#busstop - Hello Poetry

a man at the bus stop was reminiscing talking to his wife and a neighbor. About the road that was paved, it used to be gravel; "no traction unless it was your bottom" He was amazed at the new bus that wove here every half hour. I had to smile. My grandma says I'm too young to be growling about being innocent, to crave older times. But it's not that. It's more that I hated the present, so I grew up faster to make it feel a little bit better And now I wish I could go back... but at least the road is paved

0

Mar 5

Mar 5, 2026 at 3:08 AM UTC

maebalatte

the bus stop

a man at the bus stop was reminiscing talking to his wife and a neighbor. About the road that was paved, it used to be gravel; "no traction unless it was your bottom" He was amazed at the new bus that wove here every half hour. I had to smile. My grandma says I'm too young to be growling about being innocent, to crave older times. But it's not that. It's more that I hated the present, so I grew up faster to make it feel a little bit better And now I wish I could go back... but at least the road is paved

13

Outside the village, we let the local bus pass -- the stop, our club house.

0

Feb 18, 2024

Feb 18, 2024 at 3:22 AM UTC

Zywa

[ Outside the village ]

Outside the village, we let the local bus pass -- the stop, our club house.

3

she wears a t-shirt two hands printed exactly where I want to put mine jeans must be sprayed on so impossibly tight hugging a figure I can only describe as voluptuous but those eyes I cannot meet as they stare right into my soul piercing through me defying my inappropriate thoughts though for all the world she invites them thankfully the bus came and I left her advertising whatever it was I hadn't noticed in the first place

0

Aug 29, 2021

Aug 29, 2021 at 7:38 AM UTC

nigdaw

voluptuous

she wears a t-shirt two hands printed exactly where I want to put mine jeans must be sprayed on so impossibly tight hugging a figure I can only describe as voluptuous but those eyes I cannot meet as they stare right into my soul piercing through me defying my inappropriate thoughts though for all the world she invites them thankfully the bus came and I left her advertising whatever it was I hadn't noticed in the first place

19

oh, how the boys try to impress the girls with their kickflips and the slam of the wheels oh, how they skate and the noise that they make the teenagers at the bus stop — a public mistake oh, how they'll shout at the top of their lungs on this public transport — i am the alpha testosterone takes charge, oh how the confidence of boys creates the environment of irritated discomfort oh, how the ridiculousness of teen boys provides entertainment when we forgive their misogynist vibes and bad behaviour — we will say boys will be boys "i'll have *** with your sister" — the conversation they employ and oh, how they will fare evade — but hey, so will i i wish i had their confidence at certain times and how i wish my teen years were filled with much more fun if i was less dysphoric and more proud of myself and when they leave the bus a peace is then regained the energy they took with them; a calm it creates

0

Jan 17, 2020

Jan 17, 2020 at 7:39 AM UTC

kodijacobs

The Boys

oh, how the boys try to impress the girls with their kickflips and the slam of the wheels oh, how they skate and the noise that they make the teenagers at the bus stop — a public mistake oh, how they'll shout at the top of their lungs on this public transport — i am the alpha testosterone takes charge, oh how the confidence of boys creates the environment of irritated discomfort oh, how the ridiculousness of teen boys provides entertainment when we forgive their misogynist vibes and bad behaviour — we will say boys will be boys "i'll have *** with your sister" — the conversation they employ and oh, how they will fare evade — but hey, so will i i wish i had their confidence at certain times and how i wish my teen years were filled with much more fun if i was less dysphoric and more proud of myself and when they leave the bus a peace is then regained the energy they took with them; a calm it creates

18

months since last eye writ, your eyes most likely have never crossed mine. still inhabit the buststops, now called bus shelters though they are not a "shelter in place" place, but a crossroads where the poor and rich, the youthful and the nearer-to-god-than-thee sit bearer nearer to each other when they reside in the equality of the moments that are globally know as "waiting for the bus" or as "waiting for Godot". eyes have seen buses in Rio and Delhi that carried livestock and more humans on the exterior than the interior. but mine eyes are in a slow fade away mode, dimming in a final sun setting so u are needed. give me your bus stories yearning to he free and I will give you my imagined ones for are not all bustop poems are imaginary?

