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Best Greyhound Poems | Poetry

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The Best Greyhound Poems

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with passion’s brilliant mediocrity we sparked a flame with tragedy it was our common fantasy what a candid lie we chose to sing while watching worlds were turning we rubbed two thorns with yearning we set emerald cities burning what a candid lie we chose to sing adoration reeked of haughty claim adulation played a sordid game affections viral... would not tame what a candid lie we chose to sing
what a candid lie we sing in the graying dawn of age as with our trembling hands we turn a bitter page you gaily pierced the side of me a garden weeps inside of me anguish eats the soul of me since you have forsaken me
what a candid lie I chose to sing worlds keep on turning affections keep on yearning young men keep on learning candid lies they gladly choose to sing
your last kiss came on my last dime a greyhound bus rolled down the line empty seats filled up with time maybe yours maybe mine

Copyright © lim'rik flats | Year Posted 2016

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You Cheated Our Son

I didn’t mind when you left me.
It was time to split; I agree.
We had our life and it was done,
But why’d you take away my son?

He needed his father, can’t you see?
You cheated him; you cheated me.

I think of those days flyin' kites,
Catchin’ fireflies summer nights,
Jumpin’ into the swimmin’ hole.
These treasured times meant more than gold.

He needed his father, can’t you see?
You cheated him; you cheated me.

Those tears he cried, wavin' goodbye,
I turned away, my tears to hide.
You took him many miles away,
But I still think of him each day.

He needed his father, can’t you see?
You cheated him; you cheated me.

I call and you hang up the phone.
Next time I see him, he’ll be grown.
The bond we had was special to us,
But it vanished with that Greyhound bus.

He needed his father, can’t you see?
You cheated him; you cheated me.

*Entry for Paula’s “Play Me a Cheatin’ Song” contest

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011

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A Cloud

A grey cloud in holes
flew in the sky alone,
headed for its dole
all the time along.

Brilliant sunlight spots
fell onto the ground.
Jumped as little balls,
run as a greyhound.

With the insects brittle
rushed along the meadow,
an’ there a May beetle
made another circle.

An’ sounds everywhere
rang out as in a jungle,
the guests in the air
lavishly got jumbled.

Fondly dandelions
crowded all together,
organ-grinders – flyers
played in fair weather.

Suddenly black clouds
gathered in the sky,
blew away round dance
in the near dry.

Soared in the bounds
of the vault of heaven,
the cloud on the ground
fell to form forever.

Copyright © Aleh Barysau | Year Posted 2010

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A Salty Dog

On the rim of the glass, there is salt all around. This makes the drink different from a “greyhound”. Take either gin or vodka mixed with grapefruit juice. These ingredients can be put to good use. It was named for any sailor experienced with the sea. The drink maintains great popularity. Has anybody replaced the gin or vodka with tequila? In that way, we could call this drink a “grapefruit margarita”.

Copyright © Robert Pettit | Year Posted 2014

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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”

Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2012

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rivers of scarlet flood across the USA packed greyhound bus leaves 11~10~16

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016

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TOOTHLESS in 1927 Toothles her tail began to switch, Tuppy said “you’re too old, just stay a bit,” Tuppy rode away to where, A knocking stick a Roo would snare, Roo hides pegged upon the ground, Pounds shillings and pence, to be found, From whence. She galloped down the boundary fence , Clubbed a Roo right out of sense, Got down then to skin this Roo, Who sprang right up and bit her too, He grabbed her close and then, Jerked up a foot to disembowel, when, Toothless cleared the fence, Toothless took the Roo by the throat, Strangulation the intent, I quote, Death did then commence. Kangaroo would seem very nice, Docile friendly, but watch twice, If his female is in season, You could be clawed, bitten and slashed, And Skippy might. Don’t let your dog in water with, Old Skip will drown him till his stiff, But Roo’s out there in millions are, Springing bounding fences ha ha, And following the grass Tom Tit… Toothless was an old greyhound female used for catching Roos on the bound….Don Johnson

Copyright © DON JOHNSON | Year Posted 2011

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AKA Personality

You love seeing things how they used to be,
looking key thru a one-way, funhouse mirror
Your own mistakes, you never seem to see ...
a cloudy future that ain’t getting any clearer

Wishing new love is waiting at the next stop,
another face looking up at the ceiling
Old habits be moving to a fresh place to plop,
dark past cloning wax candle feelings

Multiple faces in a sad, shattered mirror,
which one today will you choose to be
To Hyde your unstable emotional Jekyll,
will it be the same A.K.A personality?

