Long Fares Poems
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BACK STORY
Me and my dad used to work as a team on the Trolley Buses for Manchester Corporation, out of the Hyde Road Depot. Dad drove, and I was his offsider, collecting fares, and keeping order on the bus, like making sure people did not block the aisle, or go past the stop they had paid for. and no one was standing up if there was room to sit down, also making sure people upstairs did not bang there feet on the floor. General Spoilsport eh. In the second part, Moses was a big African fella, and his offsider was a little red headed Irishman, they usually had the run in front of us, and tried whatever they could to get us to go ahead, and take the load off them, timetables did not bother them much. I always told dad,
if it comes to a fight, I will take the little one
Trolley Buses
By Robert (Bob) Moore ©
I used to work on trolley buses, up and down Hyde Road
My dad he was the driver, and I controlled the load
Move along the bus I’d say, there’s room for 2 upstairs
that’s where you were allowed to smoke, in those days no one cared
Leave from Piccadilly, the 210 was our bus
Keep eyes on the timetable, it meant a lot to us.
Ardwick Green and Belle Vue, then on past Debdale Park
Hyde would be the Terminus, then turn and head right back
Sometimes a petrol driver, would try to make some cash
With overtime on trolleys, but sometimes they were rash
They’d forget about the trolley arm, and try to overtake
They’d see us wave and shouting, and realized “mistake”
It was all too late of course, and the sparks would start to fly
The arms were bent and waving, and the power it would die
Then swearing and apologies, and laughter close to tears
Then back to depot on batteries, for the ribbing and the sneers.
Moses was an African, his offsider was a Mick
They tried to get us to take their load, with every dirty trick
We pulled into Hyde one day, they had their trolleys down
You should be in front they said, and take the load to town.
Dad did not bat an eyelid, we’er on a break he said
you’ll have to wait 10 minutes, before we go ahead
they knew they could not wait that long, they had to make their run
so trolleys up, and off they went, we drank tea and watched the fun.
On entering the afterlife, to be met by my father.
(Hopefully a long way off)
> Hello Dad, it has been many a year
You're looking well, since I looked at you last
Good job, you won't believe how much I'm scarred,
can't say the past few years have not been hard.
The burdens that I was prepared to take,
the sacrifices I have had to make.
I shan't deny you had it really rough,
but from my point of view it was quite tough,
child number three within your clutch of four
way down the pecking order, that's for sure.
Your last son was priority number one............
Such love you speak of never manifest
I felt alone, adrift, unlike the rest.
A fishing trip together, when I was small
the only day we had I can recall.
< I worked, but it took my good health at length
an industry that sapped my breath and strength
by fifty, there was no more I could do
the body of a man aged ninety-two.
If like some of your friends, you'd had it all
been mollycoddled , pampered, treated, spoiled
by adulthood it would have been too late
for you to come and step up to the plate.
The inner strength you have to go so far
is from your past, defining who you are.
I'm proud you somehow managed to get by,
now, come here, son- and let me dry your eye.
For contest 'A conversation', sponsor Frank Herrera
31st August 2016
i.
what am i, what am i?
tea, tea, for that would i die --
cup after cup after cup of vanilla chai.
the romance of caffeine,
the lull of forced time awake;
the feeling of falling in the night,
when your body starts with a quake.
what am i, what am i?
books, books, for them would i die.
o, to curl in my bed, to have a good cry.
here to mask the frustration of a boring life,
arthur, his knights, and a good, long, strife.
what am i, what am i?
loneliness, loneliness, for her would id ie.
i've always been told i'm far too shy.
sensitive as a mouse, picky as a bird--
who cares to speak if their words won't be heard?
ii.
what am i, what am i?
to that, i answer, many a thing.
i am the battered scribe next to the shining king.
i am dreaming of all the fish in monterey bay.
i am thinking tiredly about the end of may.
i am hiding my face in the picture you took.
i am a crude laugh and a shrill, "made you look!"
i am my favorite mug that always burns my hand.
i am the scratched CD of my favorite band.
i am turning the corner in tears & hitting my head.
i am thinking of ways i could wind up dead.
iii.
what am i, what am i?
why, i'll tell you.
my life is made of blue and gray.
i am no she, he, or they.
