Everyday I have lunch
With a pink hippopotamus
The menus always the same
Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches
Oh, and Diet Cherry Coke
Cause he likes the way it tickles his throat
His friends sometimes stop by
To join the both of us
Hippopotami
If you're talking more than one of us
Or Hippo for short
If you're not into funny sounding words
Sometimes after lunch
Me and my friend the pink Hippopotamus
Like to take a drive
To the beach in his Minibus
He loves to catch the rays
Plus hang ten on a few waves
If you ever care for lunch
Feel free to join me and my Hippopotamus
But only if you like
Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches
Because it's all that he will eat
Which is fine by me
Makes for easy cooking and cleaning
Categories:
minibus, funny, humor,
Form: Rhyme
The Complete Nick Armbrister Poetry Collection Volume 3 1996 - 2013
Copyright 2014 Nick Armbrister
ISBN - 978-1-326-06538-6
my poem based on true events, out of my book
Beware
Brit gal went on hols to Thailand, wanted a good time. What she got was hell. Riding a moped down a road, something went so wrong. She hit a minibus while going fast, whose fault was it? Was she on the right side of the road? Catapulted thirty yards in the road, thud!
Mushy head time. A Brit cop working with his Thai colleagues saw her. Her head smashed in, brains spread onto the road. Still alive and very conscious she asks for her parents, crying her last tears. Then she’s gone.
If you go to Thailand remember the poor Brit gal and her fatal accident. Don’t drink or do drugs and ride a bike or moped and wear a helmet.
Beware!
Categories:
minibus, death, holiday, loss, sad,
Form: Verse
as soon as the banishment in a forest comes to an end
all the rain-drops come to the ball-room with unfolded
umbrellas over their heads
the slumber of the adjourned dialogues
also breaks
all the blossoms of the cucurbitaceous plant
that are supposed to open their petals
have gone to the majlis of the aquatic-plants
riding on a wrong-minibus
then a photograph of the dinner- party
is to be found out and brought for the saliva-gland
there is no voice of the palms of the open-window
of his own
even then
each and every the air-hostess eagers to listen
to the song of boat-rowing from him
here the duck of the mid-noon
is engaged in pleasure
with the flower-vase of class x
their drinking-bowl is flying
along the flame of the rail-line
though it does not bear any grief
to the large lake
that is wetted with perspiration
there is no delta of misspelling as well
it has only the smoking of thousand cusec
all the day and night
Categories:
minibus, fantasy
Form: Prose Poetry
all the time that had been
has been spoken out
the plunging into life-pond
gets condensed within the paperback
then why the kovalam beach does shatter
when it finds the trace of new minerals
is it true then comes to her mind
the memory of the fugitive rain-girl
much sunshine comes for making crowd
on the grasses
in the moonlight of the apple
wakes up the magic
that is attached with the shirt of the
harbour
the white multi-storeyed
also remains sleepless
even-then…
even-today…
july means the amorous bickering
of the fish-girls for pleasure
inside a running minibus
here is the dialects of the fabrics
Categories:
minibus, fantasy
Form: Prose Poetry
They tell me now
The economy is like a minibus
The small space for few
Carry the nation to work
And church, and school,
And the cosmic edge
Of life
The daring ones hanging on
From open doors
No inhibition
Or fear
From the contest of words
Tracing tongues tumult
In wreckless whim
And all the time they carousing
Pretending meaning
Bigger than empire
That minibus with capacity
Exhaustless
And breathless
Turns of wrecklessness.
They tell me
She holds her own in the third world
Bewteen Crossroads and Papine.
Categories:
minibus, history
Form: Free verse