Seeing things how they never could be,
chandelier tears falling on a moist mattress mirror
Your other selves, you cannot ever see,
breathing thru an Oz veil makes you feel Toto freer

Greyhound new life waiting at the next town,
leaving no sin trace of wretched past failings
Smiley feelings face-painted on a Killer Clown,
hiding sly feline creeping back alley dealings

Pagliacci faces in a distorted mirror,
which one tomorrow will you choose to be
To disguise your emo Dr. Hannibal,
another totally different A.K.A personality

A changing kaleidoscope person everyday people see,
countless chameleon characters in a cracked mirror
A human suitcase packed with multiple personalities,
A.K.A Dorothy you feel your Toto is fetching nearer  

Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2018

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My Walkabout...

The nights were long
and my days seem short
had to do something
so I left my port

A one-way ticket
on a greyhound bus
a compelling journey
inner feeling must trust

first stop,Durango
high in the Rockies
a couple of days hiking
loud thunder was shocking

Next stop,was Gallup
from here,began my walk about
unsure of destination
first step began my route

Halfway to nowhere
dropped my load,to look around
sensational insight
revelation was found

Looked back toward beginning
so distant,out of sight
looked ahead for the end
no end to my flight

Sort of like life
past and future,uncertain
adventerous journeys
once removed from our curtain

continued my walk
through the mountains of Arizona
amazing sights
spent the night all alone-a

Under a canopy of stars
cool evening wind
no city lights
a universe with no end

Infinity came calling
understanding to follow
somewhere hides destiny
heartsongs sung hallowed.....

Copyright © jay del fierro | Year Posted 2007

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Father Daughter Dance

Father Daughter Dance

He told her “don't you worry”, but he'd be a little late.
He promised when he made it home he would take her on a date.
She squealed in her excitement, soon they would be together.
She was only ten years old, she said “It feels like it's been forever”.

Smiling as he thought of her one thousand miles away.
He thinks about the little girl he wishes she could stay.
Through the truck stop window the Greyhound bus pulled in.
He told her that his ride was there but he'd call her again.

The farthest things from his mind were shadows, pain or death.
Somehow he missed the whiskey that was on the drivers breath.
With happy thoughts of life and love and a date he planned to keep.
Quietly he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Suddenly it all went wrong! He thought he was still dreaming.
He heard the sound of bending steel and he heard people screaming.
His body pitched right through the air and landed in the grass.
With cuts across his face and brow from crashing through the glass.

“Dear God my leg is broken!” “Sweet Jesus come save us!”
He stood up from the cold damp grass and climbed back on the bus.
One by one he saved them all he called them by their names.
As he carried the last one out the bus burst into flames.

Injured people everywhere yet no one spoke right to him. 
When he tried to calm their fears they seemed to look right through him.
In the distance flashing lights and sirens filled the air.
Then he saw five feet from him, his body lying there.

It suddenly was all a blur like trying to see through water.
Instantly he was right there and standing by his daughter.
Searching through her dresser drawers not knowing he was there.
She looked through her dresses to see which one to wear.

He saw the light that came for him, he sent the light away.
He couldn't break his daughters heart so he chose just to stay.
A much more precious love than this I doubt a man can find.
It didn't break his daughters heart, instead it broke her mind.

Eight years slowly made their way she had an understanding mom.
Who arranged a father daughter dance the night she went to prom.
She danced and twirled the song away all they could do was stare.
As she danced more than a glance they all saw her father there.

She dances in her room sometimes when she starts feeling bad.
They swear she dances all alone but she's dancing with her dad.
She talks about the day someday she'll be with him forever.
And tells him of the date they had it was better late than never.

Edwin C Hofert

Copyright © Edwin Hofert | Year Posted 2015

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The Clouds

Buoyant on the North west winds;
Shredded clouds expose a half moon eye.
An eye that stares cautiously at
The hyphens of cars below.

Stratus sunsets trace the highway,
That leads to my refuge, 
and shields me from the voyeur and the oncoming night.

I sit upright against unforgiving vinyl,
on the back of a bus that rebounds daily,
between New York City and my nightly abode.

I watch the cirrus race the Greyhound 
and the Mustangs running in packs of three.
A spyglass has formed within a white nimbus,
an oval window into the crowded heavens.

The clotheslines of the Gods turn to skyrockets,
Shooting masterful projections upward,
Now, composed as arrows that hasten
An antelopes final good night.
Clouds drift away without shadow or fault.

The clouds, the clouds
I alone with my burden,
Where do they go?