i am made of those moments in the wood,
when your words will undoubtedly be misunderstood.
i am her gifts, her endearing eyelashes,
the roll of his shoulders, his tales of car crashes,
their quick wit, their excited chatter,
the cringe i cringe when asked, "what's the matter?"
iv.
what am i, what am i?
some could argue i don't know.
too young, too brash, and definitely too slow.
but some could i argue that i do
because i know that i am not a 'who'.
i try to take moments and grab them ;
grip them tight & close to my chest.
i pile the memories up and sit on them
like my own beautiful bird's nest.
i feel only frustration, gratitude, and nothing at all
i open my mouth to speak with unconscious gall.
v.
who am i, who am i?
you tell me, please do.
chances are i know less than you.
you have a name, a life, some cares;
you are eager to pay society's fares.
vi.
so.
what of people who are what?
Of the created lot, Am the meandering one,
A mass of battling red,
Am always on a steady diet
Ever since the mothers bred.
Chemicals galore in profound reacts
When devils dare to tread,
The flames crack like the daring sun
And cells suffer a wreck.
Parts are fed with signals released,
Castles on the air are built,
Images form with colors bright
Traces of the past are sealed.
Departments of thought rise from Me,
I am read in books.
Creation emerges from the mind and senses
Yet asylums flourish with crooks.
Messages I gather from the senses five---
Are sent in a light year’s way.
Memory thrives in my very core,
I’m a keyboard away.
They reason Me out as the created best,
And nourish My sphere’s layers.
They ordain rules to protect my case,
From the dangers that strike their fares.
The universe sparks in the subterranean domain.
The designs of law are etched,
Loss and gain share moments across-
And sacrifice tarry the rest.
Born am I in labored love.
And extend Myself to the south
Slowly shape ‘neath the groves of dark
I have no head no mouth.
I’m the centre of all that is,
And all that’s yet to come,
Read me by the lines I stretch,
And Newton and Eliot become.
The glossary of my veins if well memorized,
Will dissolve the distance untread,
The fabric of my pattern if well understood
Will gratitude in your self portray.
I carve a niche in the business world,
While the media rocks with tunes,
I reckon the ravaging bravehearts
While in their solitude they happily muse.
The creative urge from my marriage with Heart
Has the world in the throes of death
The globe breathes in the arms of Lust
And clones of mine are traced.
I suffer the mind’s wrath unruled
In shapes and regions asunder,
Toxins corrode my nervous terrain,
And dig my fissures with thunder.
Sanity suffers numerous threats
Barring messages to be sent,
Customs perish in love and hate,
While I in my shock beheld---
A world of chaos that origins from me,
Yet I, a unified whole,
Wait and watch the generations that pass
With music and promise in store.
****************************************
In a small hamlet people were outside their dwellings staring up at a heavy black sky,
Wind lashed the trees and front doors a big storm was about to happen and very soon,
Small ice flakes whipped up in the wind stinging eyes I had a big dewdrop on my nose,
After some time the blackened sky opened the winds raged and the snow began falling.
Like a roaring bear gusts of winds blew the nearby sea sending salty spray to join snow,
The wind sweeping across the land fiercely blowing gales loosening objects in its path,
An old man curled up against his fire heavy snow swept under his door and over his eaves,
As snow started to fall harder the flakes were huge swirling in blustery bitter cold winds.
That night was so cold every one went to collect logs for a fire smoke rose from chimneys,
Figures seen in silhouette behind lighted icy windows, doors were bolted the eaves blocked,
Friends gathered in each others houses sipping wine their singing muffled by high winds,
The worst storm that many could recall elders told stories of bigger storms tongue in cheek.
All night long snow fell in the morning villagers went outside to see the damage caused,
The sun shone with such brightness the blue sky and the carpets of snow hurt their eyes,
Icy snow was very deep and big white chunks of frozen snow stuck to bottoms of shoes,
A tall tree stood in the middle of the hamlet heavy lines of snow bent its tough boughs.
Stories circulating round firesides of travelers lost in great drifts on wild moorlands,
Wanderers that had perished, frozen in the deep snow all lost in the snow laden woods,
In the morning the snows stopped bringing sunny clear skies that shone like lapis lazuli,
The wind whistled blowing top snow into a fine spray leaving a surface frosty and hard.
