Long Buses Poems
Long Buses Poems. Below are the most popular long Buses by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Buses poems by poem length and keyword.
Wood Carving
He sits there, not quite motionless, for
even the comfortable must alter their
perception occasionally, frozen stare
upon a craggy visage, tiny fox-like predator
eyes peering into your soul. “What are his
origins?” ask the bespectacled intellectuals.
“Who is he?” and “Why has he taken up
his unwelcome residence here?” The buses
pass carrying workers, students, captains
of industry. They look at him but they do
not see him. The children see him.
Wonder in their dreams how he came
to be. Some want to be rid of him.
They have no reason, no justification
for alarm, nothing to warrant their
uneasiness. One daring young lady
sat beside him, whispered a secret to
him, both shook with laughter.
Passersby were startled to see the
interaction and summoned the
the childs mother. “What have you
taught her that makes her think that
she can do such things?” They asked.
The young lady tried to speak but was
hushed by the serious looks she was
getting from the adults. That evening at
bed time the young lady’s mother asked
her: “What did you say to him?”. “I said:
‘You look like grandpa.”. The mother sat
back, quieting a tear, and reminded the
young lady that her Grandpa was no
longer here. “I know, Mommy”. She said.
Well then, what did “he” say to you?”
The young lady sat up in bed and smiled
“He said that he was there every day,
and any time I wished to sit with him
and read to him it would be fine.”
“Mommy”, she said, “do you remember
grandpa”? “You know …how his face was
all rough, and his hands hard and
spidery, and how he would like it when
I sat with him and read?” The tear that
had been held “quiet” made a sound,
ran down the mother’s face as she
hugged her daughter and put her
to bed. The next day mother and daughter
walked to the old tree, felt the roughness
of his face, touched his spidery thin
branches, sat with him – and read.
Soon others came to visit, sitting and
whispering, laughing and reading.
for they know who he is, what his
origins are, why “he” waits so patiently.
John G. Lawless
9/27/2014
For PD's WHATEVER - Poetry Contest
You can take an agency tour
Or a cruise to somewhere exotic.
You can cram onto buses and trains
Or sway on a camel hypnotic.
You can stand on your toes in a group
And try to see o’er the crowd,
To possibly glimpse Mona Lisa
Or hear, though the noise is so loud.
Instead of coming home tired
And set for a week in your bed
Travel the way that’s relaxing
And see more and hear more instead.
I’ve traveled the high Himalayas,
Seen mountains and valleys galore
Trudged with the yaks and porters-
No frostbite, no blizzards, no sores.
From ocean to ocean I’ve wandered
Seen whales and dolphins at play,
Walked in Australia’s Red Center
Without face nets to keep flies away.
I’ve learned much about native people,
Their customs, their habits and lore.
I’ve even been south to Antarctica
And oh, to so many sites more.
And all of this time I was sitting
In my living room lounging chair,
Dressed in pajamas and bathrobe
With books piled around in my lair.
My armchair’s a magical carpet
That whisks me wherever I wish
No planes or lines of security
Just a turn of a page and –whish!
As the morning breeze springing sprightful fragrance
Stolen cleverly when he kissed the soft colourful petals
I woke up into a new fresh delightful daylight
To taste once more my honeyed life and my blossoming day.
From my flat laying lazily at level six
I was contented to watch the sunrise
He rose with all his fervor and might
And I wished him a happy day out.
The sighing wind called me to look down the streets
Where I saw people in masks treading hastily
Like ants rushing here and there in hurry
Never they wish nor smile to any other faces.
Stand alone in bunches they waited for their turn
In buses or cars which ever halted to pick
Like strange samurai soldiers flying to a war zone
Never they wish nor smile to any other faces.
Fearful glances and rushing little steps
Even the whisking dresses frightfully heard as sneezes
My heart cried and burned seeing those pity stances
Oh, dear little creatures, stop your playful bounces.
The mighty human race moving towards a comess
When like weird aliens, Covid trying to invade
But tomorrow we will rise from our burning ashes
To tame you and make you a story for our coming cradles.
