_Scene: Sonia draws the line_
"Divorce me," she said, "and buy a richer woman."
"Frustrate you more," he replied.
"I've succeeded," she answered back.
"You've been rice hawker, beer parlor..."
"Stop this nonsense!"
Startled and amused by her distruption.
"Is it taxi driving you're supposed to be doing?"
"Look at yourself first."
"Do you have savings? Can you pay bills?"
"You're mad!"
"Don't call me mad.
Less than a month," she said.
"Then be gone."
He stood there looking cool.
No rush, he'd catch the next cab.
He rather enjoyed the rain.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
getting into a taxi
I asked the driver
to take me to Bleak Street
not heard of Bleak Street,
he said, but it sounds depressing
run down, uninspiring
desperate
bleak
I got out of the taxi
thanks, I said
how much do I owe you
Taxi violances
Many taxi owners
Are always murdered
For different reasons
In their taxi industry,
Crime prevention securities
At many ranks and
Houses of taxi owners
With big guns mostly.
Trapping each others
Due to secret coflicts
In some families and
Businesses.
Hate,
Jealous,
Envy
Sounding loudly,
And very
Heavy to carry.
Turning hunters ,
Hunting each others
Publicly.
Very
hard
life,
Yoh!
Yeah!
Yebo! Yes
To live
With much fear daily.
Being riches
But sleepless nights
Thinking of being killed
At any time,
Like some people
With no rights.
Hard
For the government officials
To monitor those crimes,
In many taxi ranks
Of different cities
And
Rural erears.
Hope
Love
And
Peace
Will find
Place
In hearts
Of Crimes
Masterminds
And
stop taxis
Violances.
By Alfonso Warally Ngengethe
Mussabwa Chris
Amy Lowell 'TAXI'
_____
|BLACK |__
=| CAB ~~ \
©-------©
Taxi driver,
You don't know who you do it for
Every day, in and out
The eloping couple,
The rushing artist,
The drunken businessmen,
Strangers who might've once been friends in a past life,
Now bound by the bustling busyness of our modern-day
To take a few deep breaths in the shabby backseat of your taxi
To think of their failing marriage
Or their dinner plans for the night
And you, navigating your amber-coloured agent
Through the city
The suburbs
The almost country-side
The city, again
To take them to their harbour
Is there something worthwhile in that mundane monotony?
I wonder.
I fancy a warrior
But a wild dancer
Like a ballerina
A real professional
Sometimes I dream
Like we are ice dancing
Having some fun
Taunting gravity
I love such moments
When she be floating in the air
Just like a feather
Cursing at the gravity
I like that moment too
When she is spinning
On her leg
Just like a propeller
Just realised was born with it
But I never lived it
Perhaps never met a taxi dancer in time
To help me, live my dream
Now that I am finding passion
I think this dream will revive
Though through million moons
Anyway I am a taxi dancer perhaps
There were two cabs I remember when I was growing up.
Checker and Yellow.
070521PSCtest, Picture This 2 - 7 lines, Joseph May
Image chosen-#2; 2 stanzas; 7 lines total;
4 lines + 3 lines; 14 words. 3P
If I were a taxi cab, I would not charge people.
I would delight them with free rides from St. Louis to New York.
Babies would love being born in my backseat.
I would travel the world, at a good clip, picking up speed downhill.
Policemen would wave me by, remembering their free rides.
I would play sixties and seventies folk music on my radio.
A cute bare foot hippie foot pedal would delight my hippie self.
I would rig up a gorgeous orange and red lava lamp with a silver top.
And you would call me groovy, cool, and radical.
With the snow ceasing
Nestled between the beds of sakura petals
With a taxi that’s going nowhere
Nowhere to take shelter
Nowhere with open borders
Turned away
Right at the doorstep
There’s no home now
And there’s no
Place for them to visit
No home to go back to
As the sakura blooms into spring
The snow falls
Freezing spring in its wake
The driver stops
To the wave of my hand
Its red lights glowing in the dark
Of a spring wonderland
I don’t know where I’m going
All I know is that I’m going somewhere
Grasping onto the
Last few petals of hope
In my palm
Crescent moons embedded onto my skin
The wheels on the London bus go round and round, till the driver crashes it Tequila style. Everyone loses their heads, except him. He gets into a Black Bomber taxi and pops open a vodka. Need a lift guv?
Being Normal Is Boring - Broken Aeroplanes, Screwed People, Alternative Writing,:)
Jimmy Boom Semtex
Jack is a cop from Kentucky
smart kinda bloke, very lucky
asked to pick up a turd
driver don't be absurd!
you bag it, I'll tag it you curd
Contest: State limerick poetry contest
Sponsor: Kevin Shaw
Written 17/07/2019
T Tips are adding up fast
A And you can see the meter rolling hard
X 'Xasperating to watch your hard earn money being spent
I It might be better to not see how many accidents you have almost had
C Cabbie drives wrecklessly, through two inch spaces,
A Afraid for your life, you clutch the door, and the seat ahead of you
B But you are not there yet, and you are in New York City
D Deliberate attempts to kill you have not been successful yet
R Racing heart, you dare not look away, from your final destination
I In the throes of scary, you are terrified you are going to be smashed up
V Vigorous driving, fast paced, then slamming on the brakes, wham. Whip.
E Enthusiastic smiles from the man who has your life in his hands.
R Relieved you have arrived in one piece, deciding never again.
There once was a newborn named Maxi,
Who forewent a stork for a taxi,
But as he could not yet walk,
And bubble-babbling was his talk,
Driver gave him to a new mama in the Back Seat.
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