"cabbie" poems
City rush me
Pretty push
Did he see?
The wish on
Hard on_____
Sunday I thought
A rush of pluses +++
He won
Be on time if not - - -
Monday be
good to me
Rumors
Fantasy thoughts
I am
What I am
Not Popeye
Going day back
I need a third eye
I am
All free
Robin
Bird
From
everyone
Wait!!
Don't rush me
I love everyone______*
Newspaper's
Sunday
Daily
News
Poem
touchdown
My poem stood
With the others
I bowed ((Gladly))______
Waking up
To a Racers- mouth
Ray____ speed lover
No homework
All game
Sunday____
Candles burned
The House flamed
"Procrastinator"
I'll be back
"Destroyer-Terminator"
Coffee drug me percolator
He April fools her
Shopping Sunday
right up magnifying
dress
He is back
Not the future
Smart *** tricks
On the Escalator
He Jeremy irons out
her clothes
That's it!!!
Never rushed
on Sunday
To make
a mob hit
The call girls
Busy- tight pants
So Panicked Monday's
religiously
Hooked in
Scientology
So ****** in
Not to ever kiss
her on a
Sunday
He bunked into ((God))
Poem ritual bunk bed
Well NYC
Cabbie, he
will
never
take it
on Sunday
The big game
crazies
The flower
shops
of horror
Emptied
out with
Moms
Tiger
Lillies
Smelling
Mad Men hungover
Rush hour
Tv movie
Hangover
Jet game
Sprinkler
shower
Opening up
The door to his
apartment
Big Girly
hoarder mess
After a
long talk
night
Saturday Night
Brooklyn
The Disco Queen
bridge-sight
His Mom
is still oiling
His BMW Racecar
with
Hot fire Crisco
he
will never
be
rushed
out the door
His car
never
starts
Sunday
or a
Monday
Teased on
Tuesday
Wednesday
shes wild
Thursday
Ladies
drink
for free____
She got
her husband
to buy
her cushion
cut square
On Sunday
Do it or dare
She's
hanging
low
Times Square
Girly rough
Brooklyn
tough
Channel
blush
On Sunday
he is so
wired bushed
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 1:01 PM UTC
Abbie hailed a yellow top cabbie
Brenda had a sister in-law named Glenda
Cate ran late on her first date
Delly ate seven bowls of lemon jelly
Edwina drove to the town of Catalina
Fran burnt her finger on the very hot frying pan
Gwen had a strong yen to go and see her aunty Jen
Hope bought her husband a towing rope
Isobel fell under the magician's spell
Joann took her mother on a holiday in a caravan
Kylie went to the dentist with her brother Wylie
Lesley liked listening to Elvis Presley
Marcia enjoyed eating a freshly baked focaccia
Nell saw a turtle coming out of his shell
Olga lived at the top end of the river Volga
Primrose had a Pinocchio nose
Queenie knitted a multicolored beanie
Ruth could never tell the whole truth
Stacey loved playing dress ups with her friend Tracey
Tilly behavior was always rather silly
Una bought a house in the suburb of Yagonna
Verity wanted to be a well known celebrity
Winifred never stopped taking about Alfred
Xena was presented with a court subpoena
Yale told her teacher a tall tale
Zealand ventured out into the bushland
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 8:30 AM UTC
Velveteen and closed with slim metal clasps
Laying on the seat next to the edge of a dress.
Let me slip my hand inside to find
Nothing but a $100 bill that isn't mine.
The car comes to a lurching stop
I pay the cabbie and get out to walk.
A few coins and an aching heart
Linger with the clasp's top apart.
My silken dress swirls around my knees
At the bottom of the stairs of apartment three.
One single step leads right to the next
Velveteen catching my ragged breath.
The metal clasps held firmly closed
As I knock on the door to fill the hole.