Copyright © Brenda Atry | Year Posted 2011

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Baseball Trash Can Cats Vs Downtown Stray

Listen to poem:

Here we are fans this fine summer day,
to watch Trash Can Cats, versus Downtown Stray.
The field is grand in this deep wooded glen,
pitchers are warming up in the bull pen.

Pitching for the Cats is Crazy Legs Lynx,
his pitching fast and usually sinks.
Throwing for Strays is lefty Greyhound,
he’s tall and lanky but throws very sound.

Dogs take the field, Manx cat at the plate, 
the balls streaking by, he’s swinging too late.
Three strikes he’s out, Greyhound’s having a day,
the Bobtail cat will be next up to play. 

First pitch is low, ump calls it a ball,
the next one’s inside, a very close call.
Greyhound next pitches a ball with great speed,
Bobtail cat swings, bat up to the deed.

High into the air the baseball did soar,
Rocky Retriever swift ran to the chore.
Over the fence it finally had spun,
Cats have the early lead zero to one.

Sam Siamese next hit to first base,
Billy Beagle was right in his place.
Tagged Sam Siamese, out by a snout,
going to be a tough game without a doubt.

Black Bombay was next to at bat,
this was a dangerous black batting cat.
Greyhound threw three balls, speed lighting fast,
Black Bombay cat was not long to last.

Ok fans, Trash Can Cats take the field,
Downtown Stray, the bat skillfully to wield.
First up at bat will be Pauly the Pug,
he’s a bit short but oh boy can he slug.

Crazy Legs Lynx lets a ball go,
Pauly Pug drew back but was a bit slow.
The next ball was placed for Pauly just grand,
Pauly bunted, on first base he did land.

Freddy Fox Hound will next take at bat,
eyeing the pitcher he’ll cream that fast cat,
The next pitch did come blazing toward him,
curving left to right his chances were slim.

The crack of the bat and off the ball went, 
into left field the ball, quickly, was sent.
Left fielder Maine **** cat ran for the ball,
Pauly Pug on first base never did stall.

Pug rounded the bases, a cloud of dust,
running for home plate, as he knew he must.
Russian Blue cat was catching home plate,
Maine **** cats throw just a bit late.

Pauly Pug crossed the plate, the score was tied,
Freddy Fox Hound gave that ball quite a ride.
The next two Stray batters went down in smoke,
an epic baseball game, this is no joke.

The afternoon wore on, battle royal,
both teams competing with highest moral.
Pitchers dueling in highest degree,
all of their skill for everyone to see.

We come at last to the bottom of nine,
Trash Can Cats now weren’t doing so fine.
The score in the ninth still tied one to one,
if Downtown dogs scored the game would be done.

Springer Spaniel up to take his turn,
three times passed Spaniel that fast ball would burn.
Dan Dachshund followed, next in the order,
three pitches all strikes, right on the border.

Bulldog next up, last hold out of hopes,
with slow confidence, to the plate he lopes.
Bulldog practices a swing, thunderous might,
set not to go home a loser tonight.

Stepped to the plate, gave the pitcher a glare,
planning a hit with no mercy to spare.
The first pitch a blur no chance for a swing,
went so fast, he didn’t see the darn thing.

Next pitch was low and they called it a ball,
he stepped off the plate, the pitcher to stall.
Here came a pitch it curved to inside,
Bulldog took a big swing, losing his pride.

Then two more balls were to follow that day,
three balls two strikes on the count they would say.
Next pitch coming, he could see the darn thing,
he reared back and gave his most vicious swing.

The crack of the bat shocked even him,
the Trash Can Cats future now looked dim.
Howe Himalayan cat ran at top speed,
so hoping to catch this game winning deed. 

The crowd were all standing, waiting to see,
the out come this blast from Bulldog would be.
The ball flew so high, then began to fall,
finally landed way over the wall.

The crowd gave a cheer and shouted as one, 
the Downtown Stray had successfully won.
Both teams met in the middle of the field,
shaking of hands, their friendship was sealed.

