Long Bus fare Poems
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Pity my city
I pity my city there is no dignity in this city
There is no justice no freedom
Street children in a locked hall, shocking
County council overworking
The city must be clean so some humans are garbage
Some are cabbage, the garbage pay the damage
No houses sleep on spillage
But there are human rights
There are human right activists
There is the department of justice
All filled with malice
Pockets practice
Gross malpractice
Injustice, silence
You are in court
Guilty of court contempt
Another charge
The bail or the sentence
I’m bailed out in silence
Next time just bring your presence
Retain your silence
I was told
You will be safe.
My phone is gone, my shirt is torn
No bus fare so I walk alone
I think a lot, go back home or not
I remember I am a poet
I write a poem, a paradox
Pain in the city
I pity my city there is no dignity in my city.
Never what I came for
Likewise not what I prepared for
To be robbed by those I voted for
I am not happy anymore
My city is no more
I don’t wish for more
I just want go
not the city I know.
not where I wanted to grow
cartels make us bow
Now, now, now, it is time.
Time to know I am grown
And carry always my identity card
The men in blue are out bad
And always never forget also to carry ‘kitambulisho ya polisi’
Hawa watu ni mabeast na mafisi, human hyenas
time to tie up my seat belt whenever in a matatu,
sina mia tano ya kulipa coti kila saa na sitaki kulala ndani siku tatu
two days I am locked up inside my own head
spinning spinning, my thoughts are dead
the life so far I have led
no step has been made
no journey finished
No house furnished
Time is running and broke is sickening
My heart is listening, my brain is calculating
I have to act quick, just do something
The weather so good for chilling, but bad for singles
Life is unfair
No dream has been real
No love to heal
No feel
No deal
Just the bill
More and more bills
The city is fattening
Wanjiku is sickening
From Nys to health to Tunnels
It is all on the channels
How they on the seat eat
Meat
The citizen kitty is gone
The city is torn
Get the president on the phone
Call the press, what must be done be done
Impunity will not rule this city
Dignity must be restored
This city no more a pity
Bring back the citizen kitty
Say no more
The city.
EARLY POEMS XVIII
You didn't have time
by Michael R. Burch
You didn't have time to love me,
always hurrying here and hurrying there;
you didn't have time to love me,
and you didn't have time to care.
You were playing a reel like a fiddle half-strung:
too busy for love, "too old" to be young . . .
Well, you didn't have time, and now you have none.
You didn't have time, and now you have none.
You didn't have time to take time
and you didn't have time to try.
Every time I asked you why, you said,
"Because, my love; that's why." And then
you didn't have time at all, my love.
You didn't have time at all.
You were wheeling and diving in search of a sun
that had blinded your eyes and left you undone.
Well, you didn't have time, and now you have none.
You didn't have time, and now you have none.
This is a song-poem that I wrote during my early songwriter phase, around age 17.
49th Street Serenade
by Michael R. Burch
It's four o'clock in the mornin'
and we're alone, all alone in the city . . .
your sneakers 're torn
and your jeans 're so short
that your ankles show, but you're pretty.
I wish I had five dollars;
I'd pay your bus fare home,
but how far canya go
through the sleet 'n' the snow
for a fistful of change?
'Bout the end of Childe’s Lane.
Right now my old man is sleepin'
and he don't know the hell where I am.
Why he still goes to bed
when he's already dead,
I don't understand,
but I don't give a damn.
Bein' sixteen sure is borin'
though I guess for a girl it's all right . . .
if you'd let your hair grow
and get some nice clothes,
I think you'd look outta sight.
And I wish I had ten dollars;
I'd ask you if you would . . .
but wishin's no good
and you'd think I'm a hood,
so I guess I'll be sayin' good night.
This is one of my earliest poems; I actually started out writing songs when some long-haired friends of mine started a band around 1974. But I was too introverted and shy to show them to anyone. This one was too racy for my high school journal.
Keywords/Tags: early, early poems, juvenalia, time, love, youth, young, 10th grade, sun, night, care, song
Sometimes I don't hear so well,
Sometimes I get confused
English is a tough language
Verse, tense, structures, sentences
It's an easy language to get abused
I sat on the couch, facing the TV,
And on the coffee table before me,
What did I see?
A glass, half filled, a pen and pad,
A handful of change, that's all we had.
I asked my room-mate,
Who was in the next room,
What time is was,
I heard her boom;
"Quarter to Eight"!
Well, I wasn't hungry,
Rest assured,
But to keep the peace,
I endured,
Swallowing a quarter,
Maybe now she'll tell me the time?
"Okay, done!" I rasped, voice
thick with the unwashed filty
quarter.
"Okay, okay, I did what you said I ought'a
Now can you tell me the time?"....
Thinking, "My God, she's thick,
just like my daughter!!!"
