Best Greyhound Poems
She passes the place
where I sit some mornings,
her slow, sure gait pads
a gentle elegance across
the grass carrying
just a hint of indifference.
Retired from racing,
she has been adopted out.
She seems contained within
herself, ignoring the yappy terrier
and the playful retriever
that bounds towards her
on her right, not shifting
her gaze as if transfixed
on some vision
she holds in her head.
Nothing of the morning
disturbs her meditations.
I often wonder whether
she is playing out a trauma
that has lodged in her memory
or can't fit the past and present
together into some reconcilable
whole or her aloofness
is just the nature of the breed
and the interpretation
of her manner
has more to do with me.
There is a solitude in her
that I cannot fathom and troubles
me. Sometimes I feel
like bending down
and putting my arms around
her lovely neck but a reticence
holds me back as we both
go our separate ways,
each with our own solitude
held locked within.
Categories:
greyhound, dog, morning, solitude,
Form:
Free verse
There are times
when I long to move
beyond the edges of myself
as when, this morning, alongside
the power station fence,
I passed under a red cloud
of bottlebrush flowers
dripping nectar in a frenzy
of birds feeding on the sticky
clusters overhead,
too high for me to reach
and plunge my hand
deep into the pure joy
of that crimson feast.
And when a greyhound,
let loose from its leash,
ran past me with such speed
and grace, I longed to be
its stride, the power propelling
it across the grass
and into the distance, turning
in the wide arc
of its own happiness.
I would have given anything
to dissolve into its bounding
freedom, undone from my leash
of old age and the slow shuffle
of aching feet.
There are times
when I long to move
beyond the edges of myself,
if only for a moment.
Categories:
greyhound, bird, dog, joy, self,
Form:
Free verse
It’s three am and I need to pee, feeling thirsty
My water bowl is empty and it’s getting warm in here
My crate is barren, the cement is cold on my legs
I hear my brothers and sisters cry, they are next door
I hear the door open, my masters are yelling, scaring me
My crate is opened, they shove me out, I pee a little
I get hit with a belt and screamed at, I head to the track
I finally drink but my stomach is raw, gurgling with gas
I am given some white substance, then a small treat
I am pulled to the lineup, I hate the sound of the horn
I see the white fluffy bone, or is it a bunny?
I run, run as fast as I can, my brother trips me, I fall behind
My leg and foot are bleeding, I cry out but no one helps
I am then taken to a field, I feel scared, alone, starving
It is quiet, until I hear a loud bang, something hits me
I wake up at peace chasing butterflies and seeing rainbows
Categories:
greyhound, abuse, dog,
Form:
Personification
(saw a mistake with a rhyme and just now revised this)
I’m on a Greyhound bus – six hours till dawn
It’s late and dark. I think that I must be
the only passenger whose light is on.
I’ll keep that tiny light trained down on me
because I want to write some poetry!
Are people sleeping on this late night ride?
Perhaps, but I will still keep on my light.
There’s little talking; maybe some folks bide
their time while looking out onto the night.
Not I! I take delight in time to write.
Aug 5, 2019 for Janice Canerdy's English Quintain Poetry Contest
written 8/2/19 after midnight in Iambic Pentameter
Categories:
greyhound, travel,
Form:
Quintain (English)
He's leavin' on a Greyhound Bus
He's done got tired of us
Unmatched socks lie in the drawer
Loose tobacco on the floor
What did he do when he was here
What about him did we endear
Oh! I remember how he held me close
Changes happen that is the way life goes
Now a quick hug and gran I love you
A few moments and he is through
Engrained in my heart and memory
When he was totally dependent on me
Our grandson has a job with a long haul
trucking company..He leaves tomorrow
for ten weeks of schooling and training
on the job...Yeah!! He finally got a job..
Categories:
greyhound, funny,
Form:
Couplet
A long time ago this scene unfolded as I traveled from place to place
As I look back from my values I hold dear today, it's entirely a different race
Every persons walk is unique and holds many a lesson
Some to share openly and others are for confessen
Wake up somewhere in an alley behind a trash dumpster or in a doorway
Depends on your luck the night before if it was foreplay or poorplay
You may have scored a job to load delivery trucks with that smooth Gallo wine
That would net you a cool twenty and slip a bottle in the pocket made you feel just
fine
So when you got off work you had some money
But you didn't spend it on women because white port was your honey
You could rent a room for five dollars a day and buy peanut butter and bread
The rest for some wine or brandy or whiskey maybe a beer and you were totally fed
Now you were confident you likely had some work and pay every day
If you don't get sent out on a job you can sell blood was your ace the other way
Somedays you would switch and work during the day
But your style was no different you needed daily pay
So you worked at the slave market is what the common name is
Always minimun pay and very little quiz
You could have been a bank robber or a serial killer
Made no difference you just wrote on the paper what ever would fill er
No one was ever going to check to see if you had just graduated from Yale
Or had done something real bad and just got out of jail....