Stolen bills and velveteen held close
And the door unbolts…
But metal clasps remain closed.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 9:38 PM UTC
Thirty years had passed me by
I was approaching fifty one
For my birthday I thought I would go
to New York and take my son
I'd been there once many years ago
When my boy was not yet born
With his mother gone, I thought it time
To go back there with my son
I checked the web and booked a room
In a hotel that looked real nice
It was just three blocks from Broadway
I guess I should have checked it twice
We flew on in from Michigan
We were set to see some games
We would also go to Broadway
And see some plays with some big names
I should have seen it coming
Problems arising from the start
Our plane was late in leaving
They had crashed the luggage cart
An hour to reload it
Got us off and in the air
With a strong tail wind behind us
The pilot said we'd soon be there
We landed at the airport
Waited forty minutes for our bags
You see, when they loaded us in Detroit
They forgot to fasten all our tags
We went outside to get a cab
We were almost to our stop
We would find the Biltmore Hotel
My young son and me...his pop
We told the taxi driver
To the Biltmore Hotel please
He said "Sir, are you certain"
"They've had bed bugs and there's fleas"
"I checked it on the internet"
"It looked nice and was cheap"
The driver said "OK Sir,"
"But, the Biltmore...it's a heap!"
I thought a bit, but said...."come on"
"It cannot be that bad"
But as we pulled of Broadway
The neighborhood looked quite sad
The street was dark and nondescript
there was no one to be found
Except for idle yelling
You could not hear a sound
Windows were all boarded up
The farther we went east
I thought, for thugs and hoodlums
this street would yield a feast
I thought the cabbie might be right
A new hotel we'd get
But, I still had not decided
Even though the streeted was quite the threat
The sign outside the hotel
Was burned out in some spots
But, I guess from our reaction
We both deserved what we had got
I told the cabbie, do not stop
Just floor it and we'll go
The sign outside the Biltmore
lit up as "BI T MO **
I wasn't gonna stay there
We went back and made it quick
Just looking at the Biltomre
Well, it really made me sick
I learned one thing this trip
Next time, I'll call ahead
And won't book at the "BIT MO **
For I might just wake up dead.
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 7:30 PM UTC
Called a cab
It had to be Yellow
Checkered at least
A rumble seat
Old school,
an Uber
it
just wouldn't do.
The cabbie asked me
What's your destination?
Take me to the end of time,
I don't think it's on your GPS
Do you know the ride?
He hit the meter
never replied
Looking out the window
Saw it all fly by
When we arrived
I was surprised
No charge, he said
for this ride.
Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 9:48 PM UTC
The waitress doesn't smile
The cabbie doesn't speak
The salesman is all business
(This hasn't been his week)
The boss is rude and angry
He drives us all to tears
The barber flails his scissors
And almost cuts my ears
This band of moaners and groaners
Is no treat for a happiness glutton
The only grin I've seen all week
Was on a "SMILE" button
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 4:46 PM UTC
I didn't come here for the overpriced beer, that's not gonna cure what ales me.
What ales me is here, hidden beneath the cure.
Inaccessible, leaving hope that makes it only more painful.
They don't know what to make of me, for I am not defined.
But it's their indifference that chisels away at parts of me until these parts are no longer mine.
I am not crazy, repeating these patterns.
Dropping placebos and falling victim to patterns.
The deafening music, sweating skin and the passion.
I watch the others take it in, it's my only distraction.
And she'll turn to me at the most awkward time, maybe buy me a drink or feed me a line.
And she knows she's just fishing to see if she's still got it. And when I force a half smile she knows for a second I bought it.
If I turn her away then I'm the **** and mistaken, I'm left with only myself to blame.
If I tell her we've never met that it's her that's mistaken, she'll have her confidence restored and her senses awaken.
She'll move on for the night and look to upgrade. I'll sit and try to explain away the trap that she laid.
It gets late enough that I can pretend that I tried, and I make as if I have a reservation with a cabbie outside.