0

Jul 3, 2017

Jul 3, 2017 at 1:23 PM UTC

bus-poet-stop

for are not all bustop poems are imaginary?

months since last eye writ, your eyes most likely have never crossed mine. still inhabit the buststops, now called bus shelters though they are not a "shelter in place" place, but a crossroads where the poor and rich, the youthful and the nearer-to-god-than-thee sit bearer nearer to each other when they reside in the equality of the moments that are globally know as "waiting for the bus" or as "waiting for Godot". eyes have seen buses in Rio and Delhi that carried livestock and more humans on the exterior than the interior. but mine eyes are in a slow fade away mode, dimming in a final sun setting so u are needed. give me your bus stories yearning to he free and I will give you my imagined ones for are not all bustop poems are imaginary?

10

i have let my life pass me by without asking for a stop. the bus — crowded with hardened men crying, helpless children laughing, graceful women drifting — doesn’t stop. every light glimmers by—green— illuminating my path to growth, but my red hair red blood red heart ignite the invite to stop. so i pull the cord i interrupt the glares i stumble out of the bustling confusion i light onto solid ground and i, beamingly, ask myself if this is a stop or a start

0

Mar 14, 2019

Mar 14, 2019 at 6:41 PM UTC

micaelagrace

first stop

i have let my life pass me by without asking for a stop. the bus — crowded with hardened men crying, helpless children laughing, graceful women drifting — doesn’t stop. every light glimmers by—green— illuminating my path to growth, but my red hair red blood red heart ignite the invite to stop. so i pull the cord i interrupt the glares i stumble out of the bustling confusion i light onto solid ground and i, beamingly, ask myself if this is a stop or a start

25

You said it was my sigh one of desolation, dissent, that prompted you that ubiquitously grey day, to place your soul on that frigid, wooden bench at a bus stop of all places, right beside mine. You made a comment where was I going, dressed so sharp and solemn, with a distinct aura of resignation, and startled from my reverie the fog was blown from my mind, by you, so cool and clear. You tell me now that you had no real reason besides perhaps a distant curiosity, to sit by me in the brisk twilight. But as I boarded the bus, not far behind, I planted myself right next to you. It was then you claim you knew, that the rest was history.

0

Jan 22, 2019

Jan 22, 2019 at 12:10 AM UTC

Anna2000

Of All Places

You said it was my sigh one of desolation, dissent, that prompted you that ubiquitously grey day, to place your soul on that frigid, wooden bench at a bus stop of all places, right beside mine. You made a comment where was I going, dressed so sharp and solemn, with a distinct aura of resignation, and startled from my reverie the fog was blown from my mind, by you, so cool and clear. You tell me now that you had no real reason besides perhaps a distant curiosity, to sit by me in the brisk twilight. But as I boarded the bus, not far behind, I planted myself right next to you. It was then you claim you knew, that the rest was history.

23

There is a bus stop I stand by everyday Around me is every person who has ever hurt me or let me down They stand here with me day by day When the bus comes I'm the last to get on every single time I stand awkwardly as all of the seats fill As usual there are no empty seats left for me I must pick the lesser of my evil's and choose one each day The heaviness of the fear and panic sink into my core As I place myself beside one of them once more Today however as I stood with the others as I stand everyday I felt their hollow eyes burn into my back As the bus arrived I saw it load with all these people that detest me With all the memories that they carry All the memories that weigh like dumbbells on my being And for once I just stand there I do not get on And I watch as the bus full of all these things I hate Drives away as another appears It stops before me and the door opens as the driver beckons me to get in It isn't my bus, but I still drag my feet forward As if pulled by an invisible force like a magnet I can't pull myself away When I enter I see other passengers Not all of the seats are full, in fact many are empty But it still feels full, yet not stuffy I feel welcome as I stand in the aisle of the bus I'm dragged down by a brown eyed beauty And I feel like for once I've found my place Within this bus filling with the things I love, with people I trust

