Walke to Digress
In front of entrance
We berjejal queue up
Going to peron
Awaiting cart come
Each and everyone orderlyly
Awaiting cart come
Ushering to target town
Each
Us also that black waiting' train
Come from west
Going to east
When cart come
With the its black smokestack
voice of iron Wheel fiddle
By rel is steel sticking out length
Forwards we stand up
I develop; builded from long fantacy
When that smooth radius his arms
Sticking out handckerchief
Vanishing sweat in my face
We will immediately leave taking
When cart whistle sound boisterous
Parting sign immediately come
Ushered by a white smoke of in between the steel wheel
What start to rotate, moving
Bringing wagon to target town
Menggapai Expectation
My Hand wave from window
From wagon which start fast quickly
My heart is solid, as stuffed up
In this town is we have to leave taking
Going to land of promise
Chance determined
Especial
Prasetya,7.5.2008
poem by Prasetya Utama
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Leave This Town
I better keep myself from being busted
I better keep myself out of jail
cause I aint got a friend to get me trusted
Thats why my mama sends my money through the mail
Ive been down on my luck
Ive been down on my wealth
Im gotta stop taking care of business
Start taking care of my health
Ive gotta leave this town
Ive gotta leave this town behind
Ive gotta leave this town tonight
Well I set off down the main street
With such a long, long way to go
But before I started I was cornered on the corner
Still waiting for my sugar to show
Ive been down on my luck
Ive been down on my wealth
Ive gotta stop taking care of somebodys elses business
Start taking care of myself
Ive gotta leave this town
Ive gotta leave this town behind
Ive gotta leave this town tonight
I was fooling around with the sheriffs daughter
She was a real fine fox
But the sheriff he came after
And threatened to lock me in a cell box
He showed me his magnum
He showed me his shotgun
He stuck it in my face
And said, boy, I think you best be gone
Ive gotta leave this town
Ive gotta leave this town behind
Ive gotta leave this town tonight
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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.
Target
Uptown - downtown
No ones fussy Im a target
Black, white - day, night
No ones fussy Im a target
Somebody say Im crazy
Walking in this neighborhood
Say you cant be too careful
But that wont do no good
Im no one special
But any part of town
Someone could smile at me then
Shake my hand then gun me down
Uptown - downtown
No ones fussy Im a target
Black, white - day, night
No ones fussy Im a target
Somebody say Im crazy
Living in this crazy town
I say maybe youre just lazy
Got to either swim or drown
I know what Im doing
Im happy day to day
But then something happens
Takes my nerve away
Uptown - downtown
No ones fussy Im a target
Black, white - day, night
No ones fussy Im a target
song performed by by Joe Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Odd musings of an impatient heart
A shopping cart sits alongside the road
Its taunts me as its stands there alone
Just a piece of metal to passers by
But I see that metal and swallow a sigh
And now I've had more than I can take
Its eating me up and I begin to wish
That I could leave this place for a while
Or maybe forever that would be even better
Maybe I could meet someone who is new
And his words would be only the truth
Not lies compared to the thoughts in his head
But I see this shopping cart stranded alone
Just waiting for someone to come take it home
And i wonder of all the things that could make me sad
How a lone shopping cart had the effect that it had
poem by Kamryn Chew
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The Little Lady Of The Bullock Cart
Now is the time when India is gay
With wedding parties; and the radiant throngs
Seem like a scattered rainbow taking part
In human pleasures. Dressed in bright array,
They fling upon the bride their wreaths of songs-
The Little Lady of the Bullock Cart.
Here is the temple ready for the rite:
The large-eyed bullocks halt; and waiting arms
Lift down the bride. All India's curious art
Speaks in the gems with which she is bedight,
And in the robes which hide her sweet alarms-
The Little Lady of the Bullock Cart.
This is her day of days: her splendid hour
When joy is hers, though love is all unknown.
It has not dawned upon her childish heart.
But human triumph, in a temporal power,
Has crowned her queen upon a one-day throne-
The Little Lady of the Bullock Cart.
Ah, Little Lady! What will be your fate?
So long, so long, the outward-reaching years:
So brief the joy of this elusive part;
So frail the shoulders for the loads that wait:
So bitter salt the virgin widow's tears-
O Little Lady of the Bullock Cart.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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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.
