Yellowish Rickshawman's shuttle service in the colorful city and off limits
In the capital
This simple man with a loincloth
Poor fellow his name and he doesn't know
His date of birth.
Just think of your forefather's age.
His sweaty bare body
And broken ribs sadden,
The bare feet tempered under the burning Sun
And he's familiar with all the tar and gravel roads
From the court to brothel
And the Magistrate to Clerk
He has drawn them on his rickety cart.
Though the journey's hard
He never said tired.
Now he rests in a Pauper's graveyard
And his tumbledown antique cart the last will
Nobody has taken to the boasting Museum?
*Rickshaw (jinricksha) [ Jap. jin(man) +riki (power) and sha is carriage.]
A small two wheeled hooded vehicle drawn by one man or more men.
Originally used in Japan.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Seldom Asked
A horse familiar with pulling a cart,
Doesn't have to be taught...
What that experience is like.
Or is in need to have details of scenes,
Described by those riding in the cart...
As the horse pulls.
A horse familiar with pulling a cart,
Doesn't have to be taught...
What that experience is like.
A horse familiar with pulling a cart...
Is seldom asked,
About anything the horse knows and has seen...
On a path that is daily traveled.
Those in the cart,
Seldom repeat the ride.
And few, if any...
Know what it is like to pull their own weight,
And others.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Return Journey to the inception of my memory by an auto rickshaw
Auto rickshaw, a carriage
Like a tortoise
Returns
Along my obsolete graveled
Road.
Auto rickshaw rolls on;
My bucolic had
Rocked
Mirth of a birth,
Rapturously.
Auto rickshaw passes by
Nuptial Hall, where
Bride,
With dowry gold, was
Bartered.
Auto rickshaw pauses before
Rural maze, where
My
Career knocks were
Mocked.
Auto rickshaw, the three
Wheeled, creeps through
Nostalgia
Scenting text books once
New.
Auto rickshaw halts now
On the lap,
For
Road is lost in
Fog.
poem by Fabiyas M V
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Unity Or Not
What is one accomplishing,
By chasing behind a horse drawn cart...
That is going uphill.
Yelling, 'Unity! '
All out of breath and sweating.
As the horse glances back every now and then,
Thinking...
~Why is that fool running behind me like that?
Yelling 'Unity? '
My name is Raymond.
And I've got all I can handle.
Unity or not,
He's not getting on here.
I'm pulling this cart.
And it will come to a stop...
IF he tries.
Late comers are not welcomed.~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I was not great behind the counter. I had a week off without asking for it. Another time, we had a cart go up in flames, and we went out on another cart, which we wrecked by running it into the cart that was on fire.
A Horse-Drawn Carriage Ride
Oh what fun it is to see
A carriage drawn by a horse
Still after all these years
You can find them still, of course
For in special towns you can find
A horse drawn carriage to travel in
In New Orleans for instance, folks
So very beautiful with lots of trim
But can you imagine just how
Exciting they were in their day
Perhaps a roof and maybe not
Like riding atop a trailer with hay
So many wonderful styles there were
You can see in museums and such
Fancy some of them really are
With an old-fashioned classic touch
So if you get a chance to see or ride
On a horse drawn carriage some time
Jump at the chance ‘cause you know
It’s the most exciting day you’ll find!
poem by Marilyn Lott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It is easy to push a cart drawn by twelve oxen.
Double Down in the Jewel
The kid walked through the doors
thar slid open at his approach
No shopping cart
nothing but a forty-four
magnum in his jeans
He blew away
the myopic clerk
making change
at the ATM
On his way out
he paused for an old lady
pushing her cart
and an undercover cop
blew him away
You can see the bloodstains
on the brick wall outside
and the graffiti mourning him
poem by Michael Pruchnicki
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Bare Necessities
Look for the bare necessities
The simple bare necessities
Forget about your worries and your strife
I mean the bare necessities
Old Mother Nature's recipes
That brings the bare necessities of life
Wherever I wander, wherever I roam
I couldn't be fonder of my big home
The bees are buzzin' in the tree
To make some honey just for me
When you look under the rocks and plants
And take a glance at the fancy ants
Then maybe try a few
The bare necessities of life will come to you
They'll come to you!
Look for the bare necessities
The simple bare necessities
Forget about your worries and your strife
I mean the bare necessities
That's why a bear can rest at ease
With just the bare necessities of life
Now when you pick a pawpaw
Or a prickly pear
And you prick a raw paw
Next time beware
Don't pick the prickly pear by the paw
When you pick a pear
Try to use the claw
But you don't need to use the claw
When you pick a pear of the big pawpaw
Have I given you a clue ?
The bare necessities of life will come to you
They'll come to you!
