Best Bussed Poems
“Blindness separates people from things;
deafness separates people from people.”
– Helen Keller
She sat amongst the gathering crowd.
It was her birthday, you see.
The men were bespoke so proud
and the ladies were dressed to a T.
The table was layered in muted hues
and laid with sundry hors d'oeuvres
on a linen cloth of pinks and blues.
She was a bundle of nerves.
They bussed her cheek and spoke
a greeting she didn’t understand.
She smiled and let her words choke
since hearing was not in her command.
They gave her a kiss and a hug
and whispered secrets in her ear.
She’d reply with a smile and a shrug,
masking that she couldn’t hear.
She lost her hearing months ago
and only a few close friends knew.
She hid it the best she could
for her affliction was too new.
She felt isolated, useless, and weak,
not able to hear or converse.
Looks of irritation or pity were bleak
and only made her feel worse.
One incident very funny to me happened one day;
so uncommon and weird was it that I couldn’t say
whether it was a reality, a hallucination or a dream:
I was to attend a mermaid-hosted party in a stream;
with this I was surprised, perplexed and proud,
and shouted aloud for the privilege me allowed.
To get to the meeting venue fast, I booked a flight,
but I arrived at the airport late_ a plight to fight;
I only saw the plane take off_ the flight was missed;
resolute not to miss the meeting, I decided to be bussed.
Actually, I boarded the bus safely and was ready
for the go; the bus roared to life and moved with speed steady;
all of a sudden, we came to a halt in the middle of nowhere;
back to status quo! I won’t retire till I acquire what I desire!
I thought of going by train, but it was too slow;
then I made up my mind that I’d in a boat go;
unfortunately, the boat capsised! We were saved
by sheer luck; I must get to where my mind craved.
Having used all the available transport media
and I remained in my progressless position earlier;
I made the funniest ever possible decision:
to go on foot_trekking_was the decision.
Even with this I wasn’t successful_
evil forces wanted not my success full;
as I was planning to start going,
my legs failed me_they ceased working!
I, in this confused state of mind, slept off;
when I woke up, I saw a letter-like stuff;
‘Come you must against all odds,’ said the fairy letter;
‘What next?’ Annoyed, I shouted and tore the letter.
An early Christmas message for you all...
******
Fir trees droop and brightly glisten,
street lamps cast their glow, and listen!
sounds of singing drifting lightly
o'er the air, as children sprightly
fashion snowmen, fat and jolly,
wrapped in scarves and sprigs of holly;
horse-drawn coaches softly clip-clop
down the road and past the grog shop,
revellers in gay abandon,
merry-making to distraction.
Wind-bussed faces pressed to windows,
Christmas gifts in festive red bows
all regale this night of wonder,
misery is cast asunder!
An early Christmas message for you all...
******
Fir trees droop and brightly glisten,
street lamps cast their glow, and listen!
sounds of singing drifting lightly
o'er the air, as children sprightly
fashion snowmen, fat and jolly,
wrapped in scarves and sprigs of holly;
horse-drawn coaches softly clip-clop
down the road and past the grog shop,
revelers in gay abandon,
merry-making to distraction.
Wind-bussed faces pressed to windows,
Christmas gifts in festive red bows
all regale this night of wonder,
misery is cast asunder!
The Super Rich- Get Rich Quick Scheme
It's a joke and we've bought it
hook, line, and sinker
'cause we do not take the time
to be a more diligent thinker.
Illegals off the boat
not allowed to vote
illegals bussed with tote
go for demoncracktozy
though, not allowed to vote
But they did
and it's horrid
no more middle-class
is the goal of those who
ride and rob the donkey-dole'
cause those in power now
are just too zealous
these new masters
you have chosen to obey
now will tell us what to do
morn, noon, night, and day
read your Marxist manual
those hidden agenda letters
and you will see the thoughts
of raging Rahm Emmanuel
now we'll all be worse off
and not really any better
to tax the rich means to tax the poor
the rich strangled with more tax
means you are out the door.
it's a joke and we've bought it
hook, line, and sinker
'cause we do not take the time
to be a diligent thinker.