We're all born alone. Everyone dies. But for a few seconds, a few get to lie.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 11:32 PM UTC
Sweaty tempered jawline
Eclipse evening ritual bounce
Rendez-Vous on motor freeway
daydreaming girls in dresses
and overdue bills
Cab calling silent house
with the taxi driver
old gut
father death
without word
takes me home
Remnants of chill breath
Skunk ganj dead animal
Sweet smelling sour
on highway crossing
Get me inside
Cab fare cost
Unfair coast
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 12:45 AM UTC
To cab drivers
I can confess
My sins
And my tests
Of the day
I play back
The scenes
And the cracks
On the heads
Of jacks
Blackened
In the rants
Of bloodied fists
And kisses from
The black
And the cabbie
Will always react
Tactfully
And with respect
Appropriate giggles
And gasps
And i'm forgiven
In the back
Of a cab
Where i can
Get it off my chest
A post mission
Digression
Where we tally
The score
In a tip
To explore
While i get
Higher than before
On the plant of the lord
Until adequately floored
Reaching the destination
They open the door
And i'm free of the lorn
Through my cabbie
I'm born to freshness
A 40 percent tip
For my new found grip
And i'm off to trip
Into bed
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 5:36 AM UTC
Haling down a cab that's going far too fast,
standing on the roadside as it's flying past
turn and watch the tail lights as the next one's slowing down
Picking up the pieces that were left behind
Thought that you were broken but I've come to find
all these things were welded into something of a cabbie's crown
you were cheap, you were easy,going my way, going ******
not the Ritz, hotel cheesy,down in Helluva, that's Hell
then you prayed, and you pondered, and at once your sins were laundered
now your past won't weigh you down,looks like you're holding up quite well
once incarcerated for a job you did
spent a year in prison, you were just a kid
didn't even know enough to cover up the video
the drinking and the drugging and the life you knew
da pimpsters and da players with da cooties who
left you feeling ***** but I see you've got a whole new show
you were free,you were lazy, going my way,going crazy
almost pushin' up a daisy,you were halfway home to Hell
then you prayed.and you pondered,and at once your sins were laundered
now your past won't weigh you down, I see you're holding up quite well
Choking on the ashes of your history
how you got away from them a mystery
the gas was on the burners babe, and someone blew the pilot out
so now you drive a taxi for the NYC
working nights, you tell me, "no one rides for free"
Got to hand it to you, you're a hacker, but you've worked it out
you were rough,you were noisy, going my way, back to Joisey
going anywhere, but Boise,not just anywhere, but Hell
then you prayed, and you pondered,and at once your sins were laundered
now your past can't weigh you down, you wear your cabbie crown quite well.
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 9:51 AM UTC
3,000 miles between us
but fate stepped in and
i am in a cab, flying towards china town
and you are running down Broadway
in the opposite direction.
i told the cabbie to stop, but they insisted
we kept moving.
you were right there, so close
we could have touched.
of all the days to be in the city,
we chose the same one
and missed our opportunity
to kiss each other on the mouth
but if it really was fate,
i will see you again
and we will kiss and touch and laugh
and fall in love.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 1:30 AM UTC
You might not remember my name ,
but i am still the same .
I am The bright sunlight before the morning cloud ,
the silence before the storm ,
the wicker and the worm .
I am in the bough of a tree ,
that whispers through its falling leaves .
that branch when you were a child when you used to seesaw on
me for a time .
For I am The word that sharpens you’re tongue ,
before a sentence has begun .
I am the arrow that is plucked from you’re bow ,
that tells you’re target where to go .
For I am the oxygen you breath in the night ,
You’re unspoken thoughts both in the day and of the night .
like you and I on a carousel on a hot summers day ,
those dreams will fly away .
I am in the rainbow that
that spreads far and wide ,
that tell the rain clouds
where to hide.
I am in the words “ I can’t be there “ ,
when that train pulls away ,
and you’re clasping thin air .
When the fumes from the train ,
fill you’re lungs full of smoke .
and the cabbie says “ just you my dear ?
For when you are alone by the grave of you’re friend ,
I will be in the honeysuckle that flowers .
And when you’re world is full of sorrow
I am the binding that holds tomorrow.
I will be the silver lineing when the clouds are still there .
I can be the ray of sunlight that beams from afar ,
that hears you’re prayers ,
that shines down on you’re coffin ,
when heavens doors are ajar .
Apr 22, 2021
Apr 22, 2021 at 6:17 AM UTC
I left Barnes and Noble in tears
when the words swam through the in store speakers
through my ears,
into my skull
to my heart, and opened
the box in my soul labeled
Things I never told my dad before he left.