Robert Gene Stoner Jr ©

Copyright © Robert Stoner Jr | Year Posted 2016

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What I Accomplished Today

The bright sun chasing night awakes me with delight
Arising from my sleepy state is a terrible plight  

Dragging forth to brush my tangled pressed down gray hair
Eyes barely open, stumble forth needing java juice and air  

Turned on the computer to check emails and such
Drinking decaf coffee and answering emails but no rush

Breakfast soon was eaten devotion time swiftly spent
A few chores to straighten the house and even make a small dent

Bath time my daily spa, let the warmth penetrate
Dressed, ready to go ~let me face the day and not be late

A few errands need to be handled while in town
Lunch with my husband gives no reason to cause a frown

Grocery shopping to stock up on cleaning supplies and food
A task not really enjoyed but I let some joy exude

Afterwards I needed some rest and quiet time
Watching a movie that was not the best which was a crime

Facing the inevitable soon came to our life
Putting Cody on the Greyhound  cut me like a sharp knife

Bedtime very late exhausted from the busy day
Tomorrow will be another list hopes of time to play


Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2015

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Leaving On A Jet Plane

As I soared at forty-thousand feet strapped in the aluminum-tubed aerie,
Racing through my skull was a tune made famous by Peter, Paul and Mary!
They made leaving on a jet plane sound so very romantic and swell!
Contrary to their soothing ballad, mine was the flight from hell!

Ah, the thrill of going through the security check still lingers,
Recalling a most "touching" pat-down by Freddy Feely Fingers!
I had to remove my belt, shoes and the change from my pockets,
And open my carry-on bag to prove I had no guns or rockets!

I was "squoze" betwixt two guys leaning on my shoulders snoring!
One was built like Hulk Hogan - the other as fat as Herman Goring!
A squalling kid hollered for the entire trip!  I suffered beyond belief!
I ordered a Manhattan on the Rocks in hopes of finding blessed relief!

About the flight, I told Betty Boop the attendant, "I'm tired of this fuss!
Next time I travel I'll skip all this nonsense and ride a Greyhound bus!"

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved

NOTE:  I've suffered through many such flights wondering if the agony
           would ever end!

Entry for Debbie Guzzi's "Songs to Poetry" Contest

Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2013

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Jessica Casey - Part 2 - Seven years later

Jessica Casey the punters dream- Sequel to Shy Julie They came from near - they came from far Bus ferry and train and some by car THE GOLDEN EGG GRAND FINAL One greyhound in mind Jessica Casey -The Select One She was ONE of a kind Full of guts grit and dash She was out for the cash Strong handsome and pacey This Jessica Casey Her credentials were strong she could win by a mile She yearned for the glory she'd receive in a while Now remember those two punters those students of form Those 'Gurus of Racing' who'd sworn to reform From punting and systems on all greyhound tracks They decided it was time to make their comeback After seven long years the closet was cold It was time to dust cobwebs and peel off the mold Out with the old and in with the new Compared to Shy Julie she literally FLEW 'This Jessie' said John with tremor of hand 'Is sure to get me my dream house and land' 'After all these years I've some cash to spare One greyhound in mind a race to snare She'll do it for us this pacey young ***** She'll stand out from the field - She'll sure make us rich I've followed her career and all through the heats She's clever and wily and just can't be beat' Said Ron with a stutter his voice fairly low 'Yes this Jessica Casey seems the safe way to go She's treated her opponents with contempt and scorn Winning in manners that's left them utterly forlorn With courage like this the conditions seemed right Only bad luck can stop her she'll give them a sight' The BIG BET was laid the race drew near Anticipation excitement anxiety and fear Emotions were mixed in the crowd that were there They'd come to see Jessie and how she would fare 'GREEN LIGHT'S ON - BUNNY'S ON IT'S WAY' Said the race caller as the gates snapped open 'THEY'RE AWAY' 'Crickey she's missed the jump' groaned John 'This champ can overcome obstacles' said Ron Most punters were predicting a much easier trip For their hometown heroine in her usual style clip But this race from start was touch and go The crowd screamed wildly in one Mighty Roar Shouts of encouragement of 'GO GIRL GO' While some winced inwardly at losing their dough It was unbelievable - something had to give An give it did with South Road Sid The Ace Victorian who all but fell The crowd in a frenzy as they started to yell November Sunset got the break she desperately sought Grabbed the lead - sped away the pursuit running hot 'This doesn't look good' thought Jess with a frown My fans are out there - just can't let them down Change of tactics is what I need' - she decided Through the catching pen she went and heavily collided With Call Me Casey her trusty kennel mate 'COME ON JESSIE' yelled Ron 'Tis never too late' Then like the true champ she was in the style that they knew She streaked from the pack and literally FLEW The tear away leader was some six lengths ahead But she heard Jessie coming and her feet turned to lead Well you guessed the rest she won yet again Her fans were ecstatic the bookmakers insane But the happiest of all were those two punters of old Who'd returned to the track in their quest to Strike Gold
Footnote: Written and composed by Maria, Sister of John and STILL the wife of Ron True story, the names of the greyhounds are original and have not been changed. Published in an Australian National Racing magazine for whom I worte for 6 months.