In 1991 the Clintons preached
the same ole spiel
then , so did B. Hussein Obama
they often use the same ole tricks
'cause it creates pompous drama
They know what works they use it well
just like Satan who'll burn in Hell
They've tricked and lied to us again
and mock us for our ignorance
Who let the dogs out ? Who? Who?
we will go into such captivity
as we lose tons of liberty
The elite in power think we suck
now you know ,you ought to duck
We chose the idols that we will serve
and whatever happens is what we deserve.
Fiery darts aimed at the masses
which we would have known
too bad we chose rose colored-glasses
so true to inquire of Our History
which must not remain a mystery
let us inspect from head to toe
just like that Plumber we call Joe
all the issues that are at hand
so that we can retain our liberty
a gift in Our God's Holy Land.
Say good-bye to that pie in the sky
for only the super-rich will have it
wait and watch and you will see
what has happened to your Country.
Got Any Ideas For A Poem?
Ha! That catch phrase
(kid ding lee writ)
hoop fully goat yar attention
truth be told, (no...no...
no...not by me
boat some tee else of course)
mine min (yute) yen
for light banter i.e. badinage,
(this horny toad juiced ribbing...
frog git about it), yea,
I know that punning
while keying (NOT SAFE),
sometimes dill lutes
ma serious pickling attempt ren
doors an unsuspecting reader
(bajillion times out of zero) pen
ultimately probably discourages,
an increased virtual fanbase,
rectified by the following asinine
non-sequitur (a come men
dib bull double
entendre) totally tubularly
barbed with Freudian
slip age, that ken
figuratively grab immediate
interest of hen
pecked recipients (with pock marks
to prove such assertion)
might strongly concur even
without being aware how
psychoanalysis willy thrust
significance of phallus
in everyday affairs,
particularly how peppy
(even after applying
WD-40) can rust
and/or atrophy as if cell bait,
hence thee dick cree,
that intercourse a must
(as told by this husband
in a sexless marriage
as a result, I might
join a convent) as a lust
result, either that or
go set me a
watch woman as mistress
tubby integrated within
my private life
even if one
needs tubby bussed
from the outer limits of the
sterling twilight
zona pellucida ideally,
where love of c**t tree and
priapism maketh sea men go bust!
Tonight, my soul, be still and sleep;
The storms are raging on God’s deep—
God’s deep, not yours; be still and sleep.
Charles H. Spurgeon
(Streams in the Desert)
DAY OF DELIVERABLES
italian sausage with banana
peppers in a sesame seed bun.
earlier donuts,
as J Christopher’s served
plenteous tables, needing
to be bussed — no sense
fussing over customers,
waiting on me and him.
you would have given us
the day having not enough
hands to deliver the stuff.
life is rough, post-pandemic.
we will stir our coffee again
in your establishment, reputable,
but for now our brunch grab
is a half-dozen, craved, cream-
filled, and fried, chocolate covered
and glazed. my eyes. i scramble us
up some cheesy-eggs so we don’t
just fall asleep as the world calls
to memory our dead - quite likely
the reason we live. books leak
into my eyes, lips, ears — gears
turning with a one day panacea
of someone else’s lives. the other
hand free to stress over the internet
that doesn’t allow for catch up
of files. day spent riled, filled,
and not alone nor in stacks. stack
that all up to life on earth. angels
watch my ups and downs.
that is my teeth crunching, gritting,
sounding out words from Coopers’
Muskrat Castle on Glimmerglass,
and a couple chapters of Sawyer’s
Sinking Sand, with a hopeful side
of Cowman’s May 31st reading.
flipping pages, not pancakes,
nor my wig — ruminating about
many things: my mother…
6/1/2021
Books mentioned:
The Deerslayer by James Fenimore Cooper
Sinking Sand by Kim Vogel Sawyer
Streams in the Desert by L.B. Cowman
You Do Not Like
When you find a feeling that is uncanny
Do you think manic depressive sanity
May seem so tried and also very tried
While your mouth will be open wide.
So you see I am somewhat surmising
If you should see something surprising
Load mind with ammunition from education
Don't just sit there with much sedation.
Must move on in a matter of speaking
Even if body is reeking and speech is squeaking
Prepare plan and pattern and on level let it be
Sufficient so you can satisfy all curiosity.
Education encourages minds to expand
And profits depend on supply and demand
Either may have been a boom or a bust
Ended up deep in debt and died in disgust.