0

Aug 30, 2018

Aug 30, 2018 at 10:47 AM UTC

Pyrrha

Bus Stop

There is a bus stop I stand by everyday Around me is every person who has ever hurt me or let me down They stand here with me day by day When the bus comes I'm the last to get on every single time I stand awkwardly as all of the seats fill As usual there are no empty seats left for me I must pick the lesser of my evil's and choose one each day The heaviness of the fear and panic sink into my core As I place myself beside one of them once more Today however as I stood with the others as I stand everyday I felt their hollow eyes burn into my back As the bus arrived I saw it load with all these people that detest me With all the memories that they carry All the memories that weigh like dumbbells on my being And for once I just stand there I do not get on And I watch as the bus full of all these things I hate Drives away as another appears It stops before me and the door opens as the driver beckons me to get in It isn't my bus, but I still drag my feet forward As if pulled by an invisible force like a magnet I can't pull myself away When I enter I see other passengers Not all of the seats are full, in fact many are empty But it still feels full, yet not stuffy I feel welcome as I stand in the aisle of the bus I'm dragged down by a brown eyed beauty And I feel like for once I've found my place Within this bus filling with the things I love, with people I trust

28

Staring Seeing: You. Fishnet stockings, Ripped jeans, A Green, flowing button up, Crystals adorning your collarbones, Filling your pockets Runes Burning unpredicted futures into their denim, Bracelets Warming your wrists with the love offered by the souls who gave them to you. Expression, For you, Was never something shown. Shining, For you, Was never something shown. You Finally learned how good it feels to look like yourself To Put yourself on a shelf A pedestal Instead of 6 feet under your shoes. It has taken A shoal of revelations To realize That the world can only revolve around you If you let it. It has taken 18 years Of contemplation To realize You can only lose faith on yourself If you allow it. To see That If you grow Your potential To the size of a hydrogen filled giant. Your emotions, Like Venus, And Saturn, And Neptune, And Mars, Will Revolve around your protective flares, Manipulated By the gravity Of your thoughts and choices. Instead of them Pulling you Out of yourself And forcing you into the simplicity Of the very atoms You are made of.

0

Nov 13, 2017

Nov 13, 2017 at 9:00 AM UTC

AkinToASunflower

From the Stop, Watching (I)

Staring Seeing: You. Fishnet stockings, Ripped jeans, A Green, flowing button up, Crystals adorning your collarbones, Filling your pockets Runes Burning unpredicted futures into their denim, Bracelets Warming your wrists with the love offered by the souls who gave them to you. Expression, For you, Was never something shown. Shining, For you, Was never something shown. You Finally learned how good it feels to look like yourself To Put yourself on a shelf A pedestal Instead of 6 feet under your shoes. It has taken A shoal of revelations To realize That the world can only revolve around you If you let it. It has taken 18 years Of contemplation To realize You can only lose faith on yourself If you allow it. To see That If you grow Your potential To the size of a hydrogen filled giant. Your emotions, Like Venus, And Saturn, And Neptune, And Mars, Will Revolve around your protective flares, Manipulated By the gravity Of your thoughts and choices. Instead of them Pulling you Out of yourself And forcing you into the simplicity Of the very atoms You are made of.

54

Stand by Bus-stop, Lights go by, Bus don't come, stay- wonder why, Man shows up, storm begins, Bus comes late; misfortune wins, Black and White, Grey in stain, Man will disappear again, Bus never arrives, sky goes pale, Sun goes right but to no avail. Stranger returns, so does rain Late for Meeting, Late again.

0

Oct 23, 2017

Oct 23, 2017 at 9:32 AM UTC

Nightlife9

Unreal;

Stand by Bus-stop, Lights go by, Bus don't come, stay- wonder why, Man shows up, storm begins, Bus comes late; misfortune wins, Black and White, Grey in stain, Man will disappear again, Bus never arrives, sky goes pale, Sun goes right but to no avail. Stranger returns, so does rain Late for Meeting, Late again.

11