Third Place in N-A re-run 7 Poetry Contest sponsored by John Hamilton
If Broken Were A City.
If Broken were a city, it'd be so far away.
No one would want to visit yet many there would stay.
Not by choices that they made but by love they somehow lost.
Oh how they long to leave, but can't pay what it cost.
The weather's dark and dreary, it rains there every day.
But no one seems to notice. Nothing matters anyway.
Flowers very seldom grow, when they do they go unseen.
Trees are stripped of leaves, the grass no longer green.
There's rivers all around it, there's no bridge that they can cross.
They can't swim the river, for the drowning in their loss.
The water races fierce and wide, but sometimes still and deep.
It's fed by the tears they cried on nights when they can't sleep.
The streets have names like lonely and there's one called sadness too.
With billboards to remind them of all that life has put them through.
There are no trains and buses, they never go nowhere.
Except a park called empty, where they just sit and stare.
No one there has much to say but if they talk at all.
Overwhelmed with their emotions the teardrops start to fall.
Their eyes are far from empty, you can see right from the start.
In the city they call broken, they all have a broken heart.
There's seldom any lights turned on, it's dark as it can be.
Because when you live in Broken there's really nothing much to see.
So if you find you're in Broken, you won't be bothered much.
It's void of all the things you loved, you can look but you can't touch.
There are no celebrations, people come here just to grieve.
No one knows until they get here, that they can never leave.
Don't send no cards or letters, no one ever gets their mail.
Cause this city they call Broken. Is just another name for hell.
Edwin C Hofert
Living in Scotland as I am
winters in recent years are quite calm
but in recent weeks forecast was bad
winds come from Siberia to cause alarm
Then this week heavy snow came
the likes we've not seen before
continuously it rained down everywhere
we had to stay in shutting the door
Everything was off buses, trains the lot
all the schools closed kids shout hurrah!
couldn't even clear your pathway
it was so cold below freezing all day
When will this snow decide to go away?
forecasts say there's more to come
well pull the hatches down and pray
hibernation - a good idea! yea I feel numb!
(Here in Scotland, it's been really cold with snow and bitter winds coming from the east, Siberia seems to be the culprit. But it's below freezing all the time with real cold winds and drifting snow, even the shops have no basics like bread and milk but no matter we'll survive.)
while she believed she was me
signing my name on personal injury
claims in fort lauderdale
I cradled my identity i was every part
of america i was every part of germany while she
believed she was me buses blew up in london while
dirty bombs were plotted near
buckingham palace while corruption was being
laundered in Belfast Ireland while she believed
she was me fearlessly i was being dragged
through a holy war while she believed
she was me. my ancestors became
the valley of dry bones unearthed in burr oaks
cemetary the largest crime
scene in the history of chicago while
she believed she was me
a civil servant employee retired in tampa
an ex army wife dependant crawling on
constitution blvd wearing my dogtags
of thee highiest order of law truth veritas
her treason a mole hired by corruption
to infiltrate an ongoing criminal investigation
into police corruption
while she believed she was me killers snarled
as corrupt officers hissed
saddled with fear while she believed
she was me the fallen rose
as governors were arrested
while judges committed suicide
oh how I wanted to end my own life
to prevent another assassination attempt
oh lord forgive me as I decided
to follow my identity to my dismay
it was being blackmarketed sold traded
in Europe India the middle east and Moscow
devestated as I knelt praying
for our bischops and preist
while she believed she was me
the entire Polish Parliament perished
my soul dangled over russia
Another year has passed by me and so much different then the last
ever since this Covid March I have been living out my house arrest
no outward smiles to show my love, no hugs no squeezes for my kids
like a Citizen of good I understood but yes, I almost flipped my lid
with every day that passes by I dream of yesterday's good chide
though nature walks and social talks are good, I have been tried
heart and soul I miss my family and friends, this is my prayer
that the New Year will arrive, and be our dragon slayer ...
