Famous Bus Poems by Famous Poets
These are examples of famous Bus poems written by some of the greatest and most-well-known modern and classical poets. PoetrySoup is a great educational poetry resource of famous bus poems. These examples illustrate what a famous bus poem looks like and its form, scheme, or style (where appropriate).
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...And see,
The people on the street look up at us
All envious. We are a king and queen,
Our royal carriage is a motor bus,
We watch our subjects with a haughty joy. . . .
How still you are! Have you been hard at work
And are you tired to-night? It is so long
Since I have seen you -- four whole days, I think.
My heart is crowded full of foolish thoughts
Like early flowers in an April meadow,
And I must give them to you, all of them,
Before they fade. ...Read more of this...
by
Teasdale, Sara
...r>
13
With every car alarm
I hear the air raid
Siren’s song, Waterloo Road’s
Bomb hole big enough to hold
A bus that could not stop;
Maurice the butcher gave a
Crayoning book I filled in
Until the All Clear went;
I spent a childhood on
The spaces of Red Riding
Hood’s cloak and the gap
Between the Wolf’s teeth
I crayoned in with crimson.
14
Ellerby Lane School stood
At the hill top, over the
Hollows, its onion dome and
Green railings grieved ...Read more of this...
by
Tebb, Barry
...goes into real estate
and makes a pile.
From homogenized to martinis at lunch.
Or the charwoman
who is on the bus when it cracks up
and collects enough from the insurance.
From mops to Bonwit Teller.
That story.
Once
the wife of a rich man was on her deathbed
and she said to her daughter Cinderella:
Be devout. Be good. Then I will smile
down from heaven in the seam of a cloud.
The man took another wife who had
two daughters, pretty enough
bu...Read more of this...
by
Sexton, Anne
...lay
How divers men young, strong, fair, wise, can act--
Is this as though I acted? if I paint,
Carve the young Ph{oe}bus, am I therefore young?
Methinks I'm older that I bowed myself
The many years of pain that taught me art!
Indeed, to know is something, and to prove
How all this beauty might be enjoyed, is more:
But, knowing nought, to enjoy is something too.
Yon rower, with the moulded muscles there,
Lowering the sail, is nearer it than I.
I can write lo...Read more of this...
by
Browning, Robert
...llow as a hill of daffodils,
yellow as dandelions by the highway,
yellow as butter and egg yolks,
yellow as a school bus stopping you,
yellow as a slicker in a downpour.
Here is my bouquet, here is a sing
song of all the things you make
me think of, here is oblique
praise for the height and depth
of you and the width too.
Here is my box of new crayons at your feet.
Green as mint jelly, green
as a frog on a lily pad twanging,
the green of cos lettuce...Read more of this...
by
Piercy, Marge
...1 Sometime now past in the Autumnal Tide,
2 When Ph{oe}bus wanted but one hour to bed,
3 The trees all richly clad, yet void of pride,
4 Were gilded o're by his rich golden head.
5 Their leaves and fruits seem'd painted but was true
6 Of green, of red, of yellow, mixed hew,
7 Rapt were my senses at this delectable view.
2
8 I wist not what to wish, yet sure thought I,
9 If so much excellence abide be...Read more of this...
by
Bradstreet, Anne
...There are sketches on the walls of men and women and ducks,
and outside a large green bus swerves through traffic like
insanity sprung from a waving line; Turgenev, Turgenev,
says the radio, and Jane Austin, Jane Austin, too.
"I am going to do her portrait on the 28th, while you are
at work."
He is just this edge of fat and he walks constantly, he
fritters; they have him; they are eating him hollow like
a webbed fly, and his eyes are...Read more of this...
by
Bukowski, Charles
...each other's tendons in knots,
transplanting their lives into the bed.
It doesn't matter if there are wars,
the business of life continues
unless you're the one that gets it.
Mama, they say, as their intestines
leak out. Even without wars
life is dangerous.
Boats spring leaks.
Cigarettes explode.
The snow could be radioactive.
Cancer could ooze out of the radio.
Who knows?
Ms. Dog stands on the shore
and the sea keeps rocking...Read more of this...
by
Sexton, Anne
...ity, nor the poverty
of our lives, irritable baggage clerks,
nor the millions of weeping relatives surrounding the
buses waving goodbye,
nor other millions of the poor rushing around from
city to city to see their loved ones,
nor an indian dead with fright talking to a huge cop
by the Coke machine,
nor this trembling old lady with a cane taking the last
trip of her life,
nor the red-capped cynical porter collecting his quar-
ters and smiling over the smashed ...Read more of this...
by
Ginsberg, Allen
...in Africa, on Saranghetti's Plain',
'Pray, where is the nearest station where I can catch a train?'.
