Best Bus Driver Poems
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
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.
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
Driving his bus on that fateful day along this long driven route
Down a busy street he made his way his horn barely a toot
People coming and people going all at such a hectic pace
But the ability he was showing in placing a name to every face
Yet as I had said before this day would be unique
For what was at this drivers core left many unable to speak
Many were just looking around trying to process what they saw
But it was that which they found that really made that chilly day thaw
As along his way he saw a sight that touched his humble heart
Now stopped at the light he seen his chance to do his little part
Putting on the emergency brake and heading out the door
Suddenly people began to wake in the wondering of what for
And there across the street was a man walking with no shoes
He shook his hand to greet saying "hey I got some good news
I want you to have these for you need them more than I"
The homeless man agrees shaking his hand and waving good bye
Running quickly back to his bus his socks soaking up the rain
He didn't even make a fuss and got right back into lane
Nobody knew what to do or even what they should say
But everybody knew we saw something very special that day
Winnipeg bus driver Kris Doubledee
Dedicated to my Father, Joseph
Thank You Dad!
Will you ride with me on this bus?
I promise the trip is in no rush
For the driver is careful and gentle
He will forbid danger to meddle
Will you ride with me on this bus?
Comforting and void of all the fuss
Guaranteed seat for you to take
Well designed for passenger's sake
Take a ride with me now on this bus
In a condition you can't make a refund
For the fare is free for all destinations
Welcome to people of every nation
Ride with me now on this bus
Take my word, we are in good hands
For the One above is our careful driver
Driving our lives so we may not suffer
I always enjoy at 4:15 PM
No matter where I’ve been
In my house
Backyard living room kitchen
The beep beep of the yellow school bus driver
As he rolls away through the neighborhood
With all those kids skipping jumping
And running home to be happy
The driver’s gentle toot toot reassuring them
The world’s still kind
How he makes the beep beep
Sound silly and muffled
I do not know
But it’s quite a skill
I think
To find the will
And the time to make
That little gesture
What a difference maker
A pat on the back that lasts a lifetime
Not only for all those wondrous kids
But for all the broken pain-filled people
Sad in their homes like you and me
Looking for a lift just once a day
From a yellow school bus driver
Waving and saying It’s all ok
See you tomorrow.
Waving to the bus driver
Coming on the bus. Door closing.
Journey. To my workplace. Get off.
I say thank you, and I wave to the driver
From the bottom of my heart
The driver waves back
The smile of driver is honest
Beautiful
This daily moment
Warm, cornflower blue September skies,
Chase away end of summer
Escorting in the beginning of
Unruffled, cool, wet, autumn
Shortening the days.
Days of exhausting work
From dusk until dawn
Bring a successful abundant harvest
As summer closes.
Touch of living gaze and jump into
An intricate maze of crescendo color,
Flickering in a tangled blaze
Of whispering filigreed leaves.
Mother Nature's natural unspoiled
Watercolor weft tapestry.
The air creeps along
Filled with tickled laughter
Bring shedding leaves down
Onto the ground cover.
Rainy, and sunny filled days
Raise a gentle favouring breeze
Journey under gray and orange skies.
Nature's essence,
Of harmony and rhythm
A soul of perfection beneath
Shadowed shade and sigh
The flow of rapture proceeds in joy.
Children go back to school
On the big yellow bus
Driving the bus driver crazy.
8/29/2019
On many a workday morning,
I sit at my kitchen table and
watch the BIRDS lite on electric
lines, or listen to their sweet
chirps from the treetops.
I watch the SUN rising over the
horizon, and in early Fall, I observe
the green FIELDS of harvest slowly
yielding their bounty. Left behind after
a few weeks of sweat and toil is a sea
of brown SOIL prepping for the Spring.
I will often feel the earth rumbling
beneath my feet from a passing TRAIN
rushing her huge and heavy cargo
to markets both North and South.
It won't be long before I'll witness
with joy the MIGRATING BIRDS flying
South to survive the cold of Old Man Winter.
In my own mind, I am overwhelmed by the sheer
commonality of all the above. Indeed, they are all
so very faithful in executing their God-given task.
Moreover, presently, I am most impressed and find
myself musing over the faithfulness of a person behind
the wheels of a big yellow bus with bright and flashing
lights. She's a SCHOOL BUS DRIVER who with great
dedication, passes my home every school-day morning
at 7 AM. I tell you; her punctuality inspires me.
And her employer should be proud of her.
My wife was once a school bus driver
Brave lady she's still in therapy, a survivor
It's quite a sad tale
At times gets derailed
Aims at kiddies with words I can't decipher
The bus driver and a rowing boat
I remember a song “A slow boat to China”
There was a man a bus driver who took his wife on holiday to Spain
where his wife ran away with a shepherd
The bus driver went home alone but had the house which exploded
(a gas leak) when he sat on the loo; he was unharmed but somewhat
embarrassed. When the insurance money, came he bought a rowing boat
which had a mast and he could set sail when the wind was right.
He landed in Falmouth before the winter storms.
When spring came he rowed and sailed to the island of Neves where
he met John Cleeve, who wrote a funny article about the brave man
and suddenly the bus driver was famous.
The rich people in Neve gave him money which put in a bank
(there are so many banks) when he went to the bank to draw
out money for an ice-cream, he found he was a millionaire.
High finance is a mystery and something had gone wrong
not for him to ask questions, but he did transfer the money
to a Swiss bank and took the first plane back to Europe.
The bus driver is now a prosperous cattle farmer in Andalusia.
Hey, you could be a bus driver!
And do you have nerves of steel?
Can you drive while people scream?
Are you awake at five?
Do children mind you?
Do you love kids?
Hooray!
Driver
Bus
The prettiest thing I’ve seen today
Is often there a rare display
The shinning star in her constellation
That moves about insighting sensation
Like music to the ears
A treasure to the eyes
What the tongue calls sweet
A smile labeled compleat
Desire driven by the shape of the eyes
The hour glass figure is no surprise
Cheeks with dimples that paralyze
Hair tamed by curls supplied
The length of which says satisfied
How precious this feeling of being hugged
With eyes embracing the pinnacle of love
The momentary destination
Of heaven from above
The meaning of pleasure
Satisfaction without measure
In the morning they file out of it all crisp, clean, neat, voiceless.
Dressed in plaid uniforms, white socks, a variety of jazzy shoes, not speaking.
Hair fixed in a variety of “look at me” ways, with yarn, bows, beads and boxes.
Okay, I was kidding.
No one speaking.
In the afternoon as they leave the school, their voices have opened up.
They are like flowers whose petals were pulled off, thorny, loud,
The bus windows are pushed down with slams.
We teachers can hear them screaming, shrieking, laughing,
They holler at us from the bus. “Hey Mrs. K!” “Hey Mrs. A!” “Hey Mrs. Z!”
Their hair is askew, the adornments long gone.
They are on their way home, crazily happy, excited, and loud.
Headed to their video games.
In the meantime, we send prayers to the bus driver.
Keep your eyes on the road, and your hands on the wheel
And please tell your dispatcher, if ills how you feel
You don't want to take chances, with kids on your bus
Their lives are in your hands, it's you that they trust
To all the young children, you must always be kind
And most days will go pleasant, if you keep that in mind