Long Buss Poems
Long Buss Poems. Below are the most popular long Buss by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Buss poems by poem length and keyword.
“Santa Anna Wind”.
© London F. Buss
Don’t fear sadness, only shadows,
who come through walls,
It's always now and always then.
It's loneliness never ends,
even after you him. yes him.
Only money it seems can buy a friend.
She hates herself; ugliness never ends.
trampled under a calloused love.
She wants to die just to feel love.
Happiness is a dream?
But her daughter, she’s so young,
she just don’t know.
he danger in his eyes,
Tangled knots in her hair, isn’t love.
His lies laid bare.
Just as well it’s cold as hell,
she got summer in her smile.
He got his hand on her thigh,
hands playing with her tities.
Footsteps going, going, gone.
He wouldn’t wait a while.
What would you say?
He tore up your yesterdays,
Pink Cadillac is parked out back,
doing the back seat boogie,
Now, she got winter on her mind.
Cadillac heater making her unwind,
Rain filled heart, smoke filled fears,
your thawing out in his arms
You’re screaming in pain Steaming.... up the widows.
and you’re on the wrong side of town.
Has daddy seen you, you're not sure?
Worn out promises, practiced lies,
too late to change her mind.
He made a mess,
Cumming over your confirmation dress,
She's only eleven and got summer on her mind.
Her daddies’ footsteps sealed his fate.
Saw her panties on the floor.
12-gauge shotgun… buckshot roars.
He's just a dying, lying, twitching, on the floor.
Santa Anna winds don’t blow this far north.
He won’t come knocking on her door,
Not no more, he killed little her blue bunny,
He won’t come knocking on her door,
Not no more,
He killed little her blue bunny,
ripped it apart is lying helpless, screaming on the floor,
Santa Anna winds don’t blow this far north.
Santa Anna winds don’t blow this far north.
He won’t come knocking on her door,
Not no more,
State of Grace
An Army nurse hoses blood off the floor.
while the doughnut dollies smile and flirt
with the wounded boys
down the hall.
Back home they scream baby killers, Spit in our
faces with sadistic joy.
White sheets cover the dead soldiers, just boys, being wheeled
out one after another, out the door, too late.
Body bags await, and body parts stacked up by the door.
She held his cold hand, as he lay dying, in fear… calling
calling for his momma,
Nurses in tears can’t take any more, but they wheel in
another dying boy through the door.
Screams of pain, dulled by heavy monsoon rain
pounding on too thin canvas walls.
Unforgiven... in a State of Grace one boy after another dies
time and time again, she must hose their blood off the floor.
Padre telegram in trembling hand, knocks on the… it’s
The door is open?
Memories of rows flag draped lead lined coffins
as he steps through the door.
And sees the boy’s young wife, naked, with a stranger.
on the… looks away, can’t watch this anymore...
who the are you?
Your husbands been wounded,
but he is doing well, he lies...... Well…. Wel..l
Well, he has lost both of his arms and legs,
she said, So, he’s not dead? , , ,
no NO GOD DAMNED insurance payout,
no no no?
He turns and leaves the boys wife
still naked wife in a State of Grace, with a
stranger on the…..
Padre in tears walks out the door ….
Shaking hands, he, recounts
the telegrams, undelivered, yet again, quickly,
there’s still six more.
Fate, like Charlottes topaz eyed… tiger still lurking in shadows
As an Army nurse in a State of Grace,
hoses the blood off the floor, and stacks
the body bags by the door...
(c) London F. BuSS
11,000 nurses served in Vietnam, were volunteers. Many still suffer from PTSD.. GrocPedia (Elon Musks) wikipedia did an interesting review of this poem. I should say that im not a
pacifycist, i was a soldier, and i would rather die a patriot than a coward...
“An Old PhotoOf You“.
I just found…. A photo of you,
The photo is old,
but my memories of you… are new.
These are the days.. that just fade away,
Never know what to say, or do.
I stay in bed all night and day,
Shots of whisky to make me…
but I’m just counting sheep
And lying here wide awake, … just.
Staring at that photo of you.
And.. the emptiness of life.
Haunted by an old photo of you.
And the sheep painted on your cute little red shoes.
Before that drunk driver……. killed you.
And.. the emptiness of life.
With just An old photo of you,
And the white sheep painted on your cute little red shoes.
© London F. BuSS
Now that eye have groan older inn thee tooth,
Aye recall fond mammaries of my feckless youth.
(End sum of them knot sow fond as ewe will later sea!)
Butt generally speakin', life was vary good two me.
Eye em sew greatful four my luving Maw end Paw,
Who maid me tow thee lyne end keep withinn thee law.