There was a wonderful feeling walking along hedge-tops and across deep white valleys,
All now filled and level, the frozen mass crunching under heavy steps in snow boots,
Finding only the rivers showing themselves by their wintry hues amid trees and rocks,
Visitors from the north the red wings, thrushes and field-fares flew back to their homes.
A Satanic “ANTI-CHRIST” Lies in Every Heart
My ‘Brothers,’ ‘Sisters,’ hear my ask, and choose to follow CHRIST!
What ‘RIGHT’ calls faith’s not FAITH at all. LOVE claims no ‘CHRISTIAN RIGHT’
to force ALL PEOPLE to its WILL! My God! RIGHT’s aptly named!
‘RIGHT’ think that acting in THEIR WILL’s the way to paradise
but that’s IDOLATRY. All faith that’s sure it’s RIGHT is SIN
(the ‘DEVIL IN DISGUISE’) and GRACE a gift God gives to ALL
(man’s actions don’t deserve!) Friend, FAITH’s the path to where Grace lives!
Abortion is a fact of life (at times, a gift from God!)
which would be parents think they hate (rape’s victims meet with love!),
and practiced long before Christ’s birth. The Bible’s silent here!
Friend! It’s satanic claim to KNOW what’s right for other’s lives!
‘Roe versus Wade’ does not hurt you and lets each person vote.
The Truth is true for all of time, no matter how it’s sliced
and those who lie to make truth wrong are allies of the night,
with hate, with Hell, with Death! Love wins when Trump, his friends are shamed!
Where Satan tricks, God gives you choice (redemption conquers vice),
God’s goal’s your growth, His Truth’s that Love wants sinner’s souls to win!
Success gets primed with Christ’s amazing Grace and still we fall!
No church fares better than the rest; they’re wisdom’s fugitives
that seek to hide their nakedness with borrowed leaves! How odd!
Acknowledged sin has lost its edge (where vanity hides truth in glove);
what’s weak is strong through faith (though all feel shame who know they fear!)
Life’s lessons stressed we earn through pain; its honey comes from hives.
“Each night earth’s known has met day’s dawn” is poetry worth note!
Long Tooth
May 23rd in 2022
Poet’s Note:
Do not despair that our churches are all more hospitals for the sick and dying than they are Country Clubs for the saved. That seems to be what Grace is for! Give more Grace to others if you dream it is yours to share.
Cheer and root is DONALD JUHG.
Act a way in open also other evil schemes in secret.
Overt does or convert acts are china tyrants ’contacts.
Hong Kong china commie teacher pets might beg for china tyrants blesses.
HONG–KONG-Donald Jung knows a group of HONG KONG dirty noble mutually. What are fringe benefits then? Come and gather together must be some really service for Donald JUNG. Take a seat for private air plane. Take a cruise to cruise with the private one those cruises belong to Hong Kong nabobs.
Feign to acts in ways but make the real confer and moves in other. Does JUNG YIN KUNG HONG Kong ex-C.E.O Donald JUNG pay the traffic fares?
Donald JUNG did kick his followers upstairs.
Ways beside this there are nepotism earn their life as hireling men. Those are yes are kowtow men. They are franking stamps. They are cliques for governing however all are yes and snobbish men. Their worse in self is evil wills
So inferior complex does for their making evil minds as their evil natures take always.
Greedy Donald JUNG cheer and root for china commie tyrants. Once Donald Jung is HONG KOJNG chief executive officer just might always look for fringe benefit among those Hong Kong nabobs just to make him wealthy.
Donald JUNG repulsive behaviors all will twist our facts.
Oracle saints may need those men to clean our donkey back.
So please me and I keep my voices quiet.
China IX JANGPING also HONG KONG leader teams should they know as how to clean my donkey back.
Ranks of moneys really smell but I will take the favor also remain clean. I love money mints. Give me most then I might keep quiet. Are there hush moneys?
Donald JUNG onto ways to come and match or map to evil domain just as cunning china is purer commie henchman.
China ways are worse of lethal hells that hide or hire. Hireling men will have political powers so are snobbish.
Hireling men will earn and keep their better life in some.
-------------Cheung Shun Sang=Cauchy3-------------------------
No Mickey, Minnie, or Goofy- no Jimmy The Cricket
The spirit of Sodom is Gomorrah...what I see is plain "Wicked"
Neon lit buildings and business bright nights...