Copyright © Maria Williams | Year Posted 2017

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“The wheel is come full circle.” William Shakespeare

The clock tick-tocks!
The tables have turn counter clockwise.
The knowledge would be known.
Life is only given once.
This is what humankind is told.
But the souls rise with suspended time and life is revamped within a twilight.

Zone is the person that child has been chosen.
Veracity her spirit holds through her mother’s soul.
Her dynasty is stated will never be.
Depression is negated; however, she will repeat history.
The clock tick-tocks and the wheel of time have come full circle.
The wisdom is acknowledge through those demised.

Their deaths were to be in suspended time.
Her mother died through organized measures.
Her sister death was from similar means.
And her husband died for religion.
The walls are rose to conceal.

The darkness thickness and amnesia is present.
She always ends in the same place.
The Greyhound Bus Station and people are crowding out front.
The clock tick and sound forms ascertain amnesia.
The wheel of time has come full circle.

What went before is now past and the future is here.
Recurrence of episodic events has been gone for fifteen years.
Inhabitants talk and state she is hearing things, when the wheel of time has reveal   
Tock and I will win.
The passes find that the wheel of time has ticked and the game ends.
Penned April 27, 2014!

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014

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Words on strike

Words on strike/ 
Words on strike/
Overcrowded words on strike/ 
Like a swarm of bees/ 
Words group hug to fish-hook the parliament’s mind/
Holding placards on the entrance written/
“I Don’t Know Yet Is Time Delayer"/
Don't waist time is the spirit words hold on to/

Zapiro a hero speaking in cartoon spray paint lingo/ 
Vocabulary disguised in animated expressions/
Words high-pitched on greyhound bus walls screaming small four five’s pay E-tolls/ 
Heavenly transport is sinfully packed with idioms/ 

No word will make it to paradise friend/ 
Jailed metaphors rely on words for parole/
On silent, words blink plan of action links/
Camouflaged in rhythms, words shoot spoken bullets/

Boneheads puzzled vernacular is spoken in head scratching styles/
Scrambling scrap-yards stored with irritated reverberated placards/
“I Don’t Know Yet Is Time Delayer"/
Rapture anticipating concession/ 

Echoes of word’s footsteps in tears for the motherland vibrated/
The government is cutting us like beards/
I don’t know yet is time delayer/
My poetry deep you don't know it yet/
Until my words go on strike/

Copyright © Young King sa | Year Posted 2013

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Grit And Guts On The Gridiron - 2

Pittsburgh, hammertown, Chuck Knoll and his boys
established the best Superbowl Era dynasty
with the "Steel Curtain" defense and the "Blonde Bomber" Bradshaw,
a defense disciplined on shrapnel and elite ego,
"Mean Joe Greene" and Jack Lambert, a compulsive punisher with no front teeth
would rather be outlaws than losers on the turf of titles,
Bradshaw, with his bodygaurd Mike Webster
had the fortitude of a Friar and slingshot for an arm,
his two great Wideouts, Stallworth and Swan,
indefatigable, these Receivers were steadfast and hawkish
in the team's double repeat Superbowl victories in the 1970's,
at Wrigley Field George "Papa Bear" Hallas
put marvels of grace and brutal genius in the game
amongst the brick and ivy,
"The Galloping Ghost" made the sport pro
as a wraith with cleets,
the "Kansas Comet" Gale Sayers
was a celestial greyhound with unparalleled periphery, 
Dick Butkus had no nickname
he simply maimed ball carriers, 
a grizzly beast with a healthy hatred for opponents
he won Defensive Player of the year
while being on a last place team in 1969,
Doug Atkins was a Chicago Defensive End that inspired Butkus,
a 6'8 maniac that believed breaking a Blocker's arm was fairplay,
"Iron Mike" Ditka was a bulldozer Tight End
who wouldn't quit upon being hit,
in 1985 Coach Ditka and Buddy Ryan assembled
an absolute juggernaut known as the "Monsters of the Midway"
undeniably unleashing the greatest defense of all time,
Jim McMahon, Walter Payton and crew
brought unflinching attitude,
"Sweetness" could demolish the roadblocks,
perfected the goal line leap
and did the pony strut before delivering his destructive elbow
into the faces of fainthearted Tacklers,
during the '85 playoffs in their lakefront lair
the Giants and L.A. Rams would be trampled
amid the Romanesque colonnades of Soldier's Field,
the crowds expecting domination, 
they beat New York 21-0,
the next week they smashed the rams 23-0
while the Lake Michigan winds wailed fiercely
and the snowfall sugared the triumph,
in Superbowl XX, played at the Louisiana Superdome,
the Bears terrorized,  and pulverized the Patriots,
by halftime, New England had achieved -19 total offensive yards
and a weak 3 points while Chicago had scored 23 points,
in the 3rd quater of the storm
William "The Refrigerator" Perry, a Defensive Tackle weighing 300 pounds
ravaged the arrogant goal line defense of the Patriots
to score the most explosive rushing touchdown ever,
in the 4th quater the Bear's backup defensive line
took down the Pat's Passer in the endzone for a two point Safety
putting fangs into their victims,
the final score was 46-10,
Da Bear's defense that day sacked New England 7 times,
allowed only 7 rushing yards,
forced 4 fumbles, and intercepted the ball twice,
an old fashioned mauling with the revolutionary 46 Defense,
this performance was the pinnacle of NFL sport -


