Carney Poems | Examples

Itinerant

I’ve worked in oil fields,
facing danger for good money,
I’ve sailed on the crab boats
where the oceans churn and freeze.
I’ve drove the long-haul truck,
through the ice and much up to my knees,
I’ve dug that black gold coal
so the people have light and head.

I’ve worked the power lines
and been nearly fried, yes, it’s true,
I’m an itinerant,
cannot stop and I don’t want to.

I’ve dug a soldier’s grave,
so in peace they’ll lay restfully.
I’ve laid with lonely wives,
that’s why all your kids look like me.
I’ve been a handyman,
fixing your doorjamb and windows,
I’ve worked the carney scene,
on the rides helped all the kids go.

I’ve cut in the Maine woods,
as a logger should, what a view,
I’m an itinerant,
cannot stop and I don’t want to.

I’ve worked behind the bar,
slinging beers out to tired men,
even been a crossing guard,
so children go home safe again.
I’ve swept up city streets,
to see them filthy the next way,
I’ve worked the onion fields
in the hot sun outside L.A.

I’ve done so many things,
making my money someplace new,
I’m an itinerant,
couldn’t settle and don’t want to.

In Praise of Mark Carney

To be born Canadian was my fate,
something I will always appreciate.
The PM of my nation
deserves my approbation
for he'll not abnegate nor bloviate.

The Lost Canary

There was a carney, I knew as Larry.
He lived with a knife thrower, named Sherry.
Sherry loved her yellow canary,
and trusted its care while gone to Barry.

While she was gone, the bird somehow got free.
He looked everywhere, where could that bird be?
His eyes looked up as he dropped to one knee,
and prayed for help to find the canary.

“I’m headed home”, was the text from Sherry.
The thoughts of her rage were very scary.
He turned to see a smile, she seemed merry,
from off his hat, she took her canary.

Mark Carney

Mark Carney:
A smart, gifted man and that's no blarney!
Politically speaking, he was on the perimeter,
but now he's Canada's twenty-fourth Prime Minister.

My soul's not your to keep

You mangled my life for 
games of chance creating 
madness within a carney 
realm feasting on my thoughts 
tampering with my mind crushing 
me chest ripping my heart out 
stomping on it raising your brow 
devouring soft edges leading to 
my soul attempting to block the 
entrance way to wholesome 
goodness reaching the height 
of my existence only to be 
balanced above it all falling 
into the trapeze nets crawling 
clawing reaching for my soul 
tattered and torn yet you couldn't 
reach it as i drift into a deeper sleep 
sorry satan my souls not yours to keep

Salt Sorta

Sumthang wrong wiff dez words
They give know direction
To me and you
Hypertheticail thoughts
They don't tell me
What I gotta do

Ribeye, broccoli, and potatoes
Cup of gravy on the side!
The Carney, sorney 
Tater, broccoli and
Meat special
Now we know
The garlicky, onion,chivey
Sun dries tomatoes
With olive oil roasted
Red pepper and bacon,
Cream cheesed 
Scalloped potatoes.
Where inspired by a
Lonely man begging a
Woman for a date.
The night he scored they
Dined on these dishes.
She made him to harvest
His cattle 
Potatoes
Pick the broccoli
And pick the
Apples for the
Turnover
She said she:d
Marry him if he
Planted seven
Peach trees
Seven blackberry bushes
And seven rows of
Lavender
She asked for
Twenty male quails
And fourty hens
She'd consimate
If he bought
Jersey cows
Two females
and one male.
And seven rows
Of mulberry
To make scented soap.
He complyed!
They married before
A orchestra of sixty
And seven vocalist
The preacher wore purple
And ate
Red snapper and apple pie.

The Way of It

It’s thunderstorm country around here. 
They roam the boiling, hot, southern skies
on legs of lightning, like dark, angry trolls. 

My Chinese roommate is impressed with them 
because as menacing and mountainous and electrical 
as they seem, through the trees whip and the rain 
lashes - like special effects - no real damage is done. 

Love is like that, a circus briefly coming to town, 
that scintillates, palpitates, irritates or validates
- a carney-call with the urgency of a sale. 
“Run away and join the show,” it whispers.

Love is both less than it seems and more than it is.

Inside the Sideshow Tent

Inside the sideshow tent were such wonders to behold.
I believed every come-on the sleazy carney tried--
“Come, see a woman covered in snakes,” the barker cajoled,
“Witness the wedding of a groom and his tiny midget bride.”

I believed every come-on the sleazy carney tried--
“See the man who transforms a wax statue into gold.”
“Witness the wedding of a groom and his tiny midget bride.”
The exotic wonders of the world were about to unfold.

“See the man who transforms a wax statue into gold.”
“You will not believe what you will see inside!”
The exotic wonders of the world were about to unfold.
I drank in the blather, believing it was all bona fide.

