Long Traffic jam Poems
Long Traffic jam Poems. Below are the most popular long Traffic jam by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Traffic jam poems by poem length and keyword.
Journeys begin
Watch pulse of heart;
Intent conspires
Old Casuarina tree
By school compound;
Witness to history
Stormy morning
Thunder and lightning;
Moody weather lashing
My old school dome
Now a museum;
To cement yesterday
Book shop retreat
Between covers;
Too much to know
Tour agency desk
Brisk bookings;
Now here or somewhere?
Chinatown hotspot
People congregate;
Worship by shopping
Ancestral shrine
We commune here;
Our forebears await
Clogged intersections
Crossroad commentary;
Noisy traffic jam
Leon Enriquez
31 July 2014
Singapore
A villain is a tireless workhorse,
Endlessly plotting through the night,
With schemes that twist and turn, of course,
Each detail honed to sheer delight.
His intellect stands sharp and rare,
A mastermind in every glance,
Unraveling minds with subtle care—
A psychological elegant dance.
He wields his gifts with cunning grace,
Turning chaos into high art,
Building empires none can erase,
Yet always playing the shadowed part.
If only he would pivot toward the light,
Channel that brilliance for the good,
Imagine worlds both fair and bright—
Where villains host the neighborhood.
They might devise the perfect plan
For flawless gardens, neat and grand,
Or orchestrate a traffic jam
That somehow leads to helping hands.
No grand explosions, just quiet wins,
A world where heroes rest at ease,
And every scheme at last begins
With kindness wrapped in mysteries.
What wonders then would greet the day,
When even darkness learns to play.
I think no stimulus could be
as potent as the one to pee.
A feeling frequent and innate
is this - the urge to urinate.
It comes each day to everyone
at work, at play, or on the run.
It comes sometimes as home you drive,
and soon you're hoping to survive
the bursting of your inner dam
while sitting in a traffic jam.
Then down the street you drive distressed
with thighs together tightly pressed.
You wish so badly it would cease
and then you pray for sweet release.
And as you drive, you ache and ache
and curse that drink you had to take.
You want to speed, but big surprise -
a cop's behind you. Squeeze those thighs
to keep inside what wants to flow!
You do not dare to let it go.
Few impulses can so compare.
Oh, how you'd love a diaper there!
Then home at last, you do a dance.
You run while pulling down your pants.
And horror, if when once inside,
you find the bathroom occupied!
WEll, just be glad it's mountain dew
you're holding in, not number two!
At the Doorly Zoo a well-trained guerrilla waves
It’s 3:00 am
Gorilla flung his manure like a combat soldier in guerrilla warfare
No one but the ground keepers are there, MAN DOES IT SMELL
The phone rings at 3:00 am
Do you know where the monkeys are?
In the trees most of them upside down asleep
Emerald eyes shines as the screeching bats
Float, flutter, and fly in their habitat
Swoosh-----
The phone yet rings as 3:00 am
"At the Pavilion as the phone yet still rings at 3 a.m."
Some careless butterflies escape their exhibits
A few gotten eaten by night flown bats
What a traffic jam as the fish parade tween their glass petition
Punch adolescence gophers and ground hogs race for territory environment
While in the oval pit, circles the wild bobcat
It’s yet early, early morning at the Doorly Zoo
What are the animals gonna do
You see it be a wrong number…
A the pavilion as the phone yet still rings at 3:00 am
This wrong number person just keeps calling, calling…
Must be an emergency or something
See it be a wrong number…
"At the Pavilion as the phone yet still rings at 3 a.m."
