Long Carts Poems
Long Carts Poems. Below are the most popular long Carts by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Carts poems by poem length and keyword.
In the far Far East,
a few strange Hindu temples are intricately carved,
& are most pornographically exuberant,
everywhere there are wrathful-playful-sexual-
vengeful-gesturing-carousing-beckon -ing -
ascending-descending-riding-weeping - flying -
alluring - humping - bumping- twerking -
singing, or just dancing around being the epitome
of gods and
godlings.
Even in hotel America
there is the heady scent of
a rowdy sacredness
as rooms are congested with hyped-up
reveling deities.
The enlightened ones, ride luggage carts
in the dead of night,
sing drunkenly, slam doors,
or watch HBO with the volume way up.
All is a sacred sloppiness.
I was wearing,
Day-Glo speedos in the elevator
while ogling a page
from the Kama Sutra,
doors opened, revealing a giggling goddess,
who seemed to be pointing
to the infante silliness
of everything partly or wholly human.
That was in Muncie Indiana
(a motel space I shared with a rumba dancing Kali
and a bottle of Jim Beam).
The vibe in that room
was almost the same as in those temples.
In the mind-hazed morning,
(skull still aching from Kali's tender affections),
the Tallahassee chapter of the honorable order
of Harley riders
regale me at breakfast
with their juiced-up joie de vivre.
Again the dancing Gods look down upon us;
jovially they beg us
to partake of their abandoned frivolity;
meditating on this
I rise slowly to the seventh floor of hotel Nirvana,
where at last
I meet my omnipresent self.
‘Do you think you can make demands of us?
Chance said ‘Why continue with all this fuss?
No worries pet you can keep him for now.
That is all I will promise or allow.’
At the mercy of hunger I agreed;
For now Jordan was not going to bleed;
The vampire said ‘You may go to the bank.
Eat madame, you look quite weak to be frank.
I’ll draw the person’s ticket we will take.
Their fate will be sealed just before daybreak.’
He led me to feed walking down the hall,
shadows lingered large playing on the wall;
I expected to drink bottles in carts,
what I thought would be wine was body parts.
These old bodies,
Clutched
Like paper bags
Full of food,
Soaking wet
In a steady rain,
The bottom falling out,
Sent
Into the parking lot
Leaning
On
The wobbling heels,
The wheels of shopping carts.
You see,
The doctor’s office had been moved
To the shopping center
Next to Kroger
For optimal convenience
To the shopper,
So the patient follows
A path of crumbs
Like those seagulls
That have permanently
Abandoned
Water
For this sea
Of asphalt.
To the hospital
She goes,
Holding her heavy heart
To her chest
Pressed
Against
The steering wheel MRI.
The blaring horn won’t shut up.
On the way,
NPR,
With extraordinary
Casualness,
Reports
That, Today
The Rusty-Patched Bumblebee
Has been placed
On the Endangered List.
She thinks
As she listens
To the faint buzz
Of calamity
How quietly.
How calmly.
How privately,
For all the expected hullabaloo,
How actually
The Apocalypse
Unfolds
So ordinarily,
True
As a light
Left on
For the entirety
Of night
In an empty room.
They say,
At the ER,
That they’ve
Been
Expecting her.
An obese man
Sits across from her
In the waiting room,
Wired up to a wild, dripping octopus.
His T-Shirt reads
In big blue letters,
ATTENTION
K MART SHOPPERS.
I want to be your home
to welcome you in, just so you know
you will never again be so alone
For though we are temporarily apart
and for this time we work on righting our apple carts
before the real mind meld dance card gets to start
But I know where my heart is
I know where my mind wanders
and where my dreams do tread
And it's with you I would rather be
though you told me not to wait for you
I know there is nothing, no one that replaces you
I want you
I need you
I desire you in my soul
It's rare to have a depth of feeling
the knowing of a kindred soul
someone you can unwind completely with
relax and know it won't grow old
I had no idea you existed
and you are far more than I could expect
Even had I made a list
you exceeded every spec
Our communication sizzles
even in chat it's off the charts
on cam it was hot, it would have set off fire alarms
You are charming and talented
intelligent and wise
worldly and silly, vibrant and alive
Even had I made a list
you exceeded every spec
Our communication sizzles
even in chat it's off the charts
on cam it was hot, it would have set off fire alarms
You are charming and talented
intelligent and wise
worldly and silly, vibrant and alive
You turn me on, so I wrote this song
Your virtues I can extoll for days
but I want to disrobe you too
I want to make you mine
and have you in turn, make me yours
Whoaaa
I want you
I need you
I desire you in my soul
Dropping you a kiss in text . I had no idea it only took six hours to fall in love....
Dropping you a kiss in text . I had no idea it only, took six hours to fall in love.
ohhh ...
A faceless man is standing in produce.
He’s crying. No one stops.
No one asks him why.
He says the sky is falling
He says it again and again.
He grabs a passerby’s arm
and tell them it’s falling.
The passerby drops
a head of lettuce onto the floor.
A woman in tattered jeans
says the cost of meat has gone up.
