Long Carting Poems
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In a job where time and motion had an impact that was nil,
I was introduced to modern trends that mentioned soon I will,
but I could buck the system if I chose, by opening up me ‘gob’
although it meant that very soon I wouldn’t have a job.
It was a man of time and motion with a smooth and silver tongue,
who delivered his impression on how workers should be stung,
and then mentioned data figures that would see his work implode,
when he waved a note to caution these techniques at our abode.
This puzzled all us union folk who had listened to him sprout,
and we whispered all amongst us what this buggers on about,
then he mentioned of his married life and with a gentle notion,
he said there’s times that can be duds within his time and motion.
So with murmuring and whispers from us listeners in our chairs,
we tried to fathom proper answers from this question as it flairs,
and we pushed a proposition for an answer to his grave concern.
That’s when our tutor curtly answered on a lesson we should learn.
In a tone that had a scary trait with quite a warning he did say,
he watched his wife at breakfast with her routine every day,
and by working time and motion there were signs that un-fulfils,
so he thought he’d help a little bringing home his working skills.
He noted she made extra trips between a table and the stove
From cupboards to the benches back to the fridge she’d often rove,
carrying one single item, which time and motion couldn’t stand,
therefore time that she was wasting sort of brought forth a demand.
So one morning he was forthright with a plan to ease her plight,
and he mentioned a suggestion on his way to make things right.
Instead of going willy-nilly with her routine filled with waste,
he placed a ban upon discretion and a plot to gain her haste.
Instead of carting items one by one; he suggested two or more,
then his conversation’s interrupted from a bloke upon the floor.
“Did this save time with breakfast?” And it’s replied “No worries mate.
It used to take her twenty minutes - now I cook it in eight!”
I was carting horse manure in a trailer that’s on loan.
I’m driving on the back roads ‘cause I know that I am prone,
to be courting a disaster if I take a major road,
with no brake lights or blinkers and no cover on the load.
I took me time by driving slow but then uttered in disgust,
when I saw a blue light flashing in amongst the swirling dust.
No blinkers and no brake lights, and added to the cop’s report,
was the unsecured load and so I’ve booked a day in court.
This meant a day off work for the ‘bluey’ stated ten o’clock.
I dressed up in a suit and tie for me day out in the dock,
but as I sat back and listened at the cases being heard,
I was getting pretty restless - ‘cause the protocol’s absurd.
They said ten o’clock be there and when one o’clock had passed,
call goes out ‘its lunchtime,’ and so I gave the clerk a blast.
I told him I’m a working man and that he’s wasted half me day,
so how much longer must I be here, before I can get away.
The clerk didn’t offer favours and in fact he didn’t budge.
He mentioned quite sarcastically “Why don’t you ask the judge?”
So I sauntered back in to the court and waited for me turn,
and listened to the judgments that are handed down quite stern.
And then the call goes out for me and so I walk toward the dock.
The judge looked up and said “Hold on, it’s gone past four o’clock,
and then declared “Court is adjourned; I’ll hear your case next week.”
I thought, “You bloody rotten mongrel! I’ll give you some cheek.”
Just as the judge had turned his back, I let out with a spray,
“Hey listen here you goat, I can’t miss work another day!”
He spun around and glared at me, and with a sharp retort,
“I’m fining you one hundred dollars - for contempt of court.”
A hundred bucks! You mongrel … and so I pulled me wallet out.
The clerk scurried up beside me for what he thought that I’m about.
“You don’t have to pay it now” he said -
“I know you pair of nerds,
I'm just seeing if I have enough for two more flamin’ words.”
Light minded people say I’m an uppity darkie
They color me bad,
with a black face, felt pen Sharpie
Vanilla voices downright don’t like
the audio sounds of this mouthy darkie
They say I’m way too uppity,
don’t know what my proper place be
Snow cone hats say they gon have to teach me,
there's a painful cost for thinking free
They wanna call the fascist calvary and give me
some old-fashioned triple Kord rope justice,
by them good ole boys neo-Nazi vigilantes
They say my strait Nazarene speech
borders on treason,
that it needs to be muzzled
But I’ve always given king Pharaoh Caesar
his required slave taxes —
His printed paperweight metallic tribute ...
so what’s the dispute?