A terse description of 8th Ave - I see somethings not right
Jailbait pimps fishing for girlish age bodies
Port of Authority freaks craving school boy young hotties
A bunco, a scam - the cards of "Monte" are three...
White kids from Jersey seeking fake/fresh Ids
Cabbies waiting for fares/get their plates/it's too late
Little courtesy or English and overpriced rates
Electronic stores, you have restaurants; a myriad of stands
that vend snacks
You can have a wad roll of money, yet still looked at if Black
The Homeless Are Human, it's the truth not conjecture
It seems to keep them sans housing gives Midtown its texture
Fleabag hotels are great bargains/I've heard there's four legged pests
You've paid your money - there's danger, but you still can't have guests
Mounted units, Blue grunts to keep the rich ones protected
The last Toe Tag said "No One", why wasn't that crime detected?
A Vagrant says that he's hungry to everyone that he greets
You can't see the flame touch the Pyrex/it's the crack that he eats
On the trains I see animals, sometimes you'd think a new species
Most of those stations need cleaning....in my sight Human Feces
Poetiq visions/my heart troubled/ I had no choice but expound
It goes down daily in the Crab Apple/New York City....Midtown
In America, after World War 2 and the war in Korea, the post war economy brought hopes of a bright career.
Many of its citizens were thawing from the freeze, but not us. We would have to wait; perhaps too few made a fuss.
Though our fore parents had already paid a terrible price, most would agree that our lot was still a very hard and vicious life.
Yes, although we were citizens and could pay our fares like all the rest; being Black, we were striped of rights and forced to the back of the bus.
I am certain that God heard the cries of the Black masses as they fervently prayed, "O God, have we not had enough?"
The beat goes on, and the unchecked heat waves of tyranny were yet unjust. And as the sands of time slowly fell in the hour glass, we waited.
The reality was that many more had to suffer and slowly bite the dust. Man's cruelty and debauchery are not new and never need be a mystery.
We would have to wait, like so many others in prior generations of history. Mortal man's unquenchable greed, and his thirst for power have no boundary.
God-given fortunes of rights are seldom relinquished by the powers that be. Undoubtedly, heaven did indeed gaze upon the broken promises of history.
So we waited for aid and relief from our inhumane misery. Nevertheless, The Almighty took note, and determined the time for heaven's visitation.
02242017 cj PS
Shyloch, Shyloch Ye of crippled writers block Howl !
Hipster!
Survivor of sanatoriums drug riddled needled dreams and cancer lobotomy fantasies!
Drowned out by the apathy of X-Factor modernity!
Shyloch whose machinery sprite faster through chemical brewing!
And welfare states following entitlement scripts that harm!
Shyloch whose crucifix and domed book wielding army!
Storm the gates of purgatory and blood banks filled with candy bats and posh race day hats!
Shyloch whose windows fell the courtyard sanctuary of apposing towers!
With flight bound death bellowing fumes airplane fusion bomb blinded tasting castor oil!
Oh, Shyloch of the taught band of algorithmic army fibers of lanyards forward recoil!
Which bend both time and continuum lines into matrix riddled computer chips!
That manifest themselves in pie and pillow smoke horror convex leprechaun glasses!
The shards of which Shyloloch stills, not Shyloch lenses, chart express Shyloch determination!
Shyloch. Shyloch in four dimensions cursed in parallel universes battles!
Sent forth into the hornets nest of hell's bells and brothers under fire of tyranny shot at!
Where mothers servitude pierces a twig grenade destined for destruction!
Where radio scowls of panic manic contact, I reality check my pulse bleeding Shyloch!
Bellow of Shyloch in taxis destined for parachutes fashioned out of mantle piece clock memories!
Counting down the seconds of kicking calamity's arsenal of empire and envy!
Propped up by the students of anarchy blooded as puppets in vegetarian camouflage!
Shyloch of peanut butter and jello meal times washed down with rat burgers!
Shyloch, Shyloch who posts cards inscribed with death marches chuckle!
Encased in sphinx library tombs resurrecting gold edifices suburbia Atlantis!
Oh Shyloch 2012 A.G, Molock of worldly news wares and carnival fares!
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