I was with him at the last bus stop
There in that cozy white room where
All that was left was to wait.
If I closed my eyes
I could imagine the sound of
An idling engine waiting
I could almost see
An impatient agelict cabbie
Fussing over the meter.
I don’t know suzzane
Nor what plans put an end to her,
But I know what it means
To hide in the hulking fuselage
Of the dream you thought
Would fly you to where
you wanted to be.
And I know how it feels
When the veil is taken down
And you think of
all the times
You didn’t say
I love you.
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC
keep barking
what,
mongrel?!
never to a chemist
what, suddenly there is
no notion of a cognitive
mongrel, i.e. a bilingual breed
of man?
i found that people
complained about having
a mixed-ethnic rooting,
never was the case translated into
the cognitive element of
vocab...
you are allowed an ethno-allowance
"stipend" and be left off
the hook if your mother was
white, but your daddy was black,
but then it comes to
possessing two languages,
good luck Buck!
akin to psychiatric disorders...
the pills don't work!
tell that to a chemist:
the **** was i doing all this time,
so running, cardiovascular
oxygen to the brain will solve
all the problems?
the last thing you want a chemist to hear
is: the only medicine is exercise...
i'm not saying it's perfect,
but to suggest that all pill taking
is bad makes the study of
chemistry: pointless...
might as well be studying
arachnophobia!
if i actually did make it into
the profession i'd be as much hated as
a police officer...
chemistry: bad...
make sure you wash your teeth with
cow dung extract,
and perfume yourself with
freshly plucked daffodils then!
jobs retain a tinge of absolutism
because relativism doesn't exist between them,
the only relativism shared is
the relativistic fact that such jobs
exists, and can exist because
they are coexisting...
a bus driver coexists with
a cabbie because: e.g. e.g. i.e. a mechanical
means of travel...
psychiatry undermines
the benevolence of a chemist,
by over-simplifying
the case-study of a cardiovascular trainer...
the **** is the point
running a treadmill without
generating energy?
you can't suddenly explain
to a chemist:
your pill aren't worth popping!
well, that's one way of saying
the currently exploration
of the impotence of antibiotics...
that worked...
but what's the point of telling
a chemist to suddenly "dig the groove"
of divorcing himself from
synthesising synthetic mimics?
- and instead analysing analytical
precursors?
a chemist is not going to suddenly
rephrase his quest
to agree to:
a futility his own work -
culminating in an effective
plagiarism of nature isolated...
but then popularising biology
and physics reduces chemistry as
being the Quasimodo of science,
a hunch-back ugly-face of endeavour...
a science crucified in terms
of modern ethic...
once the only adventurous
branch of science,
now the most ethically conducted
patron of rigour...
it has truly become nothing
short of a farce...
something worth being ridiculous,
but not inclined to be subject
of ridicule.
Dec 9, 2017
Dec 9, 2017 at 9:13 PM UTC
christianity is, in part,
ontologically based, to behave like
hinduism...
in that its root is a polytheism,
focusing on
the opposite of a theology,
or its particularness...
it's poly-schismatic.
catholicism can lie all it wants away,
but the fact is simple:
christianity was based upon a focus
of an impeding schism...
so i can't see a way out of
shouting: shotgun!
as you rarely do, take the seat
in a non-black-cabbie next to the driver...
since there isn't one...
add to it an innumerable
cohort of saints... and you're done...
at least islam is "schizophrenic",
in that the schism took to representing
two factions of belief systems...
me? if i were muslim?
shi'a(h) islam... all the way...
christianity just has a messiah complex
imbedded in it... and therefore it has
so many splinters (schisms) waiting for it,
to be reduced to.
orthodox, catholic, protestant,
and then all the -isms...
luthernism, calvinism, baptism -ism- -ists...
em, second day adventists?
it's like darwinism in a theological sense:
look! look at all the theo-diversity!
only now, would you associate
the (g)nostic movement in islam (sufism)
with shi'a(h) islam...
but come on! how can you make poetry
a capitalist "thing"?
you can't compete when writing poetry...
you can't compete on an universal basis for
a uniform stance of "incompetent" expression...
that **** ain't happening...