So just try and relax, yeah cool it
Fall apart in my backyard
'Cause let me tell you something little britches
If you act like that bee acts, uh uh
You're working too hard
And don't spend your time lookin' around
For something you want that can't be found
When you find out you can live without it
And go along not thinkin' about it
I'll tell you something true
The bare necessities of life will come to you
Look for the bare necessities
The simple bare necessities
Forget about your worries and your strife
I mean the bare necessities
That's why a bear can rest at ease
With just the bare necessities of life
The bare necessities of life will come to you
song performed by by Bowling For Soup
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shyness is a blessing
i am shy
so is god's land
stripe it bare
and in no time
you find it hard
to cross even a path
without some obstacles
grass, shrubs and growth
in a frenzy to cover up exposure
shyness is a human endowment
from there modesty grow
from there rises civilisations and culture
like land that trades each inch of its barendess
with rice, flowers and fruits
inspired by
A little road not made of man,
Enabled of the eye,
Accessible to thill of bee,
Or cart of butterfly.
If town it have, beyond itself,
'T is that I cannot say;
I only sigh, -no vehicle
Bears me along that way.
Emily Dickinson
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sibling Children at Play
Two sibling children are at play;
The ‘horse’ is elder sister, Jill,
Whose younger brother ‘driver’ Bill
Sits on an ‘Umbrella-cart’, gay!
‘Giddap! ’ ‘Giddap! ’ shouts Bill to her;
‘Pull me, pull me, pull me faster! ’
The fuming, panting tired Jill,
Finds it hard pulling Bill ‘uphill’?
The ‘Umbrella-cart’ moves with speed;
Poor Jill is pulling fast indeed;
Her brother giggles, laughs aloud;
The cart-drive makes him truly proud!
But, Jill is only five-years’ old;
Her baby brother is quite bold;
She does not have the strength to pull;
But give a joy-ride for Bill, she’ll!
The wheels of th’ cart wobble along;
Bill insists her to sing a song;
‘Neigh like a horse! ’ he commands her;
If she does not, Bill will holler.
Her little brother loves the ride;
The cart stops often by road-side;
The ‘driver’ shouts, ‘Pull on farther! ’
Or I will cry and call mother.
Poor Jill cannot pull on and on;
But she must do: she is first-born;
Jill loves her little brother, Bill;
Do anything for him, she will.
Yes, children love to play all day;
They do not know dangers en way;
They copy elders, come what may;
They never like the word called ‘nay’.
But children love a simple ride;
They do it on their own with pride;
They love to learn and enjoy too;
You never know what they can do.
To children, work is also play;
They love to learn in playful way;
At times, they fight as though by right;
They sleep like angels small, at night!
Their innocence is worth watching;
Their childish ways befit smiling;
Their scuffles are worth too, prying;
But sad ’tis to see them sobbing.
And adults dream of childhood years-
The loveliest in life with dears!
That was the time they knew not fears,
While parents never allowed tears.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 11-21-2007
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Shopping Cart Lady
She walks towards me, pushing everything she owns
In a shopping cart with wobbly wheels
Her entire life stuffed into a four wheeled basket
The well dressed ignore her, she doesn't exist
And even though she's not asking for money
I give her all of my change, a dollar or more
Buy yourself something to eat I tell her
I will, she smiles with missing teeth
I see her, sometimes more than once a day
And I wonder what brought her to this
I doubt I'd be able to survive like her
If her misfortune also became mine
Sometimes when I see her I want to ask
What happened that you ended up this way?
I don't and not just because of the fear
That the same thing could happen to me
So I just mind my own business
And give her some money when I can
Knowing that one day she will disaappear
Her shopping cart taken over by another
Homeless, she still smiles and laughs
Never have I seen her sad or crying
Does she save her tears for midnight
When nobody would be there to see
poem by Harry J. Couchon Jr
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Demigod and a Demi-Monde
She always looks for the status
and re-examined her blueprint lover.
He doesn't like her disdain
and tawdry damsel's illusive world.
They put the cart before the horse,
Still holding the cart load
and deprived unnecessarily.
