Best In The Cart Poems
I know you have heard many love stories, some that melt your heart
Can’t tell you about mine but you gotta know that love is still stronger
I never had to remember all it all started, cause I threw it in the cart
But there is one I held back, so I could never go to that place that will make me die faster
There’s nothing in making friends, there’s nothing in making love, can you make it last?
Promises are meant to be kept, rules are meant to be broken, not my screwed heart
All I’ve ever wanted is to hold that which is so real, you and everlasting enchantment
Do you ever imagine how it feels to be in love secretly with the one you cherished?
Waking up each night with feelings so deep, wishing I met you earlier on
Having many things in common but at the same time knowing that nothing can happen on the ferry
Loving against all odds so silently that it kills, so slowly like a poison
Still wishing you could see through the heart to know what I have held for you so dearly
Love can be so complicated; what if her heart beats is for another and not you?
You know a lot about me, my fears, my voice, my aura, these things you know
I don’t know a thing about you, but if you ask me, I’d say ‘’I know I love you’’
What if our heart beats are in the same resonance frequency but we don’t just know?
There is this little thing I’ve had for you and which I will still keep only for you
It has grown to what I can’t hide inside for that long time you think
But I still believe that the surest Angel will always know how to fly
Today I choose to fly with you even though I don’t know where it will take me, guess beside you
I wanted to bake a cake
but found I had no flour
off to the miller I went
alas he said I have none
the farmer didn't bring
any wheat for me to mill
he asked me to go and see
why he had not been along
I went to see the farmer
but he was laid up in bed
he'd slipped of the ladder
now his back he'd strained
he asked if I could take
his wheat to the mill
so I loaded it in the cart
set off back to the mill
on the way a wheel fell off
so to the blacksmith I went
he said he'd soon be along
when he had shod the horse
soon he came and fixed the cart
once more off I set on my way
the sun shining, we bumped along
until at last at the mill we arrived
the miller was so grateful
all my flour I got for free
I set off for home ready to bake
that cake I had been dreaming of
I lit the oven so it would be hot
the ingredients I started to mix
I added all the dry stuff, alas
I had no eggs just an empty box
to hen coop I went to get some
found six beauties under the hen
she pecked me as I took them
giving a right squawk of disgust
back to the bowl where I added two
whipping the butter into the mixture
added some milk, then poured it out
filling the cake tin three quarters full
Into the oven I put my tin
leaving it to bake slowly
my tummy rumbling as it cooked
at last it was ready, I left it
on the windowsill to cool a bit
while I laid the table for tea
I went to get it to slice it up
alas that wretched hen got there first
written 05/19/2013
contest Humour
The rotten apple in the cart,
And lowest of the low,
A waste of space, a waste of time,
And not a joy to know,
A heartless witch, a nasty troll,
A trouble-making shrew,
The creature from the Black Lagoon,
And pile of doggy do,
A hateful, wicked bag of slime,
A monster hated for all time.
The mould was broken at her birth,
This angel, dear and sweet,
This blossom, delicate and fair,
Refined from head to feet,
This paragon of virtue glows,
A pearl before the swine,
A perfect rose amongst the thorns,
Champagne compared with wine,
A treasure trove, a swan, a dove,
And saintly lady filled with love.
For Vie’s Let me have it, then kiss my petunia contest
RAF navigator Ron Day and I took of from Banff, Scotland,
I was in the RAAF, an Australian, and we flew in formation:
40 Mosquitos to attack German ships in Norway land,
In a harbour, Porsgrunn, but then came an acclamation.
“Bandits three o’clock! “, and so we did not strike a ship,
But broke away left and flew ’til I spotted sand on a beach,
But as i got closer realised it was Norwegian ice, no quip,
So the landing damaged us, plane and all, but we did reach.
After unjamming my leg, i paddled up to the surface,
With relief saw Ron afloat in his life jacket, life raft burst;
We felt mentally and physically numb and did brace,
We struggled, but heard a man from a boat shout in lust.
The farmers carried and cared for us, or cared for Ron,
But they told me “Germans come,” so we left by a pony,
I sat and shivered in the cart, then took a car to Oslo bon,
Our uniforms were yellow stained by the lake, very shabby.
We were then taken to hospital, but i ended up in prison,
And on Monday the 30th of April 1945 Hitler killed himself,
And we knew informally we were free, def by the elision,
When a guard gently touched my back, himself to shelf.
That was when the war in Europe was over for me, then,
But we had to await official victory when RAF men came,
However, before that, just to be sure, we left for the glen,
‘Cos the Luftwaffe general was contradicting the game.
We got back to London and i left for Australia on Orion,
And the celebrations would’ve lost control for alcohol,
‘Cos I’d found out that my brothers were alive and on:
We birthed, the collective mind reacted, but not us all.
It is very impressive to go westward
in an early morning of midwinter,
because you will see a full moon
that you have forgotten for a while
in the middle of the western sky.
