Short Commuters Poems
Short Commuters Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Commuters by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Commuters by length and keyword.
I see them everyday,
fellow commuters on the subway.
It's as if they can't wait to put their iPods on.
Before me gathered appear to be ear plugged drones.
Lovers huddle close.
Rain smacks the dusty pavement.
Commuters bustle,
Seeking refuge in doorways.
Diesel fumes, cigarette smoke,
Intoxicate the bus queue.
a one-legged pigeon
hopping tiles in the depot
freezes where shadows remain
doesn't need our pity—
working twice as hard for less
—most commuters know that score
Tainted View
A million faces, not one is yours;
A million commuters, hordes and hordes;
A million gasps, it’s him - there’s you;
But no, my millionth tainted view.
A funny thing happened on my way to work
Realized I'm retired and I started to smirk
Hear me yell
I'm happy as hell
Fellow commuters must think I've gone berserk
While sharing the ride
and not a lot to see or do
seated side by side
in the Chunnel queue
with commuters driving home
I took a look at the view
carpool tunnel vision syndrome
There once was a driver from Uber
Who really only owned a scooter
So when it rained
His passengers complained
So now he has no more commuters
Couldn't let a St Paddy's day go by without a wee limerick!!
Listen to poem:
A Moments Sunlight
David J Walker
You are eternal,
whispered the soft small voice
But not in this ephemeral world
where there is no choice
For the commuters
Of life force
Coming and going
Giving and then devoice
In the last of a single
moments sunlight
Skies are dark and foreboding
Winter storm rolls in tonight
Commuters don't need any goading
Hustle home before moonlight...
Now folks are back from the stores
Hunkered down with their lovers
All comfy and cozy inside of doors
Tucked in tight 'neath snow's cover
Only the blind man
with his leader dog
and tapping cane stops
when the homeless man
standing near the curb
asks commuters if
they have spare change.
The blind man lives downtown.
He has time to check.
The rest of us catch trains
and they won’t wait.
We march right by.
Donal Mahoney
The roads are blocked from here to there,
drivers are gridlocked with despair,
traffic pollution’s everywhere,
ask the coroner, ask the mayor,
fellow commuters, could sometimes share,
use yellow buses, if fares are fair,
one thing’s for certain, please be aware,
Greater Manchester needs clean air.
I used to run. Running made my legs vibrate which made my body vibrate which made my soul vibrate. It reminded me of taking the train back from work. The train would shake and the commuters would hold on for dear life. The train was 45 feet up in the air. Running made me feel like I was 45 feet up in the air. So I did it a lot.
Boston
city snow
falls gently on the Common
drifts lazily across the Charles
slows the Red Line flight
of late commuters
dampens the bedding
of the homeless
muffles the distant tone
of well fed preachers
welcoming all
to empty churches
throws a pristine blanket
of cold beauty
on a sunless daybreak
John G. Lawless
12/21/2020
Waiting for the ferry
I see water, boats and cars,
The bright blue sky and when it’s dark,
A smattering of stars.
Waiting for the subway
I see schmutz upon the tracks
And crowds of tense commuters
Looking like they can’t relax.
To get downtown I either take
The ferry or the train.
It’s really not a contest –
After all, I’m not insane!
.
Just a stone’s throw away, live the people who we’ll never know
We catch a glimpse into a life...
A house, a barn, hard working men
A vagrant walking through a field
A mother takes her child to school
Commuters on their way to work,
They look, ...a glance. We look, ...one chance
Just a stone’s throw away, live the people who we’ll never know
PASSIONS RAINS--
Just before the passion rains;
Kingdoms falls governments reign;
I've fallen off the train;
Before the mountain range;
passion rains
as government reigns
commuters passengers ride trains
up and down mountain range
as the evening sings, passion rains
can't believe together outside we're in
you and I darling the just of
Passion Rains~~
2/9/19
written by James Edward Lee Sr.2019©
Why am I drawn
to this scowling girl
selling her poems
in a Shinjuku underpass?
Every Tuesday she is here,
next to a Nikon ad,
threatening commuters
with her cyclostyled angst.
Busy people keep up
with the times,
do a tap dance
on their smartphones.
Only drunks buy poetry.
Grubbing for their last,
sweaty coins, they
mock her with every purchase.
First published in Eclectica Magazine
Crow had been wanting to get out her umbrella someday.
Today was the day, for the rain came hard from far away.
She was loving her umbrella with red apples so pretty.
She stopped by a bus stop to say something witty.
Commuters got on and commuters got off.
She stood at that stop, while some of them scoffed.
She wanted them to notice her fuchsia boots too.
No one gave her a compliment, so after a bit, she flew.
It is difficult to be a coward
To feign fear over violence
Stifle the biting sting of tongue
Calm the imperious urge to fight
Cowards walk the streets unseen
Offering a smile, a kind word
Coyly dropping a few bucks in a basket
Waiting patiently for the subway
Silently assist a woman with a baby carriage
Slow the onslaught of rushing commuters
They were not meant to be heroes
Until the day they had to be…
In the memorizing firelight flicker
comes rebirth
as the valley of Crocus flowers
becomes a corporate castle of skyscrapers
the taller the better
The middle of Croydon
once of offices
has seen it possibilities light up
like a condensed can of milk
The ill afforded indigenous
are shied away from rent
replaced by a smart set of commuters
with a whiff of disdain
for the ailing amenities of Croydon
The guilt of the urban class
Wind is a tyrant today
Whipping scarves and purses off people
She laughs as some land in mud
Wind is brilliantly in her element
Gloating a bit that she commands the grays
She brings ominous excitement to Chicago’s skyline
Wind cuts through shoulders
Reminding the commuters who the boss is
They begin to button their trench coats.
Wind is on a tear
The rest of us defer to her
Even the gargoyles at the top of buildings lower their eyes
Get up
Thank God for another day
Shower, shave, if necessary
Get dressed
Grab a cup of life, java.
Meet the other commuters
Sleep, with music in ears
Get up
Walk to my building
Grab another cup of life
Answer phones
Fix problems
Write and review, time permitting
Lunch!
Answer phones
Write and review, time permitting
Obey the boss
Time to leave!
Meet the commuters again
Sleep, with music in ears
Step from the bus
I’m free, thank God!
26/11 not just a calendar date
166 got killed, over 300 wounded.
Gun shots rattled pub pillar
Guzzlers gulped fear in lieu of beer
Patrons served bullets
While they were out for 5 star buffets
Commuters shocked to see firing of AK 47
While they waited for train at railway station
Hospital lay under terrorist scary seize
Terrorists not doctors took rounds of wards
26/11 since 2008
Is a Terror date ...
_________________
© Hitendra Mehta
Chicago, 2009
Because he works in an office and is white
and because she who tans anyway has just
returned from a week at the Beach,
the commuters are certain she’s not black
yet they rustle in their seats.
They want to see her hands flick.
They want to see if rivers run dark
through ivory palms.
Martin may be dead
and Obama may have won
but in Chicago this morning at dawn
a rainbow of people
still rustle in their seats.
Donal Mahoney
A speeding train, an SUV,
A tragedy come true;
The warning arm came down but still
The car continued through.
The driver lost her life as did
Commuters on the train.
The reasons why it happened
Experts want to ascertain.
The passengers who passed away
All sat up in the front,
For when the crash occurred
The leading car absorbed the brunt.
Today the trains were back on track
And fully occupied
Except the first compartments, which
Had nobody inside.