Queueing for busses
Even though not going far
Been queueing for busses
Ever since I sold the car.
I still can’t believe
What a bus passenger hears.
What have i been missing
For all of those years?
I sit there quietly
Occupying my place
Trying go maintain
An unmoving face.
I hear about adultery
Uninhibited sex
Heaven only knows
What I’ll hear next.
Delinquent children
Beaten up wives.
Don’t people these days
Lead such disjointed lives.
The best are young women
On their mobile phones.
They seem to think
They're in worlds of their own
Yet they all seem to speak
In a manner so loud
As if they are fighting
The noise from a crowd.
Admissions of guilt,
After fun filled nights,
Lurid descriptions
Of esoteric sights,
Three in a bed romps,
Translucent underwear,
Just some of the things heard
While quietly sitting there.
Sometimes I’ve travelled
miles further than I intended
Just to hear how
A good story ended
Queueing for busses
Even though not going far
Been queueing for busses
Ever since I sold the car.
I still can’t believe
What a bus passenger hears.
What have I been missing
For all of those years?
Don't tell me men don't care about their hair
They care about it even more than girls
As soon as they were open they were there
All queueing round the block with all their curls
Tucked up inside their beanie hats. 'Short back
And sides perhaps, or how about a fade
Or maybe just a trim today?' And whack
A bit of gel on, or a nice pomade
And it is done. He springs up from the chair
And brushes off the hair and pays the bill
(With tip of course), and out into the air
As fresh as baby's breath and dressed to kill
Don't tell me men don't care - I saw the way
They bounced out of the barbers shop today
© Gail Foster 12th April 2021
Landscapes exposing nature’s grandeur
mountain ranges inspire great trip.
Cordilleras of welcoming marvels
propel refreshing ascent
amidst pure verdant sights.
Those delight me, the Earth’s firmament
while surveying the pine trees steadfastly queueing along hills
offering shade to blossoming lilies
with cabbage roses wondrously radiant…
oh, inviting faith-strengthening treks
driven by faithful stewardship with reaching-out pursuits
toward triumphant spiritual peaks----
Today’s awesome focus points me toward the third heavens*
as I hover above this certain magnificent vista**
designed by the sovereign Creator ---
giant mounds sprawling
cloudy crests and pinnacles ~
engraved terraces
*Hebrews 8:1 …We have such an high priest, who is set on the right hand of the throne of the Majesty in the heavens.
**Kibungan, Benguet Philippines is my Dad's birthplace.
September 17, 2020
2nd place, "Writing Challenge - Nature, Four in One" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France; judged on 9/20/2020.
A cornucopia of symposia
hoping to make the future rosier
banging a gavel to unravel
multiple knots of itinerant thoughts
billing and queueing a crisis slow brewing
the same old charade a grand masquerade
where everyone graces the room with two faces
theater heads one alive and one dead
solving the problem of how fast can we rob’em
scatter the cash in an off shore locked cache
hoorah for symposia, no doubts all supposia
a game of three shells all whistles and bells
just keep moving the pea so no one can see
we’ll never be rid of this schemed pyramid
John G. Lawless
©8/23/2018
Lay down your tired bones
Down in your hospital bed
Those spots on both your arms
Are glowing a bright red
Stare up at the TV
To catch the awful news
Twenty hundred thousand
Have the same thing as you
Don't you know the end is near
You try to take it calm
People crying all around
Queueing up into the hall
A priest is asking you
If you'd like to confess
You can't think of anything
Because your mind's a mess
When you see your loved ones
With angels flying in the room
Lightning flashes in your eyes
The end is coming soon.
Dear Lord this year to save time being lost
remind me- Turkey, Christmas Eve- defrost.
And when it's in the oven, leave no doubt
that I forgot to take the giblets out.
Five loaves, two fishes you fed five thousand,
may I feed six with far less food to hand
since each year bags of food we buy a few
the wheelie bin eats better than we do.
You love little children, what joy they bring,
for me, as tranquilizer, Sherry's king.
I pray , Lord, as I open my gift box
I look pleased with my snowman themed bed socks.
Please let me use only the choicest words
when queueing for pork pies at dawn, at 'Birds' *.
We thank you for the gift of Brussels sprouts
and hinged windows to let the odours out.
Peace keeper may I be as it gets late
and nobody offers to wash the plates.
Above all, Lord, may I remember who
this season is about, and it is you.
* Birds is our local bakery
Life in this lonely world
can be such a mess
Waking up every morning
Feeling lonely and lost
The thought
That we are guests
how our days are numbered
All in the same queue
Queueing for a present
Death inside the box
The best leading the que
And the worst at the back
Life can be such a mess
Sometimes there's no food
Isha's hunger gnawed
For pies, cake and pop
The African sun
burned hot every day
Endless miles trudged
To find the well
Queueing with friends
Laughing out loud
Rain swept in
Yearly flood
Devoured
Red Cross
Rescued
Her
Isha goes to school
A land far away
From where she was born
With her family
Rehomed in a house
Advantages
She luckily
is achieving
There is food
plentiful
to sustain
Happy
Isha
Now
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.