My Herodian enemies want so bad
to reach into their torture trick bag,
and gag my mouth with a gasoline soaked rag
Then lie in wait for my muffled words
to set that tri-colored cloth on fire
Red cheek coconut meat,
dressed in blue uniforms pressed neat,
wanna beat, kick, pound
some patriotic sense into me
Giving thinly veiled warnings:
saying ship that ghetto talk back to Africa
Carting rice-colored evil thoughts
that are Balaam Iscariot store bought
Walking weeds in the Goshen grassroots,
wearing bloodstained slaughterhouse coats,
got indigo disdain for this uppity darkie
They wanna sell some
strange rotting fruit hanging from a tree
Hating me because I stood up
in the open free market place
And declared with Lion of Judah boldness,
they were selling the people rancid red meat lies
wrapped in waxy white packages
And giving State-Don’t-Care samples away
of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer bottles of hate
I ain’t nothing but a pseudo-smart, intellectual wannabe
It’s what my rabbit ears detractors say ...
yeah, that’s how they regard me
As just another trouble making uppity darkie
As the gossiping canary sat on the wharf
Watching the west ham going forth
“Off to mingle”
Thackray said who was single
“With the white lilies”
Forgetting about the wolves who were very chilly
No goals on the board
Points being ignored
Entering into the lovely garden
Thackray wondered
Was this a survival test?
After a long rest
Knowing her recording record was not the best
Looking around Thackray saw the black and white message
Feeding the buzz honey mustard dressing
No middle ground to blur
Only the relegation zone pot to stir
What was starting?
Luring apples needing to be carting?
There was a cherry in Aston’s Villa looking to be on top
A sweet surprise inside the Championship League ice cream shoppe
Already finding a flat down stairs
Investigating canary wanting to know if the west ham was in an affair
When Thackray engaged with the beautiful buds
Enjoying the scent dreaming for a stud
Seeing one in a spot
A place where the defense could put an end to the shot
But somehow there was a miss
And an own goal occurred without an assist
“I did this all alone
It was me on the phone “
Thackray would gingerly groan
Minutes later a man appeared
From the darkness the west ham was in fear
His name
Was Kane
And he ended the west ham visit
Right in the net he really kissed it
Returning to make a plan
In the dungeon the canary laughed like a spur fan
“I will make a note
Bachelor Jason was Thackray’s vote
They were secretly wed,”
Corresponding canary said
Walking down broken heart lane
Thackray realized she was turning insane
Due to the obsession fame
Until she picked up the mail
While scratching off a lottery ticket that failed
Opening to read the newspaper’s tales
She exclaimed, “That canary is going to get nailed!”
driving down the street jamming out to the beat
not knowing what we were about to meet
the next thing i knew i had fallen asleep
waking up to the screeching of tires
i pinched myself hoping it was just a bad dream
as i feel something grab me pulling me to safety
i look back and i see the complete opposite
pain blood agony
my friends my family nearing death
the sound of sirens draw nearer and nearer
carting one by one off to the hospital
for hope that their lives can be saved
sitting int he waiting room
pondering why it wasnt me looking death in the eye
why must i always be the one standing by
why is it my hearts the one to cry
too many times its me saing goodbye
as the sun starts to rise
i jet back home so my parents arent surprised
jump in the shower getting ready as if nothing happened
during the day my mask is put on the night is when it comes off
forced to face reality of the horrifying accident that had just happened
every breathe i take feels as though it is not worthy of being breathed
what has happened to me
why all the lies why all the pain
where did the old me go
day by day i wait anxiously for the latest news about my friends
till finally the out come has arrived
marcus will not survive
after hearing the news my heart shattered into a million pieces
how many more are going to be taken away
where am i supose to go from here
tear after tear
my heart grows with more fear
fear of loosing others fear to take off my mask and show the world i am hurting
how can this be how can so many people die when it should be me
the answer is it was an accident
nothing can be changed about what has happened
the cure is time
and that is what i seem to have a whole lot of
Sinking feeling springs eternal...