"Quarter to Eight!!!"
This time, more emphatically...
She's getting annoyed,
This I could sense
So I reluctantly swallowed
Another Quarter,
Thinking to my self, "Thank God,
I didn't have to do it with 25 pence."
At this point, she entered the room,
Hair wrapped in towel...
Squeaky-clean from her shower,
She glanced at the table,
Frowned, and asked,
"Why'd you take part of
my bus fare?"
"How will I get to work?"
I didn't know why,
But I sensed somehow,
I think I'd been a jerk.
I blurted out; "Didn't you
ask me to ate those Quarters?"
My sheepish grin of supplication
belied the fear inside.
I only wish I could think,
Of some clever place to hide.
She stared at me, as if amazed,
Noticing me for the very first time....
"So what happens if I ask you,
"Can you stop on a dime?"
Would you sand atop said coin,
Motionless for all time?
Or would you swallow the dimes,
assuming they are desert, and
henceforth the meal was over??"
I was feeling dumb and ridiculed,
As I tried to shrug it off
Opened 2 bottles of wine,
Yanking, twisting off the corks
And went back to my regular foods,
Knives and spoons, and forks!
She saw him as she was driving by
She noticed an air of desolation about the guy
Huddled in his overcoat, his face was blue with cold
Stooped and unshaven, walking slowly as if quite old
She stopped the car abruptly, no time to think things out
On an impulse, she gave the man a shout
He was laden down with baggage, everything he had
He was carrying with him, he looked sad
She said "How can I help you? you look a little lost"
He said "Could you please give me a ride
I have not got the cost
Of a ticket for bus fare or for food to eat
I am in Adelaide to look for work
I've been tramping around the streets
I need a wash and shave
And to find a place to sleep"
As he was getting in her car
She was suddenly gripped with fear
Was this a foolish gesture to help this stranger here
He seemed to look much younger
As he settled in the seat
He was amazed at her kindness
And his good luck that they should meet
He glanced at the driver sideways
Out of the corner of his eye
She'd taken quite a risk
To pick up this poor guy
He said aloud "Don't worry I won't harm you in any way
I understand the chance you took
Giving me this lift today"
She said "It's my pleasure I have saved a few bob
You see, I've worked hard all my life
I've been lucky to have a job
Go to a mans' shelter and have a rest
Here's $50 to help you out
I wish you all the best"
He turned to face the woman, his eyes were very bright
"I can't accept the money it doesn't feel quite right"
"Please accept this little gift that's what life is all about
It's a poor existence if we can't help each other out"
He stared at her astonished
As if she was an angel from above
"Would you mind if I kissed you?"
He said, feeling something akin to love
For this kindly compassionate woman
Whom he had only just met
And although they may never meet again
He knew he would never forget
The infamous Borga Borga! Kings of self-deception, lords of make-believe, and emperors of "I've got it all together"!
They travel to far-off lands, where the streets are paved with gold (or so they claim), and return with an air of superiority that could choke a camel.
"I've made it, I've arrived, I'm the king of the world!" they proclaim, flashing their "foreign-acquired" bling and sporting their "imported" swagger.
But little do we know, behind the façade of confidence and success, lies a tale of woe and struggle. The Borga Borga's foreign escapades are often marked by:
- Sleeping on friend's couches, claiming it's a "5-star hotel"
- Eating scraps from the local food bank, calling it "haute cuisine"
- Walking miles to save bus fare, pretending it's a "leisurely stroll"
Yet, upon their return, they transform into superheroes, with tales of conquest and grandeur. "I've got connections, I've got deals, I've got the world at my feet!"
We listen in awe, mesmerized by their fantastical stories, as they bask in the admiration of their peers. But deep down, we know the truth:
The Borga Borga's foreign adventures are often a mere illusion, a desperate attempt to escape the harsh realities of their own lives. But hey, who needs reality when you can create your own fantasy, right?
So here's to the Borga Borga: may their tales of grandeur continue to entertain, may their delusions of grandeur remain unshattered, and may we, the audience, forever be amused by their antics!
©Dr Jamuel Yaw Asare
The infamous Borga Borga! Kings of self-deception, lords of make-believe, and emperors of "I've got it all together"!
They travel to far-off lands, where the streets are paved with gold (or so they claim), and return with an air of superiority that could choke a camel.
"I've made it, I've arrived, I'm the king of the world!" they proclaim, flashing their "foreign-acquired" bling and sporting their "imported" swagger.
But little do we know, behind the façade of confidence and success, lies a tale of woe and struggle. The Borga Borga's foreign escapades are often marked by:
- Sleeping on friend's couches, claiming it's a "5-star hotel"
- Eating scraps from the local food bank, calling it "haute cuisine"
- Walking miles to save bus fare, pretending it's a "leisurely stroll"
Yet, upon their return, they transform into superheroes, with tales of conquest and grandeur. "I've got connections, I've got deals, I've got the world at my feet!"