Another year another Auld Lang Syne, I'm longing for the wine
an open sign that says yes come in, restaurants where I can dine
a shopping mall, a dancing hall, filled up buses with a kiss n' ride
maskless faces in a world of wander, with happy people at my side
Another year has passed me by, and I'm waiting, by and by...
A bus in the hand,
Is worth two that fail to land,
Or fail to stop on demand,
Because they are needed,
when trains do not run as planned,
Or there has been slide of hand,
From drivers on a mission unsanctioned,
By those in command.
The good news is that the bus in my hand,
Stops within walking distance at my command,
Which is a lucky break for my chances of
staying above Ground,
Longer than planned,
With heart and lungs feeling needed,
And legs that are no longer unmanned,
With a good dose of natural Vitamin D,
That helps steady my hand,
And gives my brain a chance to expand.
So, I thank buses out of hand,
When I am tempted,
To wait on a bus that was scheduled,
But with no intention to arrive on time stated,
on the electronic notice board,
That those in the know never take for granted,
Whenever the word scheduled,
Remains unchanged,
And there is a near enough bus on hand.
,
In the beginning it was just a smell
a smell i could not quite make sense of
a smell that the city was, a smell that the people in it were
in the beginning it was just a smell
a smell that dragged swarms of people of their homes
onto the streets, into the trains, into the strangers’ eyes and their uncharted territories
slowly i realised
all cities are, first, smells to the outsiders
and Tainan was smell sound taste touch to me
there were moments when i felt
this city is just people, so many of them; how beautiful
that i do not know any of them, yet i know them all
sometimes i would think if i emptied the city of all these countless faces
and bodies jostling with each other, what would remain of the city? would it still beat if i put my ears into the hearts of the depeopled Shennong Street
at the dead of night?
i came to Taiwan for the same reason
that a Vietnamese, an Indonesian, or an American comes for,
to chase my dreams, to become more of me,
instead I became it
it wasn’t as easy and quick as they make it out to be;
it took time, for love has its own mysterious ways
i started to embrace Taiwan and its culture
huge numbers of scooters and cars
Everyone follows the traffic rules
wait patiently for the green signals
one in Tainan city never feels pity
city buses and t-bikes are the best friends of a wanderer in the city
people are always helpful,
they adore you as they adore ‘hello kitty’;
small parks almost at every half a kilometer
elderly people like Mr. and Mrs. Wang use them for exercise
sometimes the parks provide sweet beds to the homeless;
i often use the underground passage of the Tainan train station
i look at the people sleeping there
they have made their small worlds in the underpass
they eat, they sleep, they chat with their neighbours
people look quite strange and funny without boundaries around them
their small worlds haven’t yet known the ways of the boundaries, the frontiers; these people are happy in heavy rains and in extreme cold, are they happy?
Tainan has a home for everyone, i guess
when I feel bored, i go to the sea
and bathe in the sounds of its waves lapping against the shores
sunset-platform lets you enjoy the majestic sunset and calming breeze born of the boundless deep
_____to be continue in part-II
I've almost forgotten it.
It got too big -
holes appeared,
entire towns fell through
my memory.
The Forbidden City
is a convoluted red and gold ribbon,
my mind cannot now untangle.
Images float off the ink
of curling maps.
Snapshots flutter
like flags in a desert sky.
I recall in parts and pieces:
middle-aged couple’s street dancing,
no revolutionary strutting,
just Quickstep, Foxtrot,
and Bossa Nova.
The young watching,
taking notes, as if
studying for an exam.
A small one-armed boy,
riding a peddle bike,
weaving through traffic,
four black cormorants strapped to his back,
their necks craning out of their wicker cage,
like sight-seeing dogs.
A quick look at Mongolia
through a hole in the Wall.
China got loose,
it escaped the hotels,
the tour buses, the itinerary.
It went down a crowded alley,
draped with roast ducks,
and paper lanterns.
If I were now to follow it,
it might lead me,
to a restaurant in London,
San Francisco, or Toronto,
or like today
come together again,
in the eyes of a girl
who sells me a smart phone.