Common sense, once common indeed,
Now seems a forgotten human need.
We hurry through life with reckless force,
Placing the cart before the horse.
We seek the harvest before the seed,
Demanding success without the deed.
Racing ahead without thought or care,
Then wondering why progress isn't there.
Education fills the mind with facts,
Yet often neglects life's deeper acts.
Not teaching how to reason and think,
But leaving many on worry's brink.
For wisdom grows when minds reflect,
When consequences earn respect.
Every choice we make today
Shapes the paths we walk someday.
A thoughtful person understands
That truth is not held in one pair of hands.
Each circumstance has another side,
A lesson often pushed aside.
To move ahead, we first must see
What is, what was, and what can be.
For genuine progress, clear and true,
Begins with understanding what we do.
So let wisdom lead and haste take pause,
Let reason guide through life's great cause.
For the surest way to move ahead
Is to think before the path is tread.
I love old book stores.
The smell and look of old books,
sets my heart a pumping.
At home I have my favorite stops,
checking out each shelf carefully.
When I travel,
I look up stores before I leave home.
My list can be short or long,
with a book or two or three following me home.
This summer I found an old book,
a book jumped into my shopping cart saying,
please take me home.
I have been reading on and off for weeks,
last night I got to the end.
I could not wait to see what was going to happen,
The Last Page Was missing.
TRANSPORTED BY CART
DID TAKE ALONG HIS SWEETHEART
LEFT OTHERS APART
In that strip mall, The Breakfast Cart smiles
with morning fare crafted from scratch
as diners rush for untold miles
for ham and eggs that are a perfect match.
Rustic art coats each wall
with metal chickens and old ad signs
some so large, while others so small
as I soak in the comfort of these designs.
Many diners visit each day
to visit dear friends and to sit and chat
since the bargain prices are little to pay
and the setting is truly a Welcome doormat.
sitting there
among the trees
on riverbank
littered with trash
it is filled
with many things
like a kaleidoscope view
of someone’s life
all that is left
of hopes and dreams
fragments of a life
now cast aside
and what were their hopes
and what did they want
what were their dreams
that will never now be
the sum of the life
shattered and torn
all that was left
Thomas Hobson (1544 –1631)
in 19th century late
a Cambridge ostler and postal carrier
set his priorities straight
he owned a livery stable
of 40 Hackney horses or more
plus boots bridles and whips
and put the horse the cart before
after the animal left the barn
by bolting fast the door
and as precautionary balm
the nag nearest the stable gate
the worn-out equine storm to calm
was the firm rule he did make
this one or none in the stall
was that which customers had to take
or do with no ride at all
but for the paying equestrians
either way they win or lose
as there was no choice but accept or reject
for any of them to choose
A Handcart and a Ring
A man I knew had a handcart and became self-employed
I often saw him in the town with a load of parcels and sometimes furniture
He was a contented man.
One day, on his way to the railway station, the wheel of his cart came off
four suitcases fell into the street.
So, what to do?
He traced his steps and soon found the missing pieces that kept the wheel
on the axle, but he also found an expensive diamond ring
he put it in his pocket as he was occupied with fixing the wheel
and get his load of suitcases to the railway station
In the paper, he read about a lady who had lost a dear ring
he contacted her via the paper, and she was happy,
she didn’t give him any money because, as she said, honesty has its reward
The people at the paper thought this was too mean for words
made a collection and handed the kind man the money.
A Picture of him and his cart, the paper, and a nice story for the paper to sell.
when too old to push his cart around, he became a poet of the small things in life
and not about the life of aristocrats
Why does the trolley
dolly or cart
I choose to use
in every supermart
always have a wonky wobbly wheel
and feel oh so wearing
as if it's about to lose
its marbles or ball bearings?
It clunks like junk with a 'thunking' sound
and almost dumps
my groceries on the ground
won't go straight
invariably tilts veers
careens or curves
and without a doubt
indubitably gets on my nerves
Albo built a billy-cart..' named it m a d info no 1.!
He's dragged it up to Thredbo.Mates...
Now the whole things came un-done.!
I did half a cart wheel
once pooped a quarter
don't ask
OK, i also tried the dog food
the crunchy stuff wasn't bad
I'll still eat the last cookie
and love taking the large strawberry
that sits atop the display
whenever I wear a nice shirt
everyone gets a bit nervous
I drive my trucks until Vegas
takes them off the board
I wore the same sport jacket
for all four years of high school
(ya hadda wear one...
I took it literally)
I've only had one cat
enough is enough
At one point in my life
ALL of my worldly possessions
fit into my Volkswagen
it was not a camper
Maybe i read too much
Thoreau in my youth
in defense of my actions
over 3/4ths of a century
it seem like a good idea at the time.
what he did with cart
singing would begin and start
which had touched our heart
Horn With Cart Singing Haiku
Hitch The Old Mule And Load The Harvest Cart
Across the plains a bad ole murky mess
Unites in its quivering tears apart
And the bashful bride dares not that confess
As she knows for sure it would break his heart
Bloated bodies bend with such dusky chills
And the ill cast weather leaves what it starts
Grandpa cries, "Hon' bring me my little pills"
Hitch the old mule and load the harvest cart
Watch the red moon and its wide flaming rings
Crow knows the tiger will eat anything
And the fairies dance their proud lovers swing
While the farmer's wife wakes early to sing
Dawn rises and its glory proudly displays
Cheating gambler faces well-earned pay!
Robert J. Lindley, Sonnet,
May 12th 1972
No Milord, it can wait— this software,
Let’s talk of what wears hard— the hardware.
Let justice come in time,
Ye better prove it’s prime,
On firm ground, not like gauze gossamer!
From sentiments august
To first things that come first,
So that time-wasters of cobwebs clear,
Let justice come in time,
And with reasons that rhyme,
What use late, late justice although fair?
_______________________________________
Happenings |10.05.2023| justice
Poet’s note: The Chief Justice of India feels: judiciary is committed to take justice to every home through technology: live streaming of judicial proceedings, translation of orders into local languages, e-courts, and the like. This is fine, but if there is one problem to be addressed to before anything else it is clearance of hundreds of thousands of pending cases. A commonsense 80:20 principle that 20% of efforts fetch 80% of result. This is third in the series: Your slip is showing, Milord.
I had him reserved superb name
Simply to awaken the flame:
Grey Floyd proclaim “Never to fall”
This saying in Reception Hall
For Praised Artists’ Exhibition
That should address Inhibition
A crime make of Prohibition
And quite ignite The Ambition
“Yeah, I have seen all of Floyd’s Art
And could bet they would feel a cart!”
My homage where Artists gathered
Plus ‘Famous’ who had him fathered:
The Ever Loved for a Sculpture
Of Busy-With-Carrion Vulture…
But Floyd was just good At Graphics,
To many Familiar Efik:
Much cheaper than Hieroglyphics
Unlike Difficult Ceramics;
It’s A Floyd who might resign
With a ban on Graphic Design…
Then, he should self urge to spread out
As this wouldn’t mean rules does flout:
I’ll be waiting to the more shout
Floyd grant The Salute of A Scout.
The road sweepers
Giggled happily
While collecting and carrying rubbish
With a one wheel cart
The construction workers
Sweated heavily
While collecting and carrying bricks
With a one wheel cart
As children
We played secretly
With the one wheel cart
Carrying inside a little girl as a bride
And the cart rolled and rolled
Until it disappeared from our eyes
Together with our child brides
Maybe with only some heartbroken memories left
To this progressive world
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