Best Bus Poems
Finally it’s time to go,
All day I’ve pushed peddles with my feet,
I’ll hurry to the bus stop,
Being sure to get a good seat.
There, a chance to rest,
Home, I’m on my way,
Only to get up tomorrow,
And put in another day.
Photos, questions and fingerprints,
Did I commit a crime?
I distinctly remembered when I boarded,
Dropping in my dime.
Why give up my seat?
After working hard all day,
I thought the fare was the same for all,
Is there more I have to pay?
Don’t they know how hard I’ve worked?
To get this seat I had to rush,
Now you’re going to tell me,
Move to the back of the bus.
Wait, I pay my taxes,
Even go to church and pray,
They do not have the right,
To treat Rosa Parks this way.
I never wanted to start a movement,
Just have a seat on the bus,
Being treated fairly as an American,
Why is everyone making such a fuss?
My name is known throughout the world,
In history books here and there,
It really didn’t have to be me you know,
Just anyone who paid their fare.
Almost 50 years later,
An Icon is my name,
I’d gladly do it all again,
Circumstances being the same,
Heaven is my final journey,
Can’t wait till I get there,
Knowing I’m going to enjoy the ride,
I’ve already paid my fare.
yellow bus roars through
blood leaves assail the stop sign..
geese traffic honk south
a bus stop
with a shelter
remote and
standing tall
surrounded by
bleak countryside
where no one
lives at all.
does anyone
get off here?
just who
the heck gets on?
where does the bus
that stops here go
and where does it
come from?
Public transpo buses are a poor man's taxicab,
but you can't hail a ride when you need one
You must sit and wait on a wooden street slab
Buses are municipal elephants
that move on asphalt trails
If one arrives on schedule, then all is well
Drop the money into the pay slot,
and get taken to that menial job you got
But marginal income don't motivate you a lot
Yet, be glad you're one of the fortunate few
that has a cool bus driver who loves to skirt the rules
He will tell you to call him Zeke
Not mister, not sir
Just Zeke
Thirty years, he says he's been
on the urban safari beat
Says he's seen it all
on the jungle concrete streets
Zeke loves to laugh a lot,
he loves to give out friendly hellos
And Zeke really loves helping
the disabled and old widows
Next time you're in his city,
take a chance and ride poor
If you meet Zeke, you'll be richer for sure
AT THE BUS DEPOT
Faces and suitcases with little rumbling wheels.
The seat is hard and littered with yesterday’s paper.
How can these moving actors know how it feels
To be old and no longer a ticketed escaper?
Faces fade past - abandoned at the end of the day,
And suitcases are piled in a corner out of the way,
With little ceremony thrown in the baggage space over the round
Rumbling wheels of each escaping Greyhound.
The seat next to every dark window is filled; and it
Is hard to wave a cheery farewell to a stage unlit,
And littered with unfinished details.
With a regretful breath I recall
Yesterday’s family get-togethers, kids’ parties and noise:
Paper roses, children’s games, plastic toys.
How can these faces care about fault or blame?
Moving to every other city you can name,
Actors waving through windows, waving and no one seems to
Know how to live alone. It’s hard, it’s empty,
It feels like a dream gone bad, the black blues,
To be part of yesterday’s theatre reviews,
Old , unneeded, socially undesirable, unwaveable,
And no longer economically viable, without
A ticketed reason to exist here in the depot.
Escaper no more.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written by Sydney Peck
Entered in Debbie Guzzi’s Contest “Et Cetera”
Each morning of my workweek, I board the E Street Bus
I see familiar faces, there are a lot of us
But if I look closer, I see more than faces
I see a kaleidoscope made up of many races
Two Asians in domestic clothes chat in a dialect
A well dressed man in front of me, is British I detect
Across the aisle, a black man with knitted cap pulled low
Hears music through his ear buds, while weaving to and fro
Several are Caucasian from many walks of life
Teens and kids and elders, a husband and a wife
A dark skinned man looks at me, and judging from his dress
His race is likely Indian, but that is just my guess
As my stop approaches, I look around again
Survey the many colors, the women, kids and men
As I step on the sidewalk, my day not yet unfurled
I'm thankful that the E Street bus let's me touch the world
Bus people really have a lot of time to think:
They are always on
the brink of realizing
what's going on.
Shoulder-to-shouldering
their way along each morning, wishing
they were back in bed, finding
they are spiritually dead and
all the while
bumping
to the sounds
of the streets outside.
The darkness ends
gives way to the dimness that descends,
the moor land mist mingles on ceremony
a subdued veil strokes the trees.
Dewy webs glisten
in reams of silver thread,
while rushing waters flee
over rocky beds.
Shadows appear from out of the gloom
the queue just gets longer,
Number 76 to my destination
is running late (Again)!
© Harry J Horsman 2012
As I sit in this house all alone I think to myself where my love has gone, Instead of feeling sorry for me I think of those less fortunate then me. I think about those this Holiday season who have lost loves ones for no reason, I read this story just the other day about a women passing a school bus while three children were crossing her way.
She hit those children and all three had died two boys and a girl going home to play, they were all three related so I have no idea how there parents must feel. This was right before Halloween so they were dressed in their costumes that day ready to trick or treat the next day.
I ask myself this one thing how can I feel sorry for me, there are so many others out there worse off then me. So if you ever start to feel sad or blue think of these two people who have lost more then you. They lost three children right before Christmas their hearts must be broken beyond repair.