i feel with my intensity, and with my intensity alone...
you can't compete with what you feel,
and then scribble down...
the **** is this "comprehension" / realisation?
poetry is not some potato-sack / egg on a spoon race!
in terms of language...
english has already won the culture war...
but chinese, or hindi, as written in sanskrit?
well... that's won the existential war...
a billion here... and a billion over there...
mind you, i'll repeat myself...
the polytheistic aspect of christianity is that
christianity has a tendency to agitate schisms;
it's really a religion of the obelus (÷),
or as some might suggest: the obelisk of washington d.c.
thank **** it wasn't a giant **** of
masonry, with only one / two rooms in it.
the ****** religion just implodes,
and schizophrenics itself into a poly-diadem
that then tries to resolve some primitive geometric
form (square, triangle, a straight line, a dot)
of "respectability";
but reducing the tetragrammaton (yhwh) into a
dangling piece of metal, i.e. a † (crux)?
that! that's truly barbaric!
May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 10:46 AM UTC
You've got discipline on your wrist,
Boldness on your neck,
Looking determined what's next,
Marching towards that yellow car,
Holding paperwork claimed with knowledge and are earned so far,
Spine rested on the back seat,
Cabbie asking for the accurate location where I wanna be ,
So silent that heartbeat is audible to me,
Feeling that adrenaline pumping accompanied heavy breath,
The flip from bookish system to booking self for wages,
Now I guess am almost ready for incoming stages,
Off to the big building through the automatic door,
In the chilled room along with more individuals of same species ,
The time has come for the bargain embracing communication abilities,
Don't know what will happen,
Vitals are normal for now and day came to an end .
Aug 4, 2017
Aug 4, 2017 at 12:51 AM UTC
another sober day, and another day spent gardening,
trimming hedges, forming bulbs from shrubs,
only yesterday i cut a 7ft tree to a hardly seen stump,
today the weeds got the treatment, while a
strange cohort of bees were flying under the decking
with pollen pouches attached to their hind legs,
a little colony, rebellious bees that escaped from
a beer keeper - all of this attached to a hope for a new
rigour: a new year or new techniques, an invested
in the discourse between Dionysian and Apollonian
poetics - only because it annoyed me that the man
who invented this conceptualisation actually thought
Goethe's poetry was the latter... the man died like a
patriarch in a bed, apparently uttering the words:
more light! he enjoyed the latter's rigour, a statesman
and a respected member of the established...
so long have i wished to remember how i wrote sober,
but there's an ulterior reason... i can't be left
with scraps of £9.00 as a bank account,
here's the arithmetic:
monday, wednesday,
friday, sunday -
£11.00 x 4 = £44.00
carton of romanian cigarettes
£4.00 x 10 = £40.00
a weekly saving of ~£50.00
(give or take)...
an hour with a girl: £110.00, entry fee for
the madam £10.00...
how many weeks is that
to save up for the pleasure?
let's call it an even month of saving up...
i just remember that one time i was walking from
a pub tipsy... the rumbling in my stomach
was so great, it weren't butterflies in there...
honey bees! 10 metres from the brothel entrance...
diarrhoea... i **** myself from excitement...
i took the seat of shame on the bus, squid of ****
in my trousers, then a cab home with the cabbie
being polite enough to not mention the smell...
that was one time... it's what i learnt about
England and the "roses" of Devon and Stratford-upon-Avon...
cold like the lions of Trafalgar Sq., i've been living
here TWENTY TWO YEARS... guess what?
NEVER HAD AN ENGLISH BIRD...
i must really look like Quasimodo or something, anyway:
you just have to learn to compromise, a healthy
appetite for the carnal in youth - because who really
dreams of wrinkly lechery? even the brothel girls
said that to... one just said: 'who'd want to **** old men?
not me!'
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 8:37 AM UTC
She helps him as he struggles, awakes of the cabbie’s pitiful stare,
Her man, her prince, again too drunk to care,
Leans for support, to stagger to the door,
He’s had too much, hanging out, aching to his core.
She doesn’t speak, just implores, ‘can you make it to the gate?’
Her eyes gaze on, as she wonders, how did it get this late?