A young mother
with a baby in the basket
wheels a cart of formula
and wonders how anyone
can afford to live
while outside a boy in high school
races an empty shopping cart
through the parking lot.
A woman with stringy, long hair
standing near the entrance
plays guitar
and the case is open
for dollar bills and quarters.
A weary clerk brings
in a line of carts
and says the task never ends.
The woman says life’s a show—
Bring in the clowns, she sings.
Displays of Doritos lined
up by the entrance
say buy more—
one bag is never enough.
The clerk stands near the front
and keeps his hands in his pockets
as he watches a wave of humanity
walks in and out the entrance.
The manager looks at him.
Smile, she says.
One month after his lady friend
transferred to another store
he is standing alone
in a crowd.
Written: February 26, 2025, for Antony Biaanco Contest
*************************
City hum drifts through spurious ways,
teeming in a wild, woody ward.
The jasmine vine twists down to
a jagged sill for a moment before
sinking into a cool, katabatic pit.
Early rush-hour sounds—farts and snorts—
cram the air, moments blending
into the drive-by without a stroll,
as rain-soaked, worn stone slabs
Mark the corner store—
where you used to grab milk,
soap, or other staples.
The chill of an icy night—
gives way to a sun-kissed morning glow.
Sitting at my desk, chatting on the phone,
canceling appointments for the boss.
He’s staying a little longer in Honolulu,
musing over which states—
the neighbors moved to.
Do they remember how
crabgrass took over?
The streets are empty except—
for a fridge that somehow
made it to the avenue,
lingering there,
its story is low and uncertain.
Does this questionable life count?
We can’t amend it,
it won’t yield precious plums,
only a mournful structure,
shadows lurking,
and worn trousers that tell tales.
The horizon lies obscured—
by haphazard highways,
stretching into stark,
barren spaces,
where even the flowers have wilted.
Countless scorched dreams,
strained savings,
and buried letters—
linger in forgotten corners.
The fire hydrant no longer
cries out for the world.
"Honky Chateau" continues to compel—
as it meanders the sporadic streets,
streets cloaked in anonymity—
and emptied of life.
The dwindling dirge of
a forsaken place hangs heavily,
with dreams dangling—
in line for food stamps
and community cheese.
Buildings shatter, splinter, and crumble—
crashing, crushing, collapsing
submerged with rivers of fire within.
Crisis tamed,
calamity curtailed,
the police stroll in pairs,
collecting discarded shopping carts.
Dust gently falls—
as yesterday's laments hush
the pigeons to sleep,
mold mingling with the memory—
of barbecued ribs,
those hardened bones
left since last year.
Saint Patrice day
In 1957 my ship docked in the town of Cork (Ireland)
If you think that is a long time ago, you are probably right
but in my head, it was yesterday.
Life was slower back then, cargo was lowered into
donkey carts, there were many mules waiting
we went to a pub, a stone a throwaway and drank Guinness
Never did I tell my mother, but I told her of the Irish girl
I was going to marry had red hair and green eyes
she had the aroma of an angel.
Leisureliness has ended ships leave as ships do
On the shore, she waved, we cried, and people smiled
they didn’t know; no one had loved so deeply as us.
Our letter writing petered out, so many adventures for young
minds I met a girl in Amsterdam, she had a bike.
My mother asked about the Irish girl. Her name was Catlin.
The bus is only practical
If you’re not in a hurry.
If time is of the essence,
Then your mind will fill with worry.
Aside from all the local stops,
The passengers board slowly
And don’t know how to swipe or tap –
Annoying! Holy moly!
A number are quite elderly,
While others come with strollers
Or luggage clogging up the aisle
Or shopping carts on rollers.
If you’re in luck, your driver
Will be practiced, moving fast,
But more likely he’ll be insecure,
Afraid of squeezing past
All the trucks and taxis double-parked
And blocking up the street.
You’ll sit there knowing you’ll be late
If someone you must meet.
It’s better on the subway,
Though, of course, it’s underground,
But it’s best if there’s a walking
Destination to be found.
When we build
for everyone,
everyone wins:
The ramp helps
not just wheelchairs
but strollers,
delivery carts,
tired legs.
Captions help
not just deaf ears
but noisy rooms,
second languages,
different processors.
Multiple ways in
mean no one
stands outside
looking through
locked windows
at learning
they can't reach.
Every entrance
leads to the same
beautiful place:
understanding,
belonging,
growth.
Design from the start
for every brain,
every body,
every spirit
that walks
through your door.
Time hands seconds past the minute,
winter melts the sands,
sprung barter the seeds to take root,
petals leave for lands.
Abandoned juice bathes the barren,
weather soaks wet dreams,
towering outstretched limbs fashion,
cries tear up the streams.
Quartered the core green overgrowth,
sweet fester the sour,
fertile soil sources root approach,
West turn sunset lour.
Stockers fatten wanting store shelves,
greens packaged refreshed,
farmers loaded like Christmas elves,
checks at counters cashed.
Shoppers and grocers swapping smiles,
carts staggering highs,
past harvested fields, endless miles,
as New Year's Eve, nigh's.