“You will not believe what you will see inside!”
“Come, see a woman covered in snakes,” the barker cajoled,
I drank in the blather, believing it was all bona fide.
Inside the sideshow tent were such wonders to behold.

written May 26, 2021

The Master of Time and Space

Carney, Tightrope, A Song For You
plus so many more 

Instrumentalist, singer, songwriter, mentor
Claude Russell Bridges — Leon Russell  (1942-2016)

One of Oklahoma’s finest
One of America’s finest

His voice the perfect blend of annoying
nasal-rub, blues-massage, sandpaper over soul
and bleeding-emotion-on-steroids

As Hank Wilson he simply put an exclamation point
on “America’s music” — Country

Music to hate
Music to love

either way

music

indisputably raw


Tradition says, “Rest in Peace”

I say, “Blow their minds, wherever you are.”

Memoric Findings

I'm alone again oddly I'm not lonely 
French guards beckons my thoughts 
while British chemist crave my mind 
creating formula's mastering tampering 
with inner most thought's I suppose 
I hear folks chattering a quaint theory 
a carney lure of tyrants and folklore 
balanced between a quiet energy 
nestled so beneath a poet's memoric form 
a certain dialog so faint and distant 
capturing me in the sheer 
rapture of going mad again

The Punch and Judy Show

How big you seemed, how bright your stage
how loud and funny, in my little boy's eyes 
you were larger than everyone else's life,
even a lifetime later, your memory still is

Those amazing vaudeville routines, with new
command performances for each gathering, 
were rehearsed in daily kitchen pantomimes
while we children sat in wide eyed awe

An Irish version of the Honeymooners,  
so funny that you didn't need Art Carney
so real that sometimes, I held my breath
....to the moon, McGinty, to the moon!

He would bellow and I would nervously ask,
is she really going to the moon, Mommy?
Then they'd be off on another rollicking
road in the evening's riotous repertoire 

The quieter types would roll their eyes
when the curtains would part on Act 1
while everyone else laughed and wished
that they could be just like you two

To the moon, McGinty, to the moon....

Carney's Blarney

I suppose the prez is proud of his mealy-mouthed spokesman Carney.

('Carnies' are carnival touts famous for spewing a heap of blarney!)

I think I'm quite well-versed and understand the English language well

But when I hear his party-line spin on things, I get perturbed as hell!

Carney keeps spouting "No worries!  Obamacare will not change a thing!"

That's lingo I comprehend, but, alas, that to which many gullible patsies cling!

Not surprising, it turns out to be piffle, fiddle-faddle and downright balderdash!

Alas, many folks are seeing sticker shock and their insurance coverage crash!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved

County Fair

Tuesday night 
Nobody reads poetry
They all sit at home
Dazed from Monday
Oblivious and alone

Postcards from 
Yesterday
Upon the office wall
Nothing left to do 
Let’s take the kids…
        To the fair

Rick Skaggs is playing
There’s a carney with a grin
Stuffed animals
And a hint of gin
      At the county fair

Am I alone here?
In this world
Or does anyone really 
Care?
Corn dogs
      At the county fair

Meat on a stick
So tasty
Yet so unreal
Don’t be late 
Don’t stay to long
        At the county fair

Poetry can wait
Cotton candy 
And a roller coaster
Bumper cars
And stomach aches
       At the county fair

Searching For Julia

Sandburg saw you
more than a century ago
in prairie-town Galesburg -
an old lady on the porch - 
unbothered by the whooping cries
of ball-playing boys.

Strangely, you had become a missing piece
in the jigsaw puzzle of my life
and I found myself on a quest to find you.

A caption to a missing image alerted me -
followed by a tale
of deleted files and
hard drive crashes
until a reply
from a Knoxville college - 
they had a picture of you!

A beggared five dollars later
your image arrived,
and I shared you with the world- 
so that everyone may know
the face of the woman who taught us
the importance of little things.

____________________________________________________
Julia Carney (1823-1908) is the author of "Little drops of Water".

Dear Mister Carney

dear mr. carney 

just what are the “international obligations”
of the country of which your talking head twitches?
just how many nukes, biological weapons &
weapons whose horrors we cannot even imagine
(because we are not told anything about them)
reside within the borders of this here empire?
what exactly is our “obligation,”
mr. speakerman of the world’s policeman,
to the rest of the world?
just what would happen if one of our computers running the
whole situation malfunctioned, or
perhaps if one of our aspiring young button pushers got sick of the whole
thing & just went ape-****
slamming her/his hands down on every glowing light that they could
until the world disappeared without a trace?
does it keep you up at night?
does it make you think that had you stayed in Moscow with Time,
you would never be remembered as the mouthpiece of maliciousness?
just wondering if you have any answers whatsoever,
besides the constant prodding & beating of others
until this whole place goes up in smoke.

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