The Horse and Cart Ferry
It was old Jerry Brown,
Who’d an office in town,
And he used to get jocular, very;
And he’d go to the Shore
When they’d serve him no more,
And, of course, by the passenger ferry,
A sight on the passenger ferry.
Now this is a song of the ferry,
And a lay of the juice of the berry;
’Tis the ballad of Brown,
Who’d a business in town,
And commenced to go down
Very slow,
Don’t you know?
By coming home just a bit merry.
By the Drunks’ Boat—that’s right—
On a Saturday night
He would often be past being merry;
With his back teeth afloat,
On the twelve o’clock boat,
And a spectacle there on the ferry
(A picture to all on the ferry).
In the mornings, ashamed—
’Twas the last drink he blamed,
Though the first was the matter with Jerry,
With his nerve out of joint,
He’d sneak down to Blue’s Point,
And he’d cross by the horse-and-cart ferry,
Like a thief—by the horse-and-cart ferry.
But long before night
He’d most likely be tight,
And a subject and theme for George Perry;
And he’d cross to the Shore,
Somewhat worse than before,
And a nuisance to all on the ferry;
Singing-drunk on the passenger ferry.
And so it went on
Till his reason seemed gone,
And the Law, so it seemed, got a derry
On Brown. He went down,
And they sent him to town
One day, by “the trap,” on the ferry—
The Government trap on the ferry.
He was sober and sane
When he came back again,
And the past he’d determined to bury—
Or, I mean, live it down—
And he crossed from the town
Like a man, on the passenger ferry.
(There were sceptical souls on that ferry.)
They say ’twas the jaw
Of his mother-in-law
Drove him back to the juice of the berry;
But he soon got afloat
On the passenger boat
Or adrift on the horse-and-cart ferry
(Wrongly called the ve-hic-ular ferry).
The drink had him fast,
And he drank till at last
He dried up—a withered old cherry;
And they thought him no loss
When they sent him across
In a box, on the cart-and-horse ferry—
In a low, covered trap on the ferry.
Which I rise to explain—
If the moral ain’t plain,
And if you’re a cove that gets merry—
Always stick, when “afloat,”
To the passenger boat;
Or else to the cart-and-horse ferry,
Or you’ll make matters worse, like old Jerry.
But this is the song of the ferry,
And the lay of the juice of the berry;
And you will not deny—
If you read by-and-bye—
That the casual eye
Of the Tight
At first sight
Misses much in the song of the ferry.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
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Parking Team
This is where I want to be
Standing in the coldness of winter
Standing in the hotness of summer
Directing traffic
Seeing smiles
Hearing the laughter of children
Seeing the golf cart come by
Full of laughing kids
Seeing the smiles on their faces when the cart comes
That’s what I love about the parking team!
The way I’m able to help everyone brings a smile to my face
I see familiar faces when I drive the golf cart
Those faces, those smiles, those people is what keeps me going
I enjoy every moment on the team
From putting on my vest to calling it a night
I live for those moments
During those times, that’s when I shine
I never let my glow leave
I have fun with parking
Even standing in the rain… it’s fun
This is something that I long to do every week
It’s just for less than four hours
But it’s the best part of my week
I find parking a challenge
You never know what is on its way
It could be a new spot or it could be a new route
Whatever the challenge, I will take it
I will take it and be the best
Nothing and no one will stand in my way
poem by Laura Carie Dalton
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Broken Axletree
On the Track of Grand Endeavour, on the long track out to Bourke,
Past the Turn-Back, and past Howlong, and the pub at Sudden Jerk,
Past old Bullock-Yoke and Bog Flat, and the “Pinch” at Stick-to-me,
Lies the camp that we have christened—christened “Broken Axletree.”
We were young and strong and fearless, we had not seen Mount Despair,
And the West was to be conquered, and we meant to do our share;
We were far away from cities, and were fairly off the spree
When we camped at Cart Wheel River with a broken axletree.
Oh, the pub at Devil’s Crossing! and the woman that he sent!
And the hell for which we bartered horse and trap and “traps” and tent!
And the black “Since Then”—the chances that we never more may see—
Ah! the two lives that were ruined for a broken axletree!
“Fate” is but a Cart Wheel River, placed to test us by the Lord,
And the Star of Live Forever shines beyond At Blacksmith’s Ford!
Shun all fatalists and “isms”—heed no talk of “destiny”!
