copyright Robert Cartwright-Davidson February 2009
Mister Everett Wheeler Cartwright came from Burlington Vermont
All the way to Massachusetts---quite a healthy jaunt
Didn't really understand the cause the Union fought so hard for
Freedom from King George of England---far beyond his ken, and
Dying from an errant bullet, no one said to Everett Wheeler
Cartwright, "Happy Holiday!"---at his untimely end.
********
Eldridge Porter Hampton hailed from Cotton Valley Louisiana
Had no money, had no slaves, but loved his hoe and banjo
Never heard of Douglas, never heard of Lincoln; couldn't read or
write much, nothin' but his name. Yet Eldridge Porter came a runnin'
East to serve: For Johnny Rebel's legend gave him courage, gave him nerve to
face the soldier'd took his life---No 'Happy Holiday' for his wife.
********
Now the deaths are all forgotten; now the mem'ries fade away
Solders fighting wars today: mocked, reviled, e'en betrayed
"Happy Holiday" to one and all: "Memorial Weekend Super Sales"
Picnics, outings, lakeshore (or) beachside---Beer and Wine and Ale
Far removed from battles, far removed from war's numb pain
One more US Holiday---demeaned o'er tear-stained plains.
A poem in trochaic hexameter and octameter
We went in search of names we knew
Their stories yet unknown
What burdens had they endured in life
Would we ever really know?
From village to village we travelled around
We searched from place to place
Past honeysuckle and high hedges
Would we ever find a trace?
And so we came to Lapley
And Cartwright corner did we find
The graves so worn and weathered
So few memories left behind
But there was the farmer Ezekiel!
And his wife Charlotte too
Their daughters Elizabeth and Mary Ann
So many amongst the few
And further down another grave
I knelt, and under the moss
There was Ezekiel the blacksmith
Mourning the love he’d lost
And still we searched for more and more
And roamed throughout the grounds
Looking and wondering if more were here
Or had time worn them down
And so we crossed to the graveyard
And two monuments we found
Side by side as in their life
And now beneath the ground
And for that moment time stood still
As we looked to one another
Two kindred souls who thought upon
A daughter and her mother
Are we in the 'last days'
where tribulations fall?
Where the horsemen of The Apocalypse
trample over all?
Where talks of peace will falter;
Nay, they will all break down!
A rider on a white horse
will appear with a bow and crown.
The second seal was opened
and this horse was red;
The rider was given a massive sword,
many were rendered dead.
The third seal was opened
a black horse appeared;
He held the scales of justice,
now that was pretty weird!
The fourth seal was opened
a pale horse came into view.
The riders name was Death and Hell;
More killing, nothing new.
The fifth seal was opened
the souls of the saints were there!
White robes were given to them
on the golden stairs.
The sixth seal was opened
a great earthquake did erupt;
The sun became quite black
and the moon it turned to blood.
The great men and the rich men
the mighty and the free;
Hid themselves from the face of God
and His wrath which had to be!!!
This poem is a warning
that God will not be mocked.
Make sure the gates of heaven
are not eternally locked.
Now is the appointed time
to call upon His name.
Don't miss the boat to Heaven,
As Hell is far from tame!
Robert Cartwright-Davidson March 2009
I had a Merle collie, Cindy was her name;
She was sleek and beautiful, football was her game.
She'd play with a ball for hours, her skills were quite refined,
She would even head it to me if she felt so inclined.
We climbed a mountain range, one cold and wintry day;
She dashed around everywhere, how she loved to play.
When she reached the summit she flopped down out of breath,
I couldn't leave her lying there freezing half to death!
I carried her down the other side, my she weighed a ton!
Afterwards it seemed worthwhile seeing her having fun.
Robert Cartwright-Davidson 5th July 2011 entry for Pick a Pet Competition
Pleasant spring like day January 12th, 2020
Courtesy climate change
(think global warming),
I would never wish to exchange
unseasonable temperature
way out of range
far to balmy, undoubtedly
ole man winter
weather did shortchange.
Once thermometer readings rise
even smidgen one moost not minimize
Earth way out of balance,
I haint gonna catastrophize
as bajillion acres plus
one after another ocean dries
even the skeptic cannot turn
blind eye and believe contrary lies
when every species practically extinct
and self proclaimed éminence grise
doth trumpet and stubbornly tries
to claim plethora unearthed resources
as sudden goldmine
against wages of sin
former traitor joe redeemers actualize
to catalyze nth industrial revolution
teaching as heresy
ecocentric, which material basket
of deplorables power mongers bowdlerize
Concurrence toward meteorological
trend most all people agree
toward adapting, experiencing,
and witnessing increase -
fair in height degree
bestowed upon Thomas Newcomen,
Richard Arkwright, Samuel Crompton,
Edmund Cartwright
and James Watt first Industrial
Revolution conferred as honoree
appellation not necessarily
in retrospect donned as noble pedigree,
now hundred of years
later downside we see
of belching, coughing,
disorging... yes siree
foul, (née deadly)
cancerous, gaseous, noxious... pollutants.
Decreased dissension
grudgingly did abate
unclouded protests trumpet
Trump to abdicate
irrefutable proof generates
activist voices to accumulate
linkedin over Green Party
blessedly to administrate
hoop fully figurative tide
will turn and aerate
political atmosphere whereby
progressive minds will affiliate
otherwise business as usual,
cuz spewing deadly particulate
will only aggravate
dire straits, where series
of unfortunate events will airdate
prophetic apocalyptic fate
especially if nonprogressive
stodgy commander in chief re-elected
flush with bigotry and hate
increased chance (chants) ripe state
for revolution avast swath
of population to amalgamate,
and overthrow anachronistic government
absolute zero survival unless dramatic
nondestructive strategy eschewed
to supplant exploitation and mandate
radical transformation, which dramatic
shift off grid if lucky requisite
Earth friendly manufacturing
can possibly ameliorate.
~~~Cowboys~~~
When I was a kid I wanted to live
On the Ponderosa, a cowgirl I'd be.
The daughter-in-law of Ben Cartwright
And Little Joe would marry me.
Cowboys stoked my imagination,
Made me dream of times gone by.
They were men who were strong and brave
And many a cowboy caught my eye.
Westerns I watch, I'm an avid fan.
The cowboys always make me smile.
I daydream along and wish myself there
If only for a little while.
So if you want to catch my eye
Just wear a stetson and a pair of tight jeans.
Then you're halfway to winning my heart
For my interest towards cowboys leans.
From lugging heavy boxes in a distribution place,
To taking pinewood coffins to a so called place of grace.
From melting from the heat from six till half past three,
To eating currant buns and drinking nice hot cups of tea.
From hassle from the bosses; there are far too many of them,
To driving around in solitude, with no one to shout your name.
From stitching machines and printing machines on the shop floor,
To making personal enquiries at some brand new prospects door.
From being driven crazy by the boredom of the job,
To have the joy of being able to earn a few more bob.
From the pittance of a wage that was forever small,
To a salary that makes you feel almost ten feet tall.
From the humblest of positions, in a factory set-up,
To driving bones and bodies to the hospital make-up.
From this most unusual tale, I'm sure you've got the notion,
That if you leave the factory, it's sure to be PROMOTION.
Even a funeral assistant gets twice as much or more,
Than all of these workers on this factory shop floor.
So Neil we wish you all the best in your new position,
There won’t be any hassle because it's just DEAD opposition.
Robert Cartwright-Davidson