Other Legends -

Brett Favre, possibly the greatest player of all time,
Forrest Greg, Gene Upshaw, Art Shell, Carl Eller,
John Hanna, Anthony Munoz, Earl Campbell, Steve McMichael,
Mike Singletary, Gary Fencik, Dan Hampton,
"Slinggin" Sammy Baugh, Buck Buchanon, Jim Taylor,
Ray Nitscke, Deacon Jones, Merlin Olson, Jim Otto,
George Blanda, Jack Ham, Otto Grahm, Doug Williams,
Barry Sanders, the best runner of all time,
Ray Lewis, Rodger Craig, Jerry Rice, Fran Tarkenton,
Joe Montana, Rodger Staubach, Lance Alworth,
Dick "Night Train" Lane, John Elway, Bob "The Boomer" Brown,
Jack Youngblood,  John "Diesel" Riggins and the Washington "Hogs",
Lawrence Taylor, team owner of the Raiders, Al Davis,
coaches Bill Walsh and Tom Landry - Justin A. Bordner  2016

Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2016

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Sometimes everything seems fake to me, and I am so tired of people acting like they remember what love is. 
Everyone says it. 
“I love you, I love you, I love you.” 
No words are more meaningful to me when sailing from the lips of a true friend or a kindred spirit, but the rest of you have to be careful where you point those syllables 
because that’s like taking the closest thing to

 the Lord’s name that I ever understood
in vain. 
I was walking back from the gas station a few weeks ago and some girl I didn’t even know looked at me and said it. 
Her lip gloss opening and closing like some kind of sea creature fishing for plankton, and I just happened to be the nearest thing drifting past.
“Love you!”, like it was hello. 
Now I have just one question
You have no idea what I am. 
My smile’s like this because my parents had the money. 
My eyes are not the windows to my soul. 
They don’t mean jack except for genetics that I had no control over, and what my mother ate when I was in utero. 
That’s like acting like my poetry is who I am. 
Like how myelinated the neurons in my linguistics center 
I can feel the right to decide that I am more or less, valuable. 
It happened again earlier too.
I was sitting on the greyhound back home, having a conversation with a girl with guys all around her like fire ants with their mating tubes out. All of them with ink, piercings, and sizing me up 
because my six-foot-four stature could not speak for itself.
I’d like to think we talked about something more important than my assets and destination, but as she turned to disappear out of the bus with her escorts, she cast the three words back on me
like throwing a fishing line on the off chance something might bite,
“I love ya.”
….what in the world. 
After this, I think of the only one whose words held their weight. 
I don’t mean no harshness, 
but if I could go back in time and have half the balls my poetry does, I’d take you aside, and tell you something you wouldn’t understand. Something like, “BAM! I am a tulip field on fire at sunset.” 
Something like, “My shirt, is from the Goodwill.” 
Something like, “You’re telling me Christ could have saved the world with His cheekbones?”
“You’re telling me I’m viable and worth a few minutes of your attention?”
“You’re telling me tall, black, and attractive is what’s in this century?” 
But let me tell you.
You don’t have any idea of the size of the planets you’re saying you want to try and swallow when you say those words to me. 
I’ve been waiting to be able to hear, feel, taste, smell, and know those words for too long. You have to mean them to say them. 
But you see, I was a philosopher before I was a poet, so I have to take that back and reflect it on myself. 
The truth is, I’m so confused that sometimes, I don’t know which end my head is at.