We listen in awe, mesmerized by their fantastical stories, as they bask in the admiration of their peers. But deep down, we know the truth:
The Borga Borga's foreign adventures are often a mere illusion, a desperate attempt to escape the harsh realities of their own lives. But hey, who needs reality when you can create your own fantasy, right?
So here's to the Borga Borga: may their tales of grandeur continue to entertain, may their delusions of grandeur remain unshattered, and may we, the audience, forever be amused by their antics!
©Dr Jamuel Yaw Asare
I'se been working my ass all day
in them government agencies in this here hot city
and them only giving me this little to pay
for food, rent and give them back the change in my grocery bill and utility.
First, I can't sleep on your job but you sleeping with my money
Using it to fill your belly, while I here contemplating
what making salting and what go be food
giving them prisoners three meals a day
while I'se in the free, dying for hunger
(poor me!)
Personally, me thinks dem crusty hand, old niggas
must board old trucks like my granny
tell dem hol' on tight and truck dem offsite
to work for dem food and a better life
an' dont figet the shackles! Put 'em on three by three
(modern slavery).
Lest they go free.
Professionally, I kibbain' ma mout'
Make dem bun tax money
Til dem get let out.
An dis yere darn government-
tolling our country's rusty, old bell-
Off with their heads.
sitting on the high chair we holding up
(if we let go, dem go fall)
tearing out dem dry eyes looking for more than them really deserve
(slackness dis 'ere!)
Might lose my job tomorrow
really, I no care!
cause what is the difference between poor and poor working class?
when all day I'se been working off my ass
Fi tit-bit more than bus fare!
This week has been so fair to me with fares. i get lifts and other times get my bus fare paid by strangers without asking, this is unusual as it has been occurring consistently for 4 days now.Today,i took a bus from Oshodi to Ikeja with my boyfriend who sat right in front on the first row of the bus seats.he wouldn't say anything to me as we had just gone through an argument before entering the bus about a guy who had earlier paid my bus fare from Gbagada to Oshodi. without knowing it,a guy by the drivers seat paid my fare and another guy offered to pay my fare too but the conductor revealed that the guy by the driver's seat already paid. 'Bae the boyfriend' became furious as he paid for himself and we alighted but not without saying thank you to the kind guy with a smile, 'Bae the boyfriend' filled with more fury crossed over to the opposite direction, picked a bus back to where we came from and sent me a text that read ''go alone to the cinema and make sure you get your fare paid by more men and a free movie ticket too'' quickly touching my pocket, i realized i had no money as his bus sped off. will i be lucky to get my fare paid for this time? somebody help,the night is crawling in and my feet hurts from standing 2 hours already.
Forget to count the presents under the tree
Look beyond the gifts and tinsel
they will be tucked away or forgotten
Forget the gnarly parking lots
Soon everyone will go home
Failing at finding the perfect gift
Forget to buy that little black dress
that is just 1 size too small
and will only be worn once
Forget to drink at all the parties
and then not remember how you got home
or how you acted in front of your boss
Forget how little money you have this year
and using credit til you exceed your limit
buying high price items till you are broke
Don't forget the homeless that will receive no gifts
no thought of tinsel only hunger
Don't forget the ones that have no cars. They have no worries of full
parking lots They would just like to have bus fare
Don't forget the ones that don't need or want a little black dress.
There are no parties for them to attend
They would prefer a second hand jacket to stay warm
Don't forget the ones who have no money.
No cash or credit cards to buy the things they need.
Their only wish is a warm blanket to sleep with on cold winter night
Don't forget the meaning of Christmas. Giving to others less fortunate
sharing and loving each other.
Don't forget
I have seen yet another miracle under the sun,
An eastern girl.
A firefly that has brought light to my pitiable living....
Poetry like music is just another description of art a painter never had the words to say out loud,
But in my case this is what happens when charisma plies against literature.....
What if I told you my wrist is part of the arms that planted the Boughs of the forbidden fruit?
And in my reveries,I write lustful poems like it's an addiction,
Sin after sin.
Or perhaps I write of love knowing I shall only taste it on stanzas and metaphors?
It's this type of poems that feel like they were written for me....
But today I'm a lucky man,
For there's a lass I wish to say my love to, love of it's purest form,
Stand on mount Everest and shout her name for millennials like I'm on salary to do so,
I'm not much of affectionate behavior
But for simplicities sake....let me just say
I want go on lavender candle dinners,hitch eyes until she's comfortable enough to talk about her insecurities,
And if I was to die before her
Bring me kwachas and ngwes...for I will need bus fare to find my way back to her, only rapture will do us apart.