Ride a race for life to Blacksmith’s with your broken axletree.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I'd like to get four people who do cart wheels very good, and make a cart.
quote by Mitch Hedberg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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West End Girls
(....forever)
Sometimes youre better off dead
Theres gun in your hand and its pointing at your head
You think youre mad, too unstable
Kicking in chairs and knocking down tables
In a restaurant in a west end town
Call the police, theres a madman around
Running down underground to a dive bar
In a west end town
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
West end girls
Too many shadows, whispering voices
Faces on posters, too many choices
If, when, why, what?
How much have you got?
Have you got it, do you get it, if so, how often?
And which do you choose, a hard or soft option?
(how much do you need? )
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
West end girls
West end girls
(how much do you need? )
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
Oooh west end town, a dead end world
East end boys, west end girls
West end girls
Youve got a heart of glass or a heart of stone
Just you wait till I get you home
Weve got no future, weve got no past
Here today, built to last
In every city, in every nation
From lake geneva to the finland station
(how far have you been? )
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
A west end town, a dead end world
East end boys, west end girls
West end girls
West end girls
West end girls
(how far have you been? )
Girls
East end boys
And west end girls
And west end girls
And west end girls
East end boys
The west end girls
The west end boys
And west end girls
The west end girls
The west end boys
The west end girls
song performed by by Pet Shop Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heart Like A Wheel
Calling up the promised land. johnny sevens coming over
The sea. hes taking your time. when you want to be free.
Holding out a helping hand. are you ready for a real
Career? will you be so cool. when its happening here?
It dont say nothing that I havent heard. if what I hear is
True. you wont keep the law with a broken word. so what
Are you going to do?
Heart like a wheel. turning away from anything thats real.
Heart like a wheel. changing in time. beating colder steel.
Pass the message around the world. the medium is in
Retreat. the power is here. and packing some heat.
Sell your soul to a holy war. set the captive free. we make
No promises anymore. but it isnt fooling me
Heart like a wheel. turning away from anything thats real.
Heart like a wheel. changing in time beating colder steel.
You cant keep the wheels turning anymore. with anger,
Blood and fear. or make any friends with an m16. when
You blast your way through here.
Heart like a wheel. turning away from anything thats real.
Heart like a wheel. changing in time beating colder steel.
Heart like a wheel. turning away from anything thats real.
Heart like a wheel. changing in time beating colder steel.
Heart like a wheel. turning away from anything thats real.
Heart like a wheel. driving the world is going to be a steal.
song performed by by Human League
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sound Of The Crowd
Put your hand in a party wave
Pass around
Make a shroud pulling combs through a backwash frame
Find the copies in a carbon mount
Pass around
Stroke a pocket with a print of a laughing sound
Get around town
Get around town
Where the people look good
Where the music is loud
Get around town
No need to stand proud
Add your voice to the sound of the crowd
The shades from a pencil peer
Pass around
A fold in an eyelid brushed with fear
The lines on a compact guide
Pass around
A hat with alignment worn insde
Get around town
Get around town
Where the people look good
Where the music is loud
Get around town
No need to stand proud
Add your voice to the sound of the crowd
Get in line now
Get in line now
Stay in time with the rhythm and rhyme
Get around town
Get around town
Where the people look good
Where the music is loud
Get around town
No need to stand proud
Add your voice to the sound of the crowd
Get around town
Get around town
Where the people look good
Where the music is loud
Get around town
No need to stand proud
Add your voice to the sound of the crowd
Get around town
Get around town
Where the people look good
Where the music is loud
Get around town
No need to stand proud
Add your voice to the sound of the crowd
song performed by by Human League
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Riding To Town
WHEN labor is light and the morning is fair,
I find it a pleasure beyond all compare
To hitch up my nag and go hurrying down
And take Katie May for a ride into town;
For bumpety-bump goes the wagon,
But tra-la-la-la our lay.
There's joy in a song as we rattle along
In the light of the glorious day.
A coach would be fine, but a spring wagon's good;
My jeans are a match for Kate's gingham and hood;
The hills take us up and the vales take us down,
But what matters that? we are tiding to town,
And bumpety-bump goes the wagon,
But tra-la-la-la sing we.
There's never a care may live in the air
That is filled with the breath of our glee.
And after we've started, there's naught can repress
The thrill of our hearts in their wild happiness;
The heavens may smile or the heavens may frown,
And it's all one to us when we're riding to town.
For bumpety-bump goes the wagon,
But tra-la-la-la we shout,
For our hearts they are clear and there's nothing to fear,
And we've never a pain nor a doubt.