Poetry flies in my eyeballs that should never make it past my lips, but I’m getting tired of trying to impress people. 
In this past month, I’ve been day dreaming about the girl smiling at me and it meaning more than
“You look like you got good genetics”
“Could I please date your self esteem?”
I’ve been day dreaming of the girl who reminded me of what those three words are supposed to mean. 
Like when my acne came back, and you told me not to scratch at a handsome face.
“I love you.”
Like when my poetry departs, and all I can do is ramble things too big for my head. 
“I love you.” 
Like when I didn’t feel like just a romantic stereo type anymore. 
“I love you.” 
What those words meant to me, before I made the world make them less.

Copyright © Spenser Jones | Year Posted 2012

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Paid Time Off, 
it is time to explore.
Bus ticket in hand,
route carefully planned,
the engine begins to roar..

the greyhound slices across the terrain,
in the rain.
Slipping and sliding, I'm nervous,
as we swerve into the oncoming lane.
Hail cracks the window pane 
next to me.
It is hard to relax..
I think I'll switch to Amtrak!!

Jared Pickett

Copyright © Jared Pickett | Year Posted 2010

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The Silliness

Homey eyes of peasant stew
A cozy-colored mossy mew
Stony cottage, snowcheeks bleu
The forest fins for frosted fruits.

The warmest thought speaks crumbly bread
A partridge purr puffs through my head
That grants the grunkest grue a ‘Get!’
To packrat out the paquerettes.

Don’t see the speech I say with sneer
As something to be had with beer
Don’t bucker bricks of buttered bleers
And sift strunk talk through quandarous weirs.

The clothes and shelter of your mouth
Has cleaned my frame as cold as south
For queeks are quay, oh when you quoth
And yokel twirls are yaws of youth.

Clearings clean, as cream is crisp
With cluffs of clementine in risp
The grout of your cuts, freed of lisps
Your watch turns wandering whelks to whisps.

Sweet as sneezes from a lamb
As cozy as a Christmas ham
To jaunt with you with bread and jam
Is all I am, is all I am…

A blanket for the rawest nerve
A babe beyond the laws of earth
A smile sways the swooping surf
And gifts sweet goods of grinning girths.

Your hair? An electric guitar!
With sprinkles of suburban stars
Might smell of smelting lemon bars
Each strand a sacred seminar.

That hark the realms of Everfar!
And halt the helms of Neverare!
That licks the lich that leavens scars!
Screams “Non septimo, sempris quar!”

I believe you’re Good, I mean you’re blessed
With holy elks that guard your breast
Whose rumps remain on royal chests
And watch for wendigos out West.

A soul of Greyhound bus views darkly
Hushed in cornfields crumps so starkly
With windmills waning wicks so barky
Olive Garden oligarchies.

Clearings clean, as cream is crisp
With cluffs of clementine in risp
The grout of your cuts, freed of lisps
Your watch turns wandering whelks to whisps.

Sweet as sneezes from a lamb
As cozy as a Christmas ham
To jaunt and jibe with you with bread and jam,
Is all I am, is all I am.

Copyright © Thump Drag | Year Posted 2016

Details | Greyhound Poem | Create an image from this poem.


The story of two different highway drives
But it all amounts to a strive
The event is a Greyhound male bus Operator named Jeff
The Female Trucker being Jennifer
It was the California Highway 101
Just around the bend
Suddenly the bend came a when
The Female Trucker broke down on the side of the road
Then there was a behold, Greyhound Bus Operator Jeff pulled his bus right behind the Female Trucker’s trailer
Jeff approached Jennifer and asked, “Do you need some help?”
At first, Jennifer seemed skeptical that a Greyhound bus would stop on the side of the road to help somebody else in need
But the question became an answer in proceed
Now mine you, there were Greyhound bus passengers aboard, but the bus schedule was behind
Will this put Jeff in a bind?
Jennifer responded in an abrupt matter
But you will be surprised in what happened after
Jeff knew exactly what was wrong with the truck
After all, he once drove a truck before coming to Greyhound and was once a mechanic before that
In Jennifer’s mind, Jeff and the Greyhound bus having all the right tools
But Jen was no fool
Jen thanks and kissed Jeff on the cheek
The truck was fixed and ready in being complete
The Greyhound bus passenger’s all applauded, and stated, “Forget the Greyhound ride as we all just witnessed our own live movie love stride”
Jen then drove off onto highway 101
Jeff pulled off onto the highway informing the passengers that next stop will be Los Angeles, the final stop
The highway bringing maybe two hearts together
Yet it is a secret between the two
Now don’t look further into
This is not for us to pursue
As a finale, sometimes this is what love can do.