[The westward moon is, perhaps,
the one that Li T’ai-Po
who was bewitched by
and delighted by a moon so much
chanted poems in praise of the moon
throughout his life,
after breaking a thick frozen ice on the lake,
scooped an August full moon
that is not sunken but still floating
on the surface of water,
and pasted it to the wintry sky.]
Although the air in my car is still cold as ice,
and roadside snow is being melted from salt spray
and messy, covered with splashes of dirty water,
the moon, like a virgin still chaste,
[By manmade machine and men,
the moon, though, lost her virginity long ago,]
looks immaculate and gorgeous as ever.
For the moon
riding high in the western sky
enjoying the honor and admiration that is entitled
only to virgin girls
though she lost it long ago,
the north wind,
because of her envy toward the moon,
was wandering in the frozen waste
pleasure driving a sheer-white chariot
brings a violent snowstorm,
and heartlessly shakes the moon
that barely hangs on the midwinter’s western sky
to fall.
After so much abuse,
kicks, stamps, smacks, and blows of violent wind
that of more than she can bear
the frightened moon flees to south, then to east
with her paled and waning face,
and finally disappears somewhere
where no one will able to find her.
Total darkness covers the earth,
overwhelms to deny everything.
At the edge of this darkness
a somewhat eerie looking hunchbacked creature
[Although he was much intelligent,
yet tenderhearted, a man more sensitive
than the worldly-minded ordinary persons,]
comes and searches for the disappeared moon,
and when he finds
a segment of a shattered piece of moon on the earth,
he embraces it in his bosom with tears of joy,
and falls to the ground with his last breath.
And as a hunchback perishes
a young man with more holes
than the shattered pieces of fallen moon in his rungs,
who always whispered sadly to the waning moon
while leaning against a southward window frame,
comes and carries the hunchback’s remains hurriedly
in the cart to an eastern gateway, with gasping,
to the place where the full moon dwells, with panting.
Christmas in hot humid July,
No clouds seen in the bluest sky.
I shop and buy and cannot stop,
From one shop to another shop.
Why? My three-year-old grandson
Who is the world under the sun.
So, Christmas is all year round;
I do get run-down I have found.
I don't mind spending my dimes
For my loving small boy that climbs
In the cart and says, I want that.
So, I look to see where the price at.
7/12/2022
Christmas In July Or July Celebration Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
I have always loved to write
real…romantic rhymes
but now I have to feel free to
form a fantastic freeverse
with my creative caps on and my
pleasant pen and pad
I am doing this, drawing words
from the well of wild words.
To flow in this fabulous fountain,
all I need are tender tools;
Witty words, rare rhymes and
some lovely lyrics,
adding the flavour
of impressive
imageries, just to cruise
in the cart of creativity.
Playing with words and using
originality as my errand boy,
I dare to ramble and fumble but
never rumple my art's artillery
keeping each line lovely, lively,
meaningful and readable.
I patronize punctuations
just to paint
a perfect poem with the pen of
passion.
Poetry is all about what you have
to write and how you write it;
where and when you write it
does not really matter… at all
So I just felt free to
write a fantastic free verse in the
fountain filled with fragrant
flowers.
Forever in a day, my heart is slowly fading away.
A victim to time i cant hold my tears any longer.
Slice my cheeks and burn a hole through my soul.
I surrender
Scorned by my own follies.
Victim of my own misdirection.
Let me drown in a calm sea, floating among red poppies.
Let me sink.
Gently close my eyes, put a flower in their place.
A reminder of what they lost in their blindness.
Deafened by the screech of your silence,
And tormented by the absence of your violence.
Hand me a blade,
The one to you i gave, in my misguidance.
And i will place it along side me,
My open grave, a tribute in honor of the memories i have slayed.
The friendship i have betrayed, the trust i have mislaid.
Watch it decay
Tie a bolder to my strength and drop it in the ocean.
Wait till i am colder. older. forgotten over and over.
Then let the tide regurgitate, return me.
Place your pain in the cart and i will carry it on my shoulders.
Pull me into your dreams, but only as a bystander.
Replace me
But don't misplace me
Don't forget you misguided me
With the feelings that you hide from me
The key you handed me
Opened the door to my felony.
I believed you
And sinned unintentionally.
Dust is blown by the wind
As the coffin where lies
The corpse that was dearly beloved
Is transported in the cart
To the final resting place
3-4-2016
Last Minute
The old lady went to the thrift store.
She found the row of coats,
and looked for just the right tags.
The color of the day.
She bought everyone that she could afford.
There were nine in all.
Then she pushed her cart…
toward hats and gloves, boots and shoes.
Soon enough there was no more room in the cart,
and no more money in her wallet.
The old lady went through the line at the front.
Outside in the snow,
she put shoes, gloves, a hat and a coat
in a hand made denim bag.
Nine bags filled the back of the old Oldsmobile.
The old lady went to the corner of Row and 5th.
She got out.
She opened her trunk
and placed all the bags under the lamp.
The old woman left.
The old woman went home.
She went back to her empty apartment,
with no family,
no friends
and no heat.
She had not paid the bill.
There was no reason too.
(9)
Nine strangers made it
through the coldest night
in a 100 years!