He caught the bus to Finchley and then to Mincing lane,
And over the Embankment, where he got lost, again.
The police they put him in a cell, but it was far too small,
So they tied him to a lampost and he slept against the wall.
But as the policemen lay sleeping by the twinkling light of dawn,
The lampost and the wall were there, but the elephant was gone!
So if...Read more of this...
by
Milligan, Spike
...come from
White and colored
Can't sit side by side.
Down South on the train
There's a Jim Crow car.
On the bus we're put in the back--
But there ain't no back
To a merry-go-round!
Where's the horse
For a kid that's black?...Read more of this...
by
Hughes, Langston
...Spring wafts up the smell of bus exhaust, of bread
and fried potatoes, tips green on the branches,
repeats old news: arrogance, ignorance, war.
A cinder-block wall shared by two houses
is new rubble. On one side was a kitchen
sink and a cupboard, on the other was
a bed, a bookshelf, three framed photographs.
Glass is shattered across the photographs;
two half-circles of har...Read more of this...
by
Hacker, Marilyn
...innocent children
riding the cable cars.
FOOTNOTE CHAPTER TO
"RED LIP"
Living in the California bush we had no garbage service. Our
garbage was never greeted in the early morning by a man
with a big smile on his face and a kind word or two. We
couldn't burn any of the garbage because it was the dry seas-
on and everything was ready to catch on fire anyway, includ-
ing ourselves. The garbage was a problem for a little while
and then we...Read more of this...
by
Brautigan, Richard
...promised us eternity, but the lake itself was filled with
thousands of silly minnows, swimming close to the shore
and busy putting in hours of Mack Sennett time.
The minnows were an Idaho tourist attraction. They
should have been made into a National Monument. Swimming
close to shore, like children they believed in their own im-
mortality .
A third-year student in engineering at the University of
Montana attempted to catch some of the minnows but he ...Read more of this...
by
Brautigan, Richard
...it stopped one day without my having to do
anything serious like grow up. We packed our stuff and left
town on a bus. That was Great Falls, Montana. You say the
Missouri River is still there?"
"Yes, but it doesn't look like Deanna Durbin, " Trout Fish-
ing in America said. "I remember the day Lewis discovered
the falls. They left their camp at sunrise and a few hours
later they came upon a beautiful plain and on the plain were
more buffalo than t...Read more of this...
by
Brautigan, Richard
...ur hair was shoulder length, wild when
The wind picked up and the shadows of
This loneliness gripped loose dirt. By bus or car,
By the sway of train over a long bridge,
We wanted to get out. The years froze
As we sat on the bank. Our eyes followed the water,
White-tipped but dark underneath, racing out of town....Read more of this...
by
Soto, Gary
...ouses
and neat, clapboard churches,
bleached, ridged as clamshells,
past twin silver birches,
through late afternoon
a bus journeys west,
the windshield flashing pink,
pink glancing off of metal,
brushing the dented flank
of blue, beat-up enamel;
down hollows, up rises,
and waits, patient, while
a lone traveller gives
kisses and embraces
to seven relatives
and a collie supervises.
Goodbye to the elms,
to the farm, to the dog.
The bus starts. The light
grows ric...Read more of this...
by
Bishop, Elizabeth
...d determined to show him.
Three hours passed in as many minutes and then the crowds
Disappeared to catch the last bus home. The young aren’t
As black as they are painted, one I danced with reminded me
Of how Margaret would have been at sixteen
With straw gold hair Yeats would have immortalised.
People seemed to guess I was haunted by an inner demon
I’d tried to leave in the raftered lofts of City Square
But failed to. Girls from sixteen to twenty six ...Read more of this...
by
Tebb, Barry
...P can, the cleared weeds
on top of dad's dead daffodils, then go,
with not one glance behind, away from Leeds.
The bus to the station's still the No. 1
but goes by routes that I don't recognise.
I look out for known landmarks as the sun
reddens the swabs of cloud in darkening skies.
Home, home, home, to my woman as the red
darkens from a fresh blood to a dried.
Home, home to my woman, home to bed
where opposites seem sometimes unified.
A pensioner i...Read more of this...
by
Harrison, Tony
...fish won't bite?
Whatif the wind tears up my kite?
Whatif they start a war?
Whatif my parents get divorced?
Whatif the bus is late?
Whatif my teeth don't grow in straight?
Whatif I tear my pants?
Whatif I never learn to dance?
Everything seems well, and then
the nighttime Whatifs strike again!...Read more of this...
by
Silverstein, Shel
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