To the blushing lovers.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Where The Blacktop Ends
Gonna kick off my shoes
And run in bare feet
Where the grass and the dirt and the gravel all meet
Goin' back to the well gonna visit old friends
And feed my soul where the blacktop ends
I'm lookin' down the barrel of Friday night
Ridin' on a river of freeway lights
Goodbye city I'm country bound
'Til Monday rolls around
Gonna kick off my shoes
And run in bare feet
Where the grass and the dirt and the gravel all meet
Goin' back to the well gonna visit old friends
And feed my soul where the blacktop ends
Workin' in the grind is an uphill road
Punchin' that clock and carryin' that load
I bust it all week and then I'm free
The weekend belongs to me
Gonna kick off my shoes
And run in bare feet
Where the grass and the dirt and the gravel all meet
Goin' back to the well gonna visit old friends
And feed my soul where the blacktop ends
Give me some fresh air give me that farm
Give me some time with you in my arms
Far away from the hustle and the pressure and the noise
Gonna kick off my shoes
And run in bare feet
Where the grass and the dirt and the gravel all meet
Goin' back to the well gonna visit old friends
And feed my soul, you betcha
Gonna kick off my shoes
And run in bare feet
Where the grass and the dirt and the gravel all meet
Goin' back to the well gonna visit old friends
And feed my soul where the blacktop ends
Where the blacktop ends
Where the blacktop ends
Where the blacktop ends
song performed by by Keith Urban
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pride and conceit
Pride is a stubborn donkey.
You cannot tame it.
Conceit is a blind buffalo.
You cannot teach it.
Most men ride the cart
Drawn by these two.
06.07.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Picture of Confidence
In Bermuda
shorts on a cold morning
he wheeled his shopping cart,
a little recklessly,
up to the side
door of the cafe',
pulled out a stainless
steel, covered mug
and splashed the steaming, old
coffee into the gutter,
then came in for a refill.
Long, straight hair shining,
a smile lit his face
as if all of us
warm, secure people
should envy him.
He came out of nowhere,
got his coffee,
and was gone
with the cart,
humming into the cold
morning air.
One Small Act
There was a lady whose face was drawn
and everyone she came upon
looked at her and wondered why
she never smiled at them as they passed by?
But none would question this poor soul.
They turned their face on their daily stroll.
A child went up and touched her hand
and the lady's face lit up the land.
A gesture of kindness was all it took
to change the sadness, to change her look.
She seemed to come alive once more
and her face was not drawn like it was before.
It took the innocence of a child to see
that a face that's drawn needs to be
uplifted by love from one who cares.
There's nothing like a touch that compares.
The lady's face that was drawn every day
is filled with peace as she goes on her way.
And the one small child will never know
how he changed a face and made it glow.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blind Road Ahead and A Hill Too!
An old man older than me
and he pushes a cart with two water barrels
taken from the muddy river
for his small vegetable farm?
'Papa I could have push the cart
as the hill ahead.' I said.
'O my son thanks a lot, but
your dress get this dirt? '
'Never mind I just go for an interview
that's not a white-collar job,
collect the stray dogs for a rehabilitation camp
and it's actually a volunteer, not paid? '
Then the old man mutters; 'Good people get bad jobs sometimes
and bad people get handsome salaries for doing good jobs, it depends? '
And I pushed the cart till the end of the road
Then he said; 'Thank you son and good luck! '
nimal dunuhinga
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A broken journey
Alone in the night
I listen to the wind
I want to runaway
Just get out of my skin
There’s a piece of heaven in the center of the woods
But somehow we’re warped into “oh I wish I could’s”
I wish I could take the pain you feel away
Peel away the layers and just remain bare
I wish you could stay
I wish I could call your name and you’ll be there
I wish I could tell you that I’m scared
I wish that this broken journey will take my pain
I wish I could disappear
I wish this broken journey would become clear
I wish you were here
To rest in my mind
I wish you were mine
I wish I could look into your eyes
Hear your hearts melody
Tear myself from this broken journey
Be with you my one and only
Unfortunately
We are on this broken journey
poem by Shami Giles
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet: A Weird Workplace
The carriage looks so fabulous indeed:
And drawn by steeds and horses, superbly
On roads in tough terrain with rather greed;
They do it sub-consciously but ably!
The passengers are from far-off places,
And some are picked from road-side on the way;
A few wear masks of poverty on faces;
Only a few are truly made to pay.
The drivers change too frequently at times;
Some do not know the horses, roads at all;
They sleep both day and night in changing climes;
They do not care if horses stop or fall.
The carriage has to be repaired often;
The hearts of drivers will never soften!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 12-28-2008
poem by John Celes
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Steering Precision
For years I've hugged a dream
Not a very lady-like one
But then again
Who said, I am a lady?
Not me!
I want a pile of rustic junk
A few bicycles
A perambulator
A pile of wood
Nails plus aged string
So that I may finally set about
Creating
My favourite thing!
There is no need for long drawn out plans
Blueprint, mentally stored
Dare I say?
Yes! I'm good with my hands
The item of my affection
My ultimate dream
Building a go-cart for deep gradient.....
Screams
Of joy, exhilaration
Still on the back burner
But anticipation
With dogged OCD
Knowing myself and the core of
me
One day when I'm even older
than I already am
I'll relish the disassembling
Of one ancient pram
To create my most desired of
visions
A go-cart with side brakes
And steering precision
poem by Karen Sinclair
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