If eye missbeehaved, Maw would lea awn Paw's razor strap,
Sand me two bed sans supper end two shut my humongous yap!
Sure, aye uttered sum naughtea words beeyoond en innocuous 'darn',
End enjoyed corn-silk smokes inn thee heyloft of thee barn.
Such things were a loathin' untwo thee Lord, accordin' two my Maw,
End if caught wood've recommended corporal punishment bye my Paw!
Aye recall thee stench of fried aigs end oranges on thee school bus,
End my sweethart savin' a seat four me end steelin' a hastea buss!
How eye looked fourword two You'll Tide end meatin' Senta Claws,
Butt sayin' a 'peace' at thee church Nativity Play gave me paws!
On cold winter mourns aye struggled two putt my long-johns awn,
Two ade Paw milk cows end slop hawgs at thee brake of dawn.
Sow many mammaries have eye growin' up, sew pleasin' two recall;
Aye wreckon eye wood knead a volyum ore sow two list them awl!
. THE. SCORPION AND THE FROG.
There once was a frog named Jesus Christ
And a Scorpion named Mohamed Wahhabi
One day the Scorpion named Mohamed came
to a pond but could not swim, so he could not cross
So he asked the frog named Jesus Christ
If he would carry the Scorpion across the pond
Jesus the frog said yes
But only if you agree not to sting me..
Mohamed Wahhabi the Scorpion agreed
not to sting the frog.
So the frog generously agreed to carry
.Mohammad Wahhabi he Scorpion across the pond,..
but half way across the Mediterranean pond
.... Mohamed the Scorpion stung Jesus the frog...
, Why did you do that Jesus the frog asked, we will
Both drown and die..
Muhammad Wahhabi the Scorpion said
. Jesus Christ... It is in my nature to sting and kill ...
(c) London F. BuSS.2025
“Thin Dime Blues”.
Warmth of your skin not forgotten.
And….. all my favorite singers are… Dead ,
But…. I can't get their poetry outta my head.
And I would die for your kiss, in the rain
And I need to hold your lies,
in my arms again. And again,
And I got dirty, muddy feet and I’ve only my tears,
To wash the thin-dime blues away.
To ease the.... moment in time
Thats fading away.
I loved you for a moment,
A moment in time,
I don't know why,
Why I loved you?
But That was then,
This is now.
It’s not a crime?
Your wrapped up in the lies of his eyes,
And your no longer mine.
Don't know why
All my favorite singers are dead
Can't get their poetry
outta my head.
And I’m left alone,
Throwing shadows at the moon.
I need that kiss in the rain to wash my thin dime blues
away
And I got muddy feet.
I’ve only my tears, to wash the thin-dime blues away.
I've been writing poetry all night and day
Don't know what to write
Don't know what say…
Remembering yesterdays,
Did I make you nervous?
When I was sitting by your side.
It's a feeling
I just can't hide.
When you’re sitting by my side
A touch of heaven in your eyes.
As the world stops, to laugh, and smile
Then in a moment passes by... Separated by time
And... I need to know… what I can’t say?
maybe you feel the same way?
All my favorite singers are dead
Can't get their poetry, outta my head.
And I’m left alone,
Throwing shadows at the moon.
Warmth of your skin not forgotten.
I’ve only got my tears,
To wash the thin-dime blues away.
All my favorite singers are dead
Can't get their poetry, outta my head.
Sold my soul for a book of pain.
I’ve only got our tears,
To wash the thin-dime blues away.
All my favorite singers are dead
Can't get their poetry, outta my head,
And I’m left all alone.
Throwing shadows at the moon,
All my favorite singers are dead
Can't get their poetry, outta my head,
And I’m left alone,
Throwing shadows at the moon.
© London F, Buss 2024
Brother & Sister Groninger
Tom Wright
3/26/01
It wasn't,
by mere happenstance we met.
Or by odd chance,
our friendship grew.
But for selfish reasons did we huddle
as close as we dared get.
Gleaning pearls of wisdom
from the two.
We saw in them,
those things we cherished most;
And always with each calling
were made to feel at ease.
Not beheld as wayfarers,
nor they, as hostess and host;
Then always upon our exit, their hug,
her buss upon the cheek and "come again please".
If insignificant things were done,
oft as a task, they'd see.
Rarely, if ever, realizing,
that their giving was much more.
Adult education per se,
without books, tuition, or exams, but free.
From our two smiling friends,
each time our knuckles found their door.
Now alongside, again, they lie,
'mongst configurations of chiseled stone.
Spirits, since ushered to their reward,
as it will be for all one day.
But from their lives, "Snow Angels" were left,
not for family alone.
For God saw that we had need of these tracks,
as memories, to assist us in our way.