The wagon is weak and the roadway is rough,
And tho' it is long it is not long enough,
For mid all my ecstasies this is the crown
To sit beside Katie and ride into town,
When bumpety-bump goes the wagon,
But tra-la-la-la our song;
And if I had my way, I'd be willing to pay
If the road could be made twice as long.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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A bullock cart from Malacca
Long and winding road
with patches and holes
The holes which sometimes
turned into small ponds,
every time
after a heavy downpour
You can no longer smell the tar
on a hot burning day
The road was too old
even the town council named it
the road to cemetery
A rural town
occupied by
Malay farmers,
rubber tapers
and pensioners
living in kampong
An enormous green paddy field
spreaded in the middle,
next to the road
Sandwiched by villager’s
Meranti wooden Atap houses.
To get to the town
walk your way
cycling
don’t miss the bus
or you have to wait
for another hour to get one
(you can take a pirate taxis that operate in odd hours)
Small streams crossed
at the center of the rice fields
The streams that supplied enough
fresh water fishes
for the villagers to consume
Vegetables are grown
like mushrooms
covering most of front and backyards
Fruits farm aplenty and became
local delights
whenever the season comes
Every house had their well,
as deep as 10 meter
with cold fresh water
being channeled from the nearby hills
The vast green land
were also scattered
with cows, goats, sheeps and buffalos
owned by the villagers.
In the evening
images of small kids
riding on buffalo's back
on the way to their homes
is a typical scene,
which needs to be captured
on films
for nostalgic reasons.
In the misty morning
where dawn had just breakout
villagers throwing
dried corns,
rice to the grounds
hungry poultry
feeds their way through.
School going kids
walked 3 miles to school,
cutting through plantations,
paddy field
for the shorten route.
The sound of azan
(calls for prayers five times a day required by Muslims)
Echoed from the surau and mosque,
could be heard across the village.
To own a vehicle is luxury
Bullock cart (wagon pulled by cows)
Was used in redundant
ferrying firewood,
rice sacks,
for shipment
to the town
sometimes ferrying villagers
to attend weddings
in the neighborhood
or just a bunch of cheerful kids
who like to have a ride
around the kampong.
I remembered
I was having a great time
taking a ride on this bullock cart
owned by grandfather,
going to town
whenever I paid him a visit.
I was 8 years old
Riding the time of my life
Befriended the bulls
Bonded
And sacred
Well, no matter how far I traveled
Having to live in big cities
Like London and New York,
The reminiscent of being part of kampong’s folk
riding the Bullock Cart
will still and forever (which I hope)
stayed remains in my mind
Thanks folks
for the memories.
poem by Sulaiman Mohd Yusof
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Ox Cart Man
In October of the year,
he counts potatoes dug from the brown field,
counting the seed, counting
the cellar's portion out,
and bags the rest on the cart's floor.
He packs wool sheared in April, honey
in combs, linen, leather
tanned from deerhide,
and vinegar in a barrel
hoped by hand at the forge's fire.
He walks by his ox's head, ten days
to Portsmouth Market, and sells potatoes,
and the bag that carried potatoes,
flaxseed, birch brooms, maple sugar, goose
feathers, yarn.
When the cart is empty he sells the cart.
When the cart is sold he sells the ox,
harness and yoke, and walks
home, his pockets heavy
with the year's coin for salt and taxes,
and at home by fire's light in November cold
stitches new harness
for next year's ox in the barn,
and carves the yoke, and saws planks
building the cart again.
poem by Donald Hall
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Mallam Carting.
Daft was thought he says called,
For his naivety struggling carting,
For his blindness,
Made more detention,
Note heart of his depth,
In fishing for best,
Games where wrongly for coins,
Mallam cart pushiness for glory,
Note heart for his depth,
Made calmly for detective,
In given and buying of the silence,
Amorous glorious Mallam cart,
Say say say say,
Daft he was called,
Pleading pleadings for purity,
Help confession Mallam cart pusher,
Games where wrongly for coins,
Survival of fitness aloud,
Here there divinely,
Amorous glorious pusher Mallam cart,
Daft thought he says was called,
For his naivety struggling cart,
For his blindness,
made more detention,
Note heart of his depth,
In fishing for best,
Amorous glorious pusher Mallam cart.
poem by Bunmi Orogun Samuel
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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
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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
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