Sponsor: Dear Heart
Date: 11/26/2018
Name of Contest: A Sad Christmas
Judged N/A
It's one of the plus's of living in Scotland
if you are over the 60 plus age band
travel is free from John O'Groats to Dumfries
giving one the opportunity having a free hand
In a land like Scotland full of great scenery
rugged mountainside and lochs so deep
surrounded by oceans east and west
the Atlantic and the North Sea are a mighty leap
So, my favourite trips are to Inverness and Perth
also love Dunfermline, Andrew Carnegie's town
Edinburgh the capital with its wonderful castle
many lovely places in the borders to be found
Being brought up in the county of Ayrshire
I love to go back and walk Irvine's beach
also back to Kilmarnock bring the memories back
there my home town kept me on the right track
So the buses with its many numbers
taking us over 60s far and near
deckers single and double all for free
blessed trips always forever in top gear
The bus stop says its out of use this week
Men are digging up the road again
I never knew that modern bus stops speak
I wonder will the street lamps follow suit
Their voices like the chiming of Bog Ben
The bus stop says its out of use this week
Maybe I can find another route
Will railway stations stutter like shy men?
I never knew that modern bus stops speak
How to travel ,hearing voices break
Pity and compassion hit my pen
The bus stop says its out of use this week
I fear my travel plans have gone astray
The journey I am on will never end
Did you know that modern bus stops speak?
From the dark grey sky the rain descends
Evolution staggers round the bends
The bus stop says it's out of use this week
I never knew that modern bus stops speak
Hey..' You..Are you heading to the bus stop? Well yes..Oh
Good.' Well i don't mean really good though..' why not? You mean
You have not heard.?? Heard what.? Well theres going to be
A plane coming to your bus stop.!! Are you sure.?? Oh yes..
And if you don't have the right ticket..' Well you won't be
Able to board.' And whats more you need different clothes.'
I do ? Well of course you will.' And so will all the other people.' Why?? Well because the plane needs to be able to
See you.' Oh..' yes you need to have really 'bright clothes you see! Like what.? (Like these!) Here are some bright yellow
Pants they go with a pink jacket and a bright blue hat.' Why
Do i need to have those.? Well so the plane can see you all
(Or you may all get killed) hey why can't we just have a bus.?
You can't..!! Thats it..The plane is coming so you just have
To be ready..By the way what sort of plane is it? I don't
Know.! I just know its big and dangerous and you need these clothes.!! How many people does the plane hold? I'm
Afraid I don't really know.! Oh..Does it belong to a particular
Firm I don't know.' Why don't you know? Because its only
Being built now.' Well how is it going to get here? It just is
Ok!! But can it land at the bus stop? Yes it can land anywhere.' Oh..As a matter of fact it might land on the
Canal..' But you'll still need to board.' Yes I know but how do
I get over the water? Thats ok ( i have this inflatable boat
Here!) I don't know? Is it seaworthy even? Of course..Its just crossed the English channel ' now would i sell you it
If it was not safe and effective? But.?? Look.!! i am a busy
Person and this is a fast paced situation.' My those clothes
Do have a certain flair.' They are a bit uncomfortable..Well
Thats not the point.' They have to be viynal so they can be
Washed..' Oh and when is the plane arriving? I told you I don't know..Now tuck the boat under your arm and you
Are going to be ready..Toodle loo.)
The endless, gray-smudged window
of this bus seat where the rain streaks down and blurs
the passing world into a watercolor of passing cars
and muted neon signs, and I can’t help but feel a strange
kind of peace in this temporary suspended motion,
this observation booth where the world outside
continues without me and the only constant is the
rhythmic swish of the wipers and the humming of the
engine that seems to cradle me in its vibrating heart as
the city lights smear and run, becoming something else
entirely, a long, liquid memory that pools and spreads
across the dirty glass, and I wonder what the
passengers on the behind side of the bus are doing, if
they are looking out their own windows at this same
downpour, or if they are inside, warm and dry, with a
different kind of day unfolding for them, a day filled with
sunlight and clear, crisp air and the sound of birds that I
can’t hear right now, only the low, deep hum of the bus
and the soft hiss of the brakes as it pulls up to the next
stop, where the rain is already beginning to pool on the
cracked and broken sidewalk, and a lone figure stands
under an umbrella, a dark silhouette against the watery
light, and I can only watch them from this distance, this
glass-encased world that moves through the larger, wet
world, and I am a part of both and neither, just another
face reflected in the window, waiting for the next stop,
the next blurry landmark, the next moment to disappear
and with backup who is wide-eyed and all peppered up
and looks just raring to go until you look at me wonderin'
who must be that poor excuse of a guy into the passing
stream of the night just before my stop b winter starts.
I was going to add a long remix track to a playlist,
A playlist called ‘Waitin For the Bus in the Dark’,
But waitin for the bus in the dark is as tedious as it is -
Making a remix tedious alongside it wouldn’t make sense.
The remix is exciting now -
Anticipating excitement knocking on my eardrums as I wonder how the tune will change.
But next time,
If I play it too soon,
I’ll know.
I’ll just know.
Knowing keeps listening from being curious,
And makes it here we go again.
But “here we go again” are lyrics in an excellent song -
1973 by James Blunt.
Maybe I could add that with the remix to the playlist
And never know which will play first.
Maybe I could add so many songs
That twill be one unmemorable remix
That won’t all play in the time I’m waiting for the bus,
One unmemorable remix that Spotify can shuffle out of order.
The bus I’m waiting for now is too long away
To make it to my trans support group before it ends,
So I’ll make my way home
And bump into an old friend
Who must have started to find me tedious
Or forgotten about me,
Like a song on shuffle that barely plays,
Forgotten how good it is.
They all got on my bus
The old folk had a night out
The cinema it would be
50 shades of grey
Going to see
50 shades of grey