So once in a while you just wanted to change locations for no particular reason
Except maybe the biggest if you slept out you preferred a fair season
If it were two in the morning somewhere and you had the shakes
You knew how to locate a doctor down the alley and pay what it takes
So after many bus rides and alleys and stomach fulls and heartaches
I use a different doctor now and he's not in the alley, we play for much higher stakes
Categories:
greyhound, life, upliftingwork, day, work,
Form:
Light Verse
Cowboy boots
and vintage wool psychedelia (poncho, jazz shades)
and cool drip slow burn tea
and electric notes of Bob Dylan, Maggie’s Farm
and that dude, he has meth mouth
so I guess he’s going to talk
and talk and talk
Mestizo soda pop
and a Vietnam Vet. selling car insurance
and damn, it’s just too bad
that no one knows of his jungle
or of the opaque-eyed landlocked Lord of the Fish
and the fire-brained midnight mutterings
of his old compadres, the soon to be deceased
and now the bus moves
Sporadic in gesture
and old woman (oxygen masked dementia)
and the intergalactic fliers of fancy
and the acid head priest’s imbalance in fact v.
fiction with his ass in seat and wheels as feet
and the shivering ribs of this, our noble mode
of ultimate conveyance through the assailing grays
whites and silvers of the snow-water-nebulas
and now the bus slides
and slides and slides
Through Spokane dark
and the disintegration of passengers into sleep
on the black glass highway
through the breath of the night
and this is motion
and this feels right.
Categories:
greyhound, adventure, philosophy, poetry, poets,
Form:
Free verse
I once traveled around the U. S. on a Greyhound bus,
My wife thought I was crazy, but she made little fuss,
It was, by far, the most awesome adventure I ever took
Three changes of clothes, lots of grit, and a puzzle book,
In Atlanta, my small suitcase was temporarily lost
I forced myself into the luggage corral, despite the cost,
I luckily found it before we left for Memphis, and then
Decided I’d never ever check my luggage on the trip again.
A friend met me in Memphis, and I spent the night,
After two days solid on the bus, I suppose I was a sight,
A hot shower and change of clothes, boy, was I set
For the long trip to Phoenix, again, where I was met
By friends I hadn’t seen since my St. Louis days,
I spent the night with them, then went on my way,
Arriving in San Diego, California a day or two later,
I caught a Greyhound going up the west coast, terrific
The most beautiful iconic route along the coastal Pacific.
I stopped off in Oakland to get a night of rest, and
Having no more friends along the way, the land
Up to Spokane was more of the same, but I digress,
For after Oakland I had no good places to undress.
Starting across the northern part of the country
I knew I was beginning to smell a little bit funky.
No one cared to sit beside me, I had plenty of room
I did my best in the stations’ restrooms to groom.
Across Montana, Idaho, and through Dakota, I go
A layover in Minneapolis, then on to Chicago,
Where the time on my ticket summarily expired.
When I approached the desk, they wanted to know
If I was the guy traveling around the country, so,
I told them, yes, and they said go on home “on us,”
So, I headed home to Virginia on the Greyhound bus.
Chicago to Indianapolis to Knoxville, I did my best
When my wife picked me up, I’d finally get some rest.
She had me sit as far away as I could get in the car,
Because I smelled like sardines left in an open jar!
The experiences I had I won’t forget as long as I live
I wouldn’t trade the adventure for anything you’d give
The stories I have to tell are far too many to share,
I’ll just say travel the U.S.A.; if you can, if you dare.
Written December 10, 2022
Categories:
greyhound, adventure, america, places, travel,
Form:
Narrative
I was gifted a little gem; her name is Polka Dots.
She's an English greyhound wench, stands as tall as a park-bench.
She's white, full of black spots, slender stem, and loves apricots.
Her previous owner use to race her, my gut would wrench.
She's an English greyhound wench, stands as tall as a park-bench,
eyes that melt your heart, lies around on my round leather couch.
Her previous owner use to race her, my gut would wrench.
We're both old slouches and once in a while, she becomes a grouch.
Eyes that melt your heart, lies around on my round leather couch;
she's white, full of black spots, slender stem, and loves apricots.
Her previous owner use to race her, my gut would wrench.
I was gifted a little gem her name is Polka Dots.