Someone had left bags…
Someone filled a need.
The newspaper read,
“Old Woman Dies… Alone.”
It was not a tragedy.
It was a last moment, purchase,
on the way to heaven.
The ticket already stamped…
The passenger just waiting
at the stop,
for the arrival,
“the Herald of Angels”
Amen.
Since the day I was conceived, her delicate hands have held me.
Since the day I was created, her hands floated my first endeavor.
At the point when the tears started to rain, her hands covered me.
She has made it a priority to facilitate protecting her treasure.
She was ecstatic to curl and smooth my classic hair Sweep.
Her hands sufficed, and my scars were concealed.
She drew me closer to the star with her soft, steep.
When I finally got her, she hugged me and, by God, she cheered.
I'm glad that she wasn't hurting me when she was playing.
She seldom uses her hands to form and twist trees.
Her hands would embrace the focuses she was making,
Presumably, I'm related to her and depending on her strands.
Time has effectively weighed intensely on her side.
The radical strive of lifting her hands spurs her soreness.
I've never seen such a shocking model of heart inside.
She is my initial stage where foments all my crudeness.
Who taught Love that the most prized asset is the heart.
An exquisite family has blessed us to call it our own.
They remember us for who we are, not for what I've put in the cart.
She enjoys being a mother regardless of our faults and groans.
ALL YOURS (Jun 15) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Written; May 7, 2021
That was an extraordinary Christmas for Santa Claus,
his twentyfifth year of wintry journey without any pause.
He decided to make it a special celebration of gifting on his part
to the children adorably unique presents, he’d carry in the cart.
In colorful foils he packed with care the gifts through the night,
loaded them on the sleigh until the dawn’s first sunlight.
As on downy snow-laid track the reindeer led by Rudolf charged,
the chilling wind hit his face, made him aware he was so tired.
He spotted a bench under a tree while crossing the sunny park,
thought he deserved some rest after the night’s hard work.
He knew he would find ahead no other better place to choose,
so, he slumped on the bench, and soon slipped into snooze.
Rudolph heard loud sound, didn't know it was Nick's snoring bout,
got scared of the danger looming large, she had no doubt.
With loaded sleigh the reindeer ran away as fast they could,
leaving tired Santa to enjoy the frozen sleep in the wood.
At sharp sound of cracking trees under the burden of snow,
when he woke up fazed, reality to his senses came a bit slow.
On the trail engraved in snow he ran, caught the fleeing reindeer.
He was sure when he gave the gifts, him the children would endear.
December 17, 2018
Contest : Christmas Cheer
Sponsored by: Kim Rodrigues
A unique Christmas time for Santa Claus,
fiftieth year of journey without pause.
All gifts he stacks in the cart,
gets ready to soon depart,
he feels for a mishap there is no cause.
On snow-covered track Rudolph runs inspired,
chilled wind on the face, Santa feels he’s tired.
He spots bench in sunny park,
rests there after night’s hard work.
Soon slips into deep sleep though undesired.
Mistaking Santa’s snoring as some blast,
Rudolph thinks danger has arrived at last.
Lets Santa snooze, darts away
with gifts rattling in the sleigh.
Santa wakes up, along the trail runs fast.
Jewel Food Stores - Illinois
Looking at that roast in the cart
I savor its taste even now.
Yet never thinking that for my part
When I will cook it...or even how.
But I take it to the checkout lane
With all the other items that day.
Finally having to leave it...to looks of disdain
I didn't bring enough cash with me...all to my dismay.
“Death to Caesar!!!”
“What!! What did you say???”
I said: “Breath to Caesar!!”
“Long and healthy and contented breath.”
“So which of his Legions are you a part of?”
“OH! God, if there is one, they call us the freezing legion.
“See these fingers, well where they used to be, well
they got lopped off. It was so cold out they didn’t even
bleed. Saved my indentured frigging life.”
“Those that died froze so quickly we didn’t even
need litters to carry them off the field of battle.”
“Just picked them up stiff as you please and threw
them in the cart.”
“So What made you join up?” “Trouble with the law?
or In-law?” “Too many tarts?” “Eh, C’mon.”
“Damn, same old story. Dad’s a senator, always bragging
about his son, you know.”
“Agricolas this, Agricolas that.” “Dammit, stop snickering.
He thought it would be an advantage to have an outlandish
moniker.” “So he hung this one on me.” “So one day I just
got fed up, said screw this, and went off to become a legionnaire.”
“Guess I showed him what he could do with his stupid name.
Now I kill farmers, well not just farmers, just about anybody
that gets in the way of the Legion.” “Not a bad job though, as
long as your not the one frozen stiff and tossed in the cart.”
“Well, I bet your dad’s proud now.”
“Nope, hasn’t spoken to me in three years. Says I spend too much
time hanging about with the lower echelons of humanity.” “I told
him we weren’t partying, that I hacked their limbs off, crushed their
skulls, decimated their homes and villages.” “Last thing he said to me
was Nail Caesar!!” “Ya gotta love these loyal subjects.”
for Isaiah Zerbst, The Roman Legion contest