Best Traffic Jam Poems
Traffic Jam Slam
Who dresses them up and puts them in cars
gives them their keys as they leave the bars
these drivers who sit at the red light and grin
preachers out practicing Sunday’s big sin.
Somehow they think we can’t see inside
as they dig in their noses and ogle with pride
something they found that they should probably hide.
She’s putting on make-up, He’s combing his hair
the kids in the back seat wish they weren’t there.
As the light changes they make that left –SLASH
while plucking the last of their graying eyelash.
They’re texting at red lights so they tend to linger
and when you disturb them they give you the finger.
Then there are those who ride on their bikes
who haven’t matured since they fell off their trykes,
riding on sidewalks and running stop signs
dressing in outfits that require fines.
Who leaves the slow people alone on the street
stuck in the crosswalk – rush hour - dead meat.
Now we have turkeys and the Canada Goose
invading the country, just plain running loose
crossing the highways, honking at us
and if you should hit one – oh what a fuss
PETA will come with a camera and crew,
let the whole world get a good look at you.
So put on your make-up and straighten that hair
your fifteen minutes of fame is frighteningly near.
For SKAT A slam the slam contest
John G. Lawless
5/31/2014
Sitting on the soft cushion seat
Start of turtle movement
The advert on the bus
Is the only catchy appeal
The drumming of the engine
The grunting of the taxi
Dusk getting crisp
Dull glow of the sun
The glance at the sky
With a wish to fly
The buttocks begin to get sore
I see my finger nails
Then back to the next lane
I feel my eyes burn
A long ribbon of taillights flashing
The next lane is fast moving
Taxi driver snoring
The turtle movement
Develops anxiety
Feeling thirsty
Phone rings
Good news
Another party
Feeling oozy
Glazing outside the window
Another turtle movement
Nerves rest - feet asleep
With an effort
Feet wake up
Anxiety rising - start to walk
The expanding stripe of cars stretches
Noxious fumes drawn inside by pink flesh
From this sight, looks as though the trees lost the battle
Heart still pumps energy to skeletal limbs moving
To unheard music
Grace filters through, highlighting the gift of discernment
I let the music enter me, and I enter the music
Which is greater, love of warmth on bare branches
Or sadness from the absence of rustling leaves?
The horizon swallows the line an inch at a time
Caught up in the moment, carried by the voices of women present
And those gone
Realization comes
The dimmer switch is stuck on glow
I disrobe and sprint past the long streak of cars
I am sweating all over
In the traffic jam
And bored of waiting so long!
The worm goes on
and on
and on
An endless stream of armoured segments
crawling out off the working day
The frozen flow of restless homonunculi
Disharmony of spheres
Panta Rhei
Panta Rhei
Panta Rhei
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=otY7ICUJSdQ
Another boring day I make my way
down this life’s tricky busy long freeway
So many travelers choose to go as well,
in slaving sync to the cold life school bell
We all so focused on the single prize,
so much assets to gain and maximize
My car is rusty and not too trusty
My mind conviction pure and just gutsy
So many jams clog the path to your heart,
transforming my ride to a slow oxcart
Again frustration at the sight of red,
again my efforts going head to head
Looking at your lips for the light of green,
but your smile is still a sight to be seen
-for S1's contest-
We had a car, not many did,
financed and fuelled by bread and jam,
food deprivation that I hid
from jealous kids who’d mock the sham;
pride misjudging as a winner
Ford denoting "Forfeit dinner"
So while, no doubt, they envied me
I lusted their hot Sunday lunch
as they inhaled mum’s recipe
for dishes needing bite and crunch,
whilst dominating our car trips
my salivating yearn for chips.
Sitting here in rush hour I moan and sigh
Horn’s honk, engine’s rev, a Monday to miss
Birds whooshing overhead as time ticks by
When from below I hear a squealing hiss
The tire! Is murphy's law to blame for this?!
I hop out to check and PLOP! That damn bird!
I pop the hood to a clang, clunk and creak
Was that the beep from the engine I heard?
I grumble and groan, I just want to shriek!
As cars whiz by, what a start to the week....
I start to tinker around when VvvROOM, SPLASH!
Surrounded by traffic rumbling past
One zooms through a puddle, my suit is trash
Coolant sprays up in my face with a blast
First day at the new job might be my last…
July 6, 2022
Onomatopoeia Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
trying to catch plane
it was insane
we got caught
not bought
we were like lams
in a
TRAFFIC JAM
The winter darkness falls before the day
Has run its course, long ere the eyes of those
Who labor seek surcease from weariness.