What friends are for?
For carrying bags, for copying home works
For finding a song, for throwing garbage
What are friends for?
For taking pics, for making nic’s
For solving a problem, for supporting others
What are friends for?
For buying food, for hitting each other
For arguing over something silly
What are friends for?
For defeating boys, for making them cry
For making mistakes, for forgetting promises
What are friends for?
For giving you a smile, for dancing & singing &
Arguing over something small
What are friends for?
For breaking fingers, for kicking butts
For learning lessons, for never-saying goodbye
What are friends for?
For spilling juice on each other, for eating each other’s sandwiches by mistake
For making the buss driver scream, for ignoring Miss Alia
What are friends for?
For writing notes & passing them in class, for studying with you while you’re weak
For asking you why you’re sad, for looking at the window
What are friends for?
For letting you get punished, for helping you in art
For explaining a math equation, for giving you a whole biology lesson
What are friends for?
For treating each other a lesson; that’s what are they for!!!
I wrote this orphan poem to see if the infamous Australian musician Paul Kelley can torn it into a song. Many have tried and failed..
Toss a Coin
(c) London F. Buss
I left my smile on a train going
all the way to hell,
The fires gone out,
I'm covered in snow
And I'm getting cold.
I'm lost in lake city
growing old,
Along Hwy 299 beetles-kill, the cedar trees
That grow along the canyon walls.
Does she love me?
I just don't know,
My fate's a coin toss.
So I..Toss a coin
And disregard co-incedence.
Like Sisyphus in the snow.
I left my smile on a train going
all the way to hel
I'm covered in snow and it's getting cold
And I'm lost in Lake City growing old,
The Ice wall's stab at the snow
And blood is forming
On the badgers nose.
And my hearts still
broken and confused and
I still don't know,
if she loves me,
So I toss a coin?
And disregard co-incidence..
As the sunset's blood glows
on the badgers nose..
So I'm back on the train to Hell
Looking for my smile
That she once loved so well.
Now she is lost in Lake City
And Covered in snow,
Getting cold and growing old.
So Toss a Coin
And disregard co-incidence.
And she is lost in Lake City
Getting cold and growing old.
So Toss a Coin
And disregard co-incidence.
Now I'm still on that train looking for
my smile I lost, long ago,
going all the way to hell...
Hobble Hobble Hobble
Written for Cedarville Librarian Julie.
Absolutely no pressure on that knee for 6 weeks.
They gave me crutches
Hobble, hobble, hobble. to the door.
Husband waiting for me,
luckily.
I woke at nine.
Felt like , head ache and can’t get over it, Tylenol,
Hobble, hobble, hobble.
Decided to take a shower took more than a hour.
Hobble, hobble, hobble.
Half an hour to get dressed.
Hobble, hobble, hobble.
Made a cup pf tea and spilled it on me.
Hobble, hobble, hobble.
Dropped the cup, it smashed on the floor.
Tea everywhere but mop is by the door
Hobble, hobble, hobble
I’ll use the mop as a crutch,
but I fell on the floor.
Hobble, hobble, hobble.
Can’t use a mop for a crutch no more.
But i left my crutch by the door.
Hobble, hobble, hobble.
I looked everywhere,
I can’t find the dust pan and broom
Hobble, hobble, hobble.
I sat in the chair, stared at the tea spilt everywhere.
Hobble, hobble, hobble.
Dust Pan, broom and mop in hand
But I can’t bend over to a pick up any damn thing.
Hobble, hobble, hobble.
So I just sit in the chair.
Hobble, hobble, hobble.
Saved by a bell, the phone started to ring
Its on the bed across the room
But I can’t stand up to get the damn thing.
Hobble, hobble, hobble.
I reached the phone and they hung up
Why, why why is this happening to me.
I dropped the phone, slipped and fell into the tea.
Hobble, hobble, hobble wobble splat.
The dog came over and wanted to play
I couldn’t… so she dragged my crutch away
Hobble, hobble, hobble.
So, I lay on the floor, in the tea, and the dog
kept licking my face and sitting on me.
Hobble, hobble, hobble.
I had to roll and roll to pick up my crutch.
Time to go to work,
Hobble, hobble, hobble to door.
Five minutes or more fo open car door.
Hobble, hobble, hobble to door.
Can’t use accelerator and brake on the floor
Not too late to stay at home,
Dewi Decimal system awaits.
Hobble, hobble, hobble
Seven-minute drive becomes forty-four.
Cant climb stairs, need help, so ill call.
, I left my phone on the chair by the door
So, I must Hobble, hobble, hobble
For five weeks more.
© london F. Buss 2024.and Librarian Julie