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rig Jul 3
grey summer start.
garbage, tree, new kids on the block.

to the ghost fair my feet have never known living.

to the soft metal scales on the tar snake,
going back in time to tomorrow’s mouse:

to a croatian hill of potential notdeath,
bypassed, everytime, gooddriving.

to lisboncity – no sneezing.
Wilkes Arnold May 10
I saw a man on the bus
With a shaggy beard
And a shaggy dog
His eyes twinkled before they closed
Then he burped
sophie Jan 19
the bus to school is loud
but the screams of students drown out
the voices in her head
so she never minds
she puts in an earbud
and listens to music
she still feels very tired
written when i still took the bus to school.
Niel Nov 2020
There's a thrill and you fall into it
          again as you forget  
                     Rubberneck contagion
           Anxieties in the upper regions
                though, no gut disturbance
                            a strange observation process

                         -without that hinderance
           Hopped up, the witness
                Gaze upon a brewing formation
             Linger tensions
           Fears shoot up from the deep
          Like ghosts and demons
            Around every corner and
          shadowed path
           In yr house, when you were young
       Still perhaps..

     you let it bite and a car pulls up
            Single pointed aggression
      And we proceed
           Such a wonder
                         Not really
               but the feelings
        procession of instincts
     And we choose fractions
        Be important because we believe
       what the F* does that even mean?
       Can you go through the process
      To figure the dimensions of a form..

        Listen for a moment;
         He says he's drunk
      but really asking to be loved
    and miraculously it worked
       off he walked to oblivion
     if only we had the guts to follow

   ..I may have gone deeper
   Than I can dig, up a figure anyway
  But it's never a settled point
    So there's always room to play around
Tadiwa Oct 2020
I wait on a little island
Marooned in the sea of traffic
The grey sky broadcasts sweet outcomes
To the farmer in me
But the lack of an umbrella
Makes my mind jittery
I'm vulnerable in my suit, tie and all
If the sky should burst open its floodgates
Where will I find shelter, with my laptop and phone?
Hurry Mr. Driver
Spur on that staff bus!
Glenarah and Robert Mugabe roads intersection in Harare
Jonathan Moya Sep 2020
The earth is black
on both sides.
The yellow bus
taking the living away
passes pile after pile
of rubble, of signs that
were once there:
the Harley Davidson store,
The Rogue Action Center-
a nonprofit climate change group,
the community bank -
it’s vault the only thing standing.
Indistinguishable from the ash
is the mobile home park,
which once housed the migrants
that harvested the town’s fabled pears.
Only their metal survived the wildfires:
aluminum lawn chairs, a barbecue pit,
hubcaps of cars long since evacuated.
Among the stranded survivors
is the aged widower searching
impossibly for his wife’s ashes.
He had escaped and settled
here after the Paradise fires took
his previous home two years back.
Crows on charred oaks branches
watched and mock his effort.
He looked all around him
and wondered to God
if he had paid
enough grief dues.
When the bus stopped for him
he did not get on.
Anastasia Sep 2020
Little hands
Soft and velveteen
Shiny eyelids
Tired and drooping
Long lashes
Looking down at the ground
A small mask
To fit his round face
With a childish print
Of his favorite hero
Shy and quiet
With delicate limbs
Putting on his large backpack
Almost home
To the screams of the others
As lightning strikes
Beyond the fields of corn
Body jostled
As the bus bumps along
Dull jade eyes
Peering through the window
Staring at the rain
Behind the glass
I wrote this about a young boy on my bus who sits across from me.
Surkhab kaur Aug 2020
She thought that she was left all alone
But after that one call...she truly believed
she had earned a lifetime friend.
Sometimes you feel you are left all alone...but there are people who enter like a ray of light in your dark world and brighten it up!!
Knut Kalmund Jul 2020
In the aisle air lies the smell of honesty from filthy hands
Along lurks deceit in subtle stance
One evolved from hardly reaped beans
The other is sprayed by gloves in billious-green

And so they dance around the weary noses
Eager and revulsion awaited to be ****** in
One's scared of exposure
The other of sin

An illusionistic pas de deux
The people overly drained to grasp
And they never will

Or will they?
I will be waiting for the epiphany
Until the birds cease to fly
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