The home-bound traffic winds its halting way
Beneath the moon-bound Evening Star and slows—
A mess.
And so I sit with promises to keep,
Ensnarled within a concrete wilderness
As news and music streams from radios.
At last the exit home—to eat, to sleep,
And rest.
The sand from the hourglass is slipping through the cracks between my fingers.
as I track my time in increments,
regulated, rhythmic, redundant.
the weekends coming,
it’s almost winter break.
I think, as I fail to realize that I am watching time pass me by
like I'm standing on the side of the road watching the cars drive by
instead of being in one,
controlling the wheel and pressing the gas.
I catch a glimpse of an empty car parked on the side of the road,
desperately scrambling towards it,
my hair whipping around my face,
obscuring my vision,
clouding my judgement.
I try and try and try to push it away—
but it keeps coming back.
drive, drive, drive,
a voice tells me.
as I steady my shivering, shaking hands grasping the wheel.
don't,
my hair hisses.
encircling my face with the grip of a vice
tighter, and tighter, then black.
Every morning, I work from home
I turn on the radio, if I'm unhappy and alone
You hear so much misery when the car jams are told
Make you feel happier, if you're mean and cold
The outbound George has a disabled tractor trailer
Some drivers now are cursing like a sailor.
On the inbound Holland there is police activity
Imagine all those slowed drivers, it's like captivity.
(chorus)
There are people who like pulling tails of cats
Others freakout Grandma by attaching bells to bats
But me, I enjoy the misfortune of those who drive
Comparing our fates makes me feel more alive.
On the Pulaski skyway it's a waiting game
I bet Mr. Pulaski would have not delegated his name.
Its bumper to bumper after Passaic Avenue
I bet those drivers are steaming too.
At the exit ramp an accident partly blocks
That teen driver just learned life has hard knocks.
Heavy delays, so many drivers annoyed
But the traffic jams give me Schadenfreude.
The Lincoln backs into Weehawken tight,
They’ve been stuck in that tunnel since about midnight
Makes you wonder, and contemplate
Or if you're like me, you feel really great.
Add up all the lost hours of lives
No need for bombs, no need for knives
Time that could have been used for better things
All the waste, we should have wings.
I have issues with the sun
It burns
It burns so much these days
It burns it hurts my face
Yet I am going out now
Right into this traffic jam
Right when the sun is big and bright
Where is dawn?
What a mess I am
There is no such thing as a want in me
I rather tuck myself in my blankets as I wake
Shut the doors
Shut the window
Lock it all
And do nothing
And that's part of the reason I am late
That's why I am going out right into this traffic jam
Out to the doing of stuff
Out into engaging in mundane activities
For the mere chance of maybe sustaining thyself
Plus some maybe surplus
I put the same song on repeat
As I go out right into this traffic jam
I am such a miserable creature
And that's why I walk around with my head down
Self loathe
What bravery is needed to be me everyday
The worst thing is I am not so uncaring
But somehow I embrace the me that I know lacks
It's funny how even I am right in this traffic jam
I wish to just go out
And just go back home
Getting impatient, I tapped my patient steering wheel
and drift into a daydream as I sit there
stranded,
tormented by the toxic fumes in a gnarled traffic
in the scorching noontime sun, so
exasperated.
So here I'm now enjoying siesta in my own mind,
lying on a grass carpet in the soothing
shadow
of the thick canopy of a giant mahogany
by a creek of cold water, just where only
I know.
Over there I see densely forested mountainsides
teeming with fruits, flowers, honey, game and
songs unsung;
up in the Ocean Sky, a pair of dark-brown falcons
soar toward a far-off cliff bringing food
to their young.
Awakened, I stare again at the chaos around me,
admitting with envy how lucky those birds
can be;
having all to themselves my grass, creek and mahogany,
while I crawl like a worm to feed my young waiting home
for me.
Traffic jam in the ways of life
crowded noisy groan hazardous
Oh ! mind breathing suffers from suffocation
Busy all are hurry no time
reach the destination by hook or by crook
to get the works done run and run
To avail few minutes for few days
to keep happy all the ways
try again and again fun and fun
What is got that's the gain
from giving and taking game
if not not mine no worry and no pain.