Chris, Dave, Jack, Sam; he’s seen it all before,
One and the same, with the same poor girl, never wanting more.
He sees the care go all one way, until it’s thrown back in her face,
The words change up, a variable phrase, but always a bitter taste.
He bites his tongue, watches on, and sees the scene unfold again
Pretty dresses, different colours, where each hand leaves a sweaty stain.
‘He’s lovely, so sweet’ she says to her friends, ‘just some growing up to do’
Whilst inwardly wondering ‘is this it? Now the gilt’s worn off the new?’
Then one day she waits, he comes around, nothing to suggest what’s coming next,
‘I think we should break up’ he says. She stops, her feelings annexed.
Not a word, not a sign, he leaves without saying goodbye
Controlled, she waits until the door clicks shut, before breaking down and begging ‘why?’
This empty room holds no answers, chest hurts, eyes bleed, heart breaks.
Hoping and praying he’ll come back, that it’s all been a big mistake
Those final words, with no explanation, leaves her with ‘what about me wasn’t right?’
The hours pass, the tears subside, but that final question drags her into the night.
Next the phone call, the ‘I’m sorry, I miss us, all I can think of is you’
He begs, he cries, that final question, what do you want me to do?
She tells him she doesn’t know, but that he can fix it, he just has to work out how.
He doesn’t know, comes up with promises he’ll break and then one final vow:
‘I’ll call you tomorrow, when I’ve sobered up, and we’ll sort all this out’
With that she sleeps, content in the knowledge that he does care, after all.
Next day time passes, as the sun goes down her happiness dissipates
Until at last she accepts it, with that final question, ‘how did it get this late?’
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 9:01 AM UTC
I used to have a friend from
New York that was a lawyer, she once
dated a famous NBA star.
We drank ***** together.
She was a bit smug, but smart and
funny—a dangerous combination.
One evening, we decided to
go to a neighborhood grocer that
sold spirits and wine.
She had a black schipperke named
Bruno.
One drunken night I dubbed
him the Senator, after Ted Kennedy,
another smart and funny drunk.
We called a cab to get
more ***** I put Anna’s
Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses
on; I grabbed a broom handle and
hooked the Senator
up to his leash.
I said, “Look, look, I’m blind and Teddy is
my seeing eye dog.”
Anna laughed and said,
“Oh we must bring him along.”
She used the word, “must” a lot.
The cab pulled up and the
act began.
I worked the cane, and the dog out the
door, with those big white
sunglasses covering my eyes.
We piled in the cab,
and
tore off into
the sweltering July night.
We pulled into the
grocery store parking lot
Anna told the cabbie to wait.
She was beat red and big tears of
joy flowed freely down her face.
I grabbed her arm and said,
“Quit laughing, or they’ll think it’s a joke;
I’m ******* blind; it isn’t supposed to be funny.”
She laughed harder.
We walk through the sliding doors,
I’m waving the broom handle back and forth on
the floor.
The Senator immediately proceeds to
**** on a display case of crackers.
Anna cackles,
we walk on like we didn’t just see Ted’s
indiscretions. We headed for
the *****
Anna yells, “Did you see what the
Senator did back there?”
I say, “Of course I didn’t see it honey,
I’m blind, what did he do.”
She screamed, “He ****** all over that display case.”
"I know, I know—let’s get the
***** and get the hell out of
here before they kick us out.”
Just then, the Senator slipped out
of his collar and began to
run up and down the aisles.
I chased him, he dodged me.
Anna tripped and fell, she laughed until
she wet herself.
That ******* dog had
more moves than an NFL running back.
I finally cornered him by the
milk and butter section; I reached down to
grab him, and the little
son of a ***** bit me.
I smacked his nose and said,
“Bad Dog—Bad, Bad Dog.”
He bit me again.
I finally had him in my arms;
by then, those ridiculous looking
sunglasses were on top of
my head.
I lost the broomstick, and dragged the leash and
collar behind me.
We made it to Anna’s and drank into the
night. Most poets wouldn’t know how to end
a poem like this
but I do,
bow wow.
Jun 22, 2020
Jun 22, 2020 at 12:20 PM UTC