Copyright © ANTHONY BLAKE | Year Posted 2016

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When love was innocent

Innocent Love
The 10th grade-I was hurt, had a lot of pain I wore, thought that everyone could see it on my shirt, I felt incomplete, tried to be neat and do all the things I could to just be me, however, the pain didn’t cease, I couldn’t escape, had that basketball in my hand and that was clear that I had found the love of my life, ballen, shooting hoops, being me, the lost sheep with not too many that new inside how I was feeling deep inside.
First love came after a heart break, or so I thought, trying to fit in in high school I settled with the fools doing what they do, not cool evidently. And my heart was crushed when I rushed to trust someone to hold my hand and call me there girl, didn’t happen quite that way, so I opted out to pray and one day my prayer was answered. And there he was… handsome, tender and happy, he was hard and caring at the same time, I was on Marvin’s “my oh my” welcome to a true high. We caught each other’s eyes, and in an instant all the pain that resided drowned away and I still remained, with a clean plate and he melted my heart. We started talking, walking, meeting each other on breaks, and at the end of the day we lived close enough to one another that the chase kept up pace. Once we got off the bus we would meet up again day after day. Walk to the movies, like kids I finally felt free to play -no escaping I was having fun living finally, innocent love.
We would take pictures once a month, go to breakfast, dinners and lunch, and when we kissed it was like we were the only ones. A hug like a safety neat, a laugh that you wouldn’t forget; and that was just us. 
But people started talking, teachers became concerned, parents expressed the things that we were trying to explore, and it went from free, to complicate almost instantly. Stress and test, trust it was rougher than a good game of chess. We are now at graduation and knotting our heads, I'm getting kicked out the door of my parents, while he is trying to be proper to his. So love became a task, and the chase became more complicated than math, where it got so bad we had to ask “do you still want me? Love me?” heartbreak…broken glass.
Chasing love is no easy task, seeing your love incarcerated and numb not a righteous path, taking greyhound buses to visit, driving alone in the lonely journey to be nearer… didn’t make life any clearer. But loyalty helps to fill up an empty glass. In the mist of the twist, and the roller coaster we have two lovely children that remind us daily why we survived our trials and tribulations, there smiles and laughs are pure and innocent. Seventeen years later we are closer than we ever cloud have planned for or imagined, and when we look in each other eyes it’s no surprise the love that sprouted once upon a time is still shinning, through good times and bad, the rain and sunshine are hands are locked and intertwined, and the love is unconditional; innocent love still growing within us.

Copyright © Stephanie Gutierrez | Year Posted 2015

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Looking through the window

I stare at all the people, their different  shapes and build,  thinking to myself,  it takes all types  to make a world.
A tall man sweeping footpaths,  there's a big man in a car,  a lonely looking soul,  propped up at a bar 
A  redhead window shopping, looking at a dress, rummaging  for credit cards, and getting  in a mess.
Two drunks passing, swaying,  holding one another up,  a country type with greyhound  dogs,  one looks like a pup.
Two  schoolboys  mock fighting, until an elbow goes astray, now the fightings real, it didn't start this way.
A traffic warden smiling, giving tickets out with ease, the vehicle owners coming back, I don't think he'll be  pleased.
A blonde girl wearing glasses with stilettos on her feet, struggling to stay upright as she crossed the cobbled street.
I look at all the people and I look at them again, life would be so boring,   if everybody were the same.

Copyright © john scott | Year Posted 2011

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The Joy Of Flight!

Ah! For the good old days when flying was a breeze!
When one could check a bag and board a plane with ease.
Now, air travel has all the charms of a stagecoach ride.
'Tis more than the beleaguered traveler ought to abide!

With great trepidation I ordered a ticket thro' my computer.
(And with my feeble computer skills, I could have used a tutor!)
Tho' my final destination was Philadelphia, Pennsylvania,
I feared I'd strike the wrong key and end up in Lithuania!

Before you can even fly those friendly, pristine skies,
You must bear a humiliating search by the security guys.
I had to remove my belt and shoes, thus adding to my woes,
Since I wore a pair of holey sox, exposing my corny toes!

A soda and a stale bag of pretzels is now the usual fare.
A lady regaled me about her operations, adding to my despair!
And wouldn't you know it, the plane parked at Concourse A;
I had ten minutes to get to Concourse C, one half mile away!

Round and round went the carousel - I had a sinking sensation.
Sure enough, my bag was missing, adding to my frustration!
Fiddle faddle and fiddle sticks! I'm tired of all this fuss;
Next time I travel, I'm taking a Greyhound bus!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)

Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2010