courtesy sucker punched by vehicular travails
Truckload of banshees muffled
as more'n yours truly wails
he feels wheely tired
as one after another
significant snafu devilish
troublesome impish of the
poe pervert car -
tell driver unveils
scarier than Stephen
King's macabre tales
one illusory monster with
(by Scott) matted pointy scales,
who infuriatingly rants and rails
against dependence on
unstable, unpredictable, and
unmentionable car rear,
where his ruffled quilted wings,
stand on edge quiver and quails
analogous to how Jack
and Jill arduously lugged pails
splashing water to and fro
hither and yon some
drips drops long as nine inch nails,
actually pleasant sensation
though futile schlepping,
sloshing, and spilling bucketful
after bucketful eternal
rhyming task without reason
synonymous with Sisyphus,
but lo and behold
agony no longer assails
only fleeting ecstasy, think
Bos taurus came back
to animal farm -
carting... yup countless hay bales
(sh....) stolen goods,
under the whinny some nose
of neighboring Equus
at Clyde on dales,
one Mister Ed, a horse -
laugh he exhales,
said bovine won't be cowed,
cuz fodder knows beast,
that charity never fails.
Within the sketch of a house top my hair laid.
In bewilderment on the street I saw a disarrayed
feet for the clarion's call.
Not in honour of a man in metallic monster for life
restore or death gain.
Nor the second coming could uplift anxiety for our
bones to lay in waste.
Behold him coming, making his parts straight.
in whose shoulder our liberation do glory.
In adoration and praise we gave you our hearts but
chief whip you've ordained on us.
The glory of our womb you're turning to serpent for
hope of your households.
Beast, beast is your name.
Every four years you've ordained to atone our
gluttons in carting away our fortunes.
Be it far from you that our heads live in debt to your
masters.
Our ears are block to the sound of your daily
funeral.
Our laws are void to the manifestation of your
power but swords they're to the poor.
Our hope do lay to see nail being screw into your
ears sisera.
Our veils will be lifted into human rights activism,
That Sahara will be a place of snow to you,
merchant.
While your Hall of shame Will lunch out soon that
our lost hope is restore.
Devotion Poem - Our Dance (For Jim)
You are the first and last poems
God wrote for me.
You are the sparkler
I found flaming sun yellow between
The sprigs of early green grass,
Before the shoveled piles of February
Snow had melted away
Their last signs of winter.
You came unexpectedly,
Beyond probability, carting too
Much physics homework for your
Left-brained studies, and
Declaring, “I don’t dance for anyone.”
Emphatic. Like an evergreen.
But I had seen trees dance, just as I thought
I might go on dancing if I knew you.
Then you fell silent, telling your life to me
With your smile, while your eyes glanced
Through space dismissing time, sparkling
A reach to my heart for a continuous dance…I
Have never stopped my wonder, or my own
Silent joy surpassing the physics of falling
Through dimensions into your heart.
————————————————————————
(c) sally young eslinger 6/2/22
Thanks be to God
Linda with the crippled fist.
Knarl to her smile.
Walking with the slightest limp.
Cap held on in style.
Moving like an Engineer.
Cane to shrug her on.
Spectacles of smiling eyes.
Pain as good as gone.
On her way to see a friend.
Pleased to share her time.
Often helping with a task.
Spirits on the climb.
Staying out for many hours.
Later to return.
Carting back a tired smile.
Proof of fun but stern.
Humble in her quick hello.
Greetings left to say.
Linda quick to say goodnight
moving on her way.
Finally back at her apartment.
Resting on her mind.
Entering her speeding door
expecting what she'll find.
Home at last to end the day.
Completely Satisfied.
Tomorrow coming just as fast
as Linda to be tied.
Snuggling in her bed at night
remembering the day.
Thankful for the one she had;
tomorrow on the way.
That will have to wait for now.
Linda's fast asleep.
Dreams are what the world needs now
and Linda's just that deep.
Gifting dreams of hope to my eyes, he vanished in a flash
Carting away the treasure of sorrows, leaving mirage a trash
Thorns of grief were, in all, the earning on whose part
Left a delightful rose in the derelict mansion of my heart
He wasn’t the Socrates, yet he drank the poison of apathy
And with wine of love, he filled my heart’s vessel so empty
The bride of night ascended the horizon unfurling her hairs
Hands of that Azar have given my thought’s idol such glares
Love, sympathy and loyalty are qualities profound
Anguish is what they reward you with, soothing although they sound
Walked he himself, to the hangman, carrying his cross of soul
To show me how my courage faltered in playing its role
Wisdom was rendered, Yamin, by vainglory inept
The book of vision he flung into the worthy hands of zest.
----
Azar, the father of Prophet Abraham was an sculpturist of fame for carving beautiful idols worshiped by infidels as deity