Maybe you might make it an absolute must
Before students to school they all be bussed
Instead of being greeted with a big groan
Leave at home and they can learn while alone.
So what do you think?
James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran
Wassail
Fir trees droop and brightly glisten,
street lamps cast their glow, and listen!
sounds of singing drifting lightly
o'er the air, as children sprightly
fashion snowmen, fat and jolly,
wrapped in scarves and wreaths of holly;
horse-drawn coaches softly clip-clop
down the road and past the grog shop,
revellers in gay abandon,
merry-making to distraction!
Wind-bussed faces pressed to windows,
Christmas gifts in festive red bows,
All regale this night of wonder,
misery is cast asunder!
Fir trees droop and brightly glisten,
street lamps cast their glow, and listen!
sounds of singing drifting lightly
o'er the air, as children sprightly
fashion snowmen, fat and jolly,
wrapped in scarves and sprigs of holly;
horse-drawn coaches softly clip-clop
down the road and past the grog shop,
revellers in gay abandon,
merry-making to distraction!
Wind-bussed faces pressed to windows,
Christmas gifts in festive red bows,
all regale this night of wonder,
misery is cast asunder!
On the days you're not here
They serve doughnuts,
Laughter punctuates conversations,
People stock and empty shelves,
And fish are caught.
Friends greet and lovers kiss,
Homes are built, tables are bussed,
Children learn geography
And deliveries are made
On the days you're not here.
On the days you're not here
Lawns get mowed,
Cancers will be treated,
Cars are repaired, jets fly
And prayers are said.
Tears stain cheeks and hopes are born,
Dogs will bark, tennis is played,
Mothers hold infants,
And poetry is written, and read
On the days you're not here.
Angel which was saying my boundary's about
Who did pour out this coffee?
In front of,it is a poem"Colonialism",whatever
Discriminatory Pharaoh,women's nails
Softy lips of music,I can feel that
Drop into the wave which asked the rock
All have been only moustache
I recites next dead body's mound
The eyes of a woman which I bussed ,
love's voice,suddendly entered wrong way
This light is document forever exited
Thwelt Di Nwe
Bussed in is what they call it way back when
Busted mouth, broken chin
Where we the reason of everybody’s sin
Can you please just let me in,
Don’t wanna get beaten again .
Doors breaking, my knees a shaken
Don’t know how much more I’ll be taken ,
So I was sent to change the world
Im not a hero , I’m just an little girl
I was told I made them url
Round and Round but not a twirl
Fighting for this equality, what in the world.
Early rising, toddlers sleeping,
got to get them out of bed.
Shake them gently,tired eyes peeping,
dress them quickly, get them fed.
Bags are packed, time is tight,
got to make the airport run.
Catching an early morning flight
for two weeks holiday in the sun.
Check for passports, check for tickets,
check the door locks, check for cash.
Make sure there's no plugs left in sockets,
then off we go for the airport dash.
Eating miles of motorway Tarmac,
slick with morning drizzle, wet.
Children restless, fighting in back,
chant in unison, "Are we there yet?"
Park the car and grab the cases,
wait in the drizzle for the bus.
Stand in line with miserable faces,
next year it's Meet & Greet for us!
At the airport find the check-in,
passports all in order, great!
At security wind my neck in,
temper fraying with the wait.
Then we're bussed out to the runway,
budget airlines make me seethe.
Up the steps and down the gangway,
find my seat, sit down, then - breathe!
(To be sang to the tune of ‘Circle Of Life’ from ‘The Lion King’)
At the age of twelve in the school,
A merger of two high schools.
Teachers bussed between two buildings,
Students learning on two sites.
After eight weeks, portacabins added,
Everyone now on one site.
Making new friends.
Moved to the new building,
At the age of fifteen – a big change.
It’s the end of an era,
And the start of a new.
Learning our way,
Around the new school
‘Til we find our class,
In the new building.
It’s the end,
It’s the end of an era.
It’s the end of an era,
And the start of a new.
Learning our way,
Around the new school
‘Til we find our class,
In the new building.
It’s the end,
It’s the end of an era.
‘Til we find our class,
In the new building.
It’s the end,
It’s the end of an era.
End of an era!!
04/10/21