1/9/2019
Poetry Contest: Polka Dots
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Categories:
greyhound, dog, race,
Form:
Pantoum
small boy at a game kiosk
vending machines that smell stale
separate stairways climbing up
to hombres and mujeres
a ticket vendor chained to his desk
wearing shiny black shoes
below wasted legs
mandatory alcoholic in checked shirt
with faded vomit spots
the homeless sober bearded man
Safeway trolley overflowing
with trash from a lifetime
of buses come and gone
helpline poster for the runaways
twelve to twenty one
if their revolution
is done
a police cruiser
wrapped around
a profusion of cigarette butts
shapely thighs in halogen white
outside
the neighborhood dance club
buses are late
people wait
the clock strikes one
Categories:
greyhound, introspection, life, places,
Form:
Blank verse
An athletic greyhound-bulldog blend
is the pride and the joy of South Bend
Fast and vivacious
Strong and tenacious
At Notre Dame he’s playing tight end
Categories:
greyhound, humor,
Form:
Limerick
I met her in the Greyhound station
On a rainy New England day
From different sides of desperation
We were both trying to run away
I needed to make a fresh, new start
Where my troubled past was still unknown
She was dying from a failing heart
And from her hospital bed she had flown
"I am only nineteen, but won't see twenty
And don't want to die in a hospital bed
The things I haven't done are equal to plenty
And I'd like to live just a little instead"
We talked
We slept
Not a secret was kept
We laughed
We cried
There was nothing to hide
Through cities
Through towns
With corn fields all around
Over rivers
Over hills
Past landscapes with no thrills
She said she had never made love with a man
But knew that her heart couldn't take it
I told her we've made love while crossing this land
You don't have to have sex to make it
Before we finally reached the west coast
She smiled and told me good-bye
She said, "This trip, I'll remember the most"
And sometime that night she died
I got off the bus in the middle of nowhere
As they came to take her body away
I took with me a lock of her hair
And still have it with me today
Categories:
greyhound, friendship, me, love, me,
Form:
Rhyme
Taxied to the terminal. The fare paid,
vagrants begged for alms, some too drunk to care.
Shrunken faces, weather beaten, they played
a sad tune of which I was unaware.
Some had the means, even possessed the fare
to transport them to towns with better care.
I passed the huddled poor, stepped on the bus,
took my seat at a window facing west.
Soon, the highway’s open arms greeted us.
No longer stranger, a solemn house guest.
Believing the ride would force me to test
my endurance, I slept. I’m not a pest.
Vegas came, sponged every cent from my purse.
Should have listened to the driver. He knew
how slots are rigged; still, could’ve been much worse.
Could’ve sold my soul since winners are few.
Back on the bus, we zipped through burgs so new
to me, I ticked them off my map on cue.
Three days passed. Felt like a tree that was felled.
Then I saw my love. So nice to be held.
Urban Sonnet poetry contest: 5/17/19 by Emile Pinet
Categories:
greyhound, adventure, america, city, journey,
Form:
Sonnet
I can contest
Put me to the test
My heart in confess
Honest and true
Greyhound bus in my soul
I am a walking behold
My younger years my start
The Greyhound dog stretched always seen on all sides of the bus always caught my attention
The highway representation
I am a walking Greyhound bus presentation
The Greyhound bus wear
Proud and honored with care
Of course, I always get a stare
That is no more than fair
The Go is within me
The Greyhound bus I want people to see
No secret no regret
Thinking of the hound, I cherish the engine sound
Accelerate as I appreciate
The Greyhound bus in me today, I will continue all the way.
Categories:
greyhound, adventure, appreciation, beautiful, blue,
Form:
Free verse
On Interstate 5 In A Greyhound Bus
mother pauline boards the big greyhound double decker
her freckled son goes before her wearing a cub scout cap
hurry up she says as they climb the stairs to the upper deck
the bus driver tips his cap and starts the greyhound engine
mother pauline tells the little boy they are going to redding
she gives him a batman comic book and a box of milk duds
nighttime is coming as stout pauline flips on the ceiling lamp
euthanizing elevator music seeps from an overhead speaker
jodi sands sings ‘kiss by kiss’ as the bus driver grips the wheel
the double decker dashes down alameda with taillights on fire
flashing by foggy neon cocktail dives drinking in the darkness
rushing now on life’s dream highway like an insane eel dancing
now rushing at 65 mph they ride on interstate 5’s scarred back
freckled boy tiredly yawns and lies upon the soft lap of pauline
tired mother peers out the window and sees the fast blur of life
she focuses her sight and sees her mountain of love sleeping
an hour of fast driving leads to closed eyes and driveling yawns
old men snore in the back as erect streetlights pass by unseen
mother pauline thinks of husband fred back home being alone
she wonders if fred misses her as much as she now misses him
wonders if he’s snoring in bed right now as loud as the old men
soon she will be in redding to find a house and to scout the town
soon the sun will rise when the yuba street bus depot is reached
freckled boy continues to sleep and dream in pauline’s soft lap
the greyhound speeds up interstate 5 like an insane eel dancing
Categories:
greyhound, america, memory, mother son,
Form:
Free verse