1/9/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
January 7, 2020 Assignment
Written for class assignment (WIPS) North Omaha Writers Group (NOW)
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
18.
who has lied in the box
made up of the temperature
of god
all on a sudden
there is a hue and cry
in the abdomen of the time
wearing a dirty pajama
actually that has been filtered up
from the voices of rock-songs
the roaming
of a fatigued traveller …
the lies
within their wishes
write my existence
and then run
to buy vegetables
from the station-market
so many lay-offs
come to the body of paper-weight
to listen to all those
is not improper
walking through the traffic-jam
gradually
this home becomes solely my home
one day the golden of
human
then it is i
who is you
and walking through the
monsoon
on either side of the field
it is all autumn
19.
when borrowing the religion of
the night-queen
i fall in love
then is it real
that our mangos and jack-fruits
can make the perfumed-soap
vigorously from the light of the
blood-line
i count the bells of the churches
ringing repeatedly
and piercing the image
of your prominent face
rounding through lots of old
the love becomes exhausted
and the love comes back
in the form of college-classes
there are you myself
and so many notes
of the body
[Got stuck in traffic today. The car in front of me was…
I kid you not… everyone’s favourite flying car!]
*
Fifty years ago they said the oil would be depleted
Long before our third millennium was ever greeted
They told us wearing platform shoes would make our legs go bandy
I think, perhaps, they meant if you drink fifteen pints of shandy
Tenerife would fall into the sea and by the way
This would send a tidal wave to wash us all away
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang was in front of me today
Of course it was a copy (which I shouldn’t need to say)
But when we hit a traffic jam, old Chitty didn’t fly
And so I must conclude that my whole life has been a lie!
They created a scamdemic
what a filthy nasty lie
Then they lined 'em up to get the jab
or else you're gonna die
Side affects are bodily
but there is another scam
Shortages of dunny paper
create a traffic jam
One would have thought that food
would be the major focus
But no the human race
has lost all form of locus
So me I'm running where
the vegetation's lush
Not so hard to find some green
when I'm caught short in the bush
But where the growth of trees and plants
are often rather sparse
Hard to find material
on which to wipe my ass
I stand in awe whilst I do watch
the rush for toilet paper
Don't they realise it's all part of a
dirty criminal caper
There are places I have utilised
to aid my body function
No doubt I would have spread some seed
I do it without unction
Garden shrubs on city streets
provide a hiding spot
Luckily I've not been caught
they'd think it;s ME!!!! who's lost the plot
Sometimes I've utilised a culvert
number one or two
You've gotta take whatever's
when you're busting for a poo
And when there's need to clean one's self
whilst running in the scrub
Smooth stones or straight sticks I've often used
why don't you join the club
Footnote: A stern warning from an old bushie
who has spent years around a camp fire with a billy of tea
NEVER STIR YOUR TEA WITH A STRAIGHT STICK1111
Trapped in the middle of a weary night
A heavy rain ceaselessly pouring down
With a throbbing headache, feeling uptight
Stuck inside my car on the way to town
A sea of idling cars is all there is
Tail lights blinking and honking all around
Not in this trodden space I’ll find some peace
Nothing else to do but heave a sigh sound
Stuck in traffic jam, patience hardly find
Clock hands turn snail-paced as car lights beguile
Flashes of thoughts run through my anxious mind
As I sit ill at ease for a long while
Traffic eases up, cars moving at last
Almost done with this poem while time passed
13 September 2017
If you are on a highway
And the traffic starts to slow,
There may be several explanations
Why this might be so.
It could be some construction
Or an accident, perchance;
More likely, though, the traffic jam
Is caused by just a glance.
‘Cause every single motorist
Must hit the brake and gawk.
A wrecked car’s as enticing
As a rodent to a hawk.
So one by one, each driver lets
His speed drop to a crawl,
Just savoring some other sucker’s
Automotive fall.
We call this rubbernecking
And the metaphor is apt,
Since every driver’s neck that cranes
Leaves other drivers trapped.
As Freud would say, whoever
Sees a situation grim,
Just feels relieved to know
The sorry victim isn’t him.
Unfortunately, traffic stops
Or moves just like a snail.
Wherever you are going,
Lateness surely will prevail.