"queuing" poems
A blunt start
It's Monday blues
Aching heart
Searching for clues
Wondering eyes
Scheduled meetings
More sales lies
More customer cheatings
Gloomy, rainy, breezy day
Good morning, morning all passes say
My mind is rolling over thinking
My eyes heavy, dosing and sinking
O' I hope it was another holiday
Another day in bed, dreaming all the way
But Monday always comes again
Ruining my week, giving me pain
Same people, same desk, job loads
Traffic queuing on the roads
O' this laziness
I need coffee, to focus on today's business
Monday! Monday! Fly away fast
Till Friday comes, with a party blast...
©sim
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 2:05 AM UTC
Up north
There's this thing called queuing
Down south
It looks more like ******* looting
I can see the trouble brewing
Squeezing on the tube – can't even get my ******* shoe in
Some of these miserable ******** look like they need shooting
Stuck on the northern line back to Tooting
Feb 14, 2019
Feb 14, 2019 at 6:44 AM UTC
Older boys telling younger boys “bad” jokes is part of the traditions in schools, much as the guardians of Elite Schools might deny it…here’s something that happened in the 1960s, and perhaps before too, and perhaps always….
*“Who’s the best person to marry
when you’re grown up?”*
asks the Senior boy
(with his double entendre)
in the shed behind the canteen
three juniors shrug their shoulders
and then one ventures: “Marry a traffic cop?”
“No,” answers the Senior
*“Never marry a traffic cop
cos at the crucial moment she’ll say: ‘HALT!’”*
Some boys laugh, one or two innocents scratch their heads
“I’ll marry a doctor,” says another
“Yeah?” says the Senior
*“At the crucial moment
she’ll be saying: ‘OK -
you can put on your clothes now!’”*
Now the juniors laugh;
they are getting wiser
but still an innocent says:
“I’ll marry a bus conductor”
“Oh no, no,” says the boy Senior
“She’ll be insisting: ‘Ticket, please! Ticket, please!’”
*“I’ll marry Susan at the canteen
where she makes the best
sandwiches for all those who hunger,”*
says the boy, obviously from a very charitable home
“No, no,” says the Senior. *“She’ll be roaring:
‘Who’s next? Who’s next? Who’s next?’
And you’ll have all the men
within three miles
queuing up at your doorway!”*
The juniors have gotten too smart now
Nobody offers any other possibilities
But innocents die hard
and there’s one last little boy:
“I’ll marry my teacher!”
“Well, isn’t she the best,” says Senior
*“for at the crucial moment,
she’ll be saying:
‘Do it again! Do it again!’”*
Now, the boys enjoyed it all; the girls never heard it, except when they married these initiates…and all the eminent people in the professions have been none the wiser…
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 6:49 AM UTC
Cumin queuing
Exchanged by the fiery springs
It flew away blowing
When the chill was as willed as the obtrusive sky
Made of cranes running
Up and down until it is down below the hips.
How one would crave the distinguished dish severely
Whose aroma is everything you have heard singly
The pearl-like freckles beneath its wings
Tastes like heaven-human savagely beating alive
Increasing one's height and appetite.
Oily hands that grip your heart,
Slippery slides of the familiar coconut.
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 11:11 PM UTC
Next time
you find yourself
standing in line
think a little differently
step sideways
or back
and commit a very small act of rebellion
but
not when queuing
at a supermarket checkout
if your hungry
and not
whilst waiting
at passport border control
as trigger fingers may start to twitch
and it would be best
to avoid doing so altogether
at a public ******
where stepping sideways
or back
can be a risky business
even with the place to yourself
on reflection it appears
there is a time
and a place
for everything
even
very small acts of rebellion
although
it ought to be said
a rebellion
that knows no hunger
a rebellion
that challenges neither borders
or control
a rebellion
that overly concerns itself with
******* in the designated area
has probably
entirely
missed the point.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 4:29 PM UTC
Surviving lockdown
March was the start
Closing down cities
Families living apart
Surviving lockdown
That’s what I’m doing
Surviving shopping
Queuing and queuing
Surviving lockdown
Out of bed at six or seven
Days are all the same
Not what I’d call livin’
Surviving lockdown
Trying to remember the date
Is it Saturday or Sunday?
Feeling like a prison inmate
Surviving lockdown
Finding something to do
Baking bread or anything
Just to get through
Surviving lockdown
Till they find a cure
Surviving lockdown
I’ll need to endure
Surviving lockdown
Now it’s July
Feeling so lucky
When so many die
Surviving lockdown
It’ll end one day
And all back to normal
Well, that’s what they say.
Jul 4, 2020
Jul 4, 2020 at 5:01 AM UTC
The M6 is slow southbound north of Lymm.
Queuing likely Junctions 4 through to 3.
Accident on the slip-road at Strensham
South. Rubberneckers slowing just to see.
Busy clockwise on the M25.
Overturned tanker - now down to one lane.
Rush-hour traffic, best avoid the drive.
M62 heavy westbound again.
Ongoing road works on the A1 (M).
High sided vehicles avoid the Forth
Bridge. Reports of a breakdown just come in
For those leaving the M5 heading north.........
Felicity comes, I turn off the dial
The traffic has cleared - if just for a while.
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 2:30 PM UTC
Does she sound so sweet
Unless she disappears like heat
But she's a mirror outside
Underneath, she'll mysteriously hide
Queuing for something
Unless she's bored with me
Everyone bores of me
She is the sound of silence
Elder to all and some
Not a chance to be
I just want to be happy
Oh, she won't see me
Rather you left again
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
I used to stand, dreaming
I could win that brown bear
Only takes three darts, top scores
To win, at the local fair.
Or a fish, I would have liked that
An orange thing in a plastic bag
Or hook-a-duck, a chance to win
Perhaps a new toy or wave a flag.
The smell of onions frying all day
Hot crispy potato skins enticing
The unmistakable aroma of doughnuts
With different kinds of icing.
The thrill and fear of the ghost train
With dangly things in your face
Screams, sighs, a creepy hand touching
I loved that very creepy place.
The helter skelter, skimming on a mat
Winding to the bottom with a smile
Then queuing for ages once again
Strangers in a single file.
The fair, money for this and that
Oh I wanted that teddy bear.
Eventually I got him, my new friend
Sitting there with his short brown hair.
A reminder of days when fun was fun
Screeches, screams and music very loud
They’d play the number one in the charts
To a very approving fun loving crowd.
So with my short lived fish in a bag
My bear and tummy full of candy floss
My pockets with no money just tissues
Smeared with onions and tomato sauce.
I’d head back home, looking over my shoulder
The lights, the atmosphere nothing can compare
Dodgems, rides that made you feel sick
But that’s ok at the local funfair.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 1:13 AM UTC
I’ve strode this road of war and love
And born it’s bile and spleen,
I’ve wept at death and laughed at birth
But nowhere have I seen,
A sweeter place to live and die,
To quest for things supreme,
Than to forge these days of hard forays
In the Land of In Between.
Candied apples hang from boughs
Like jewels bequeathed by Queen
And silver sounds of bubbling brook
Cascade to tumbling stream,
Parakeets in vivid hue
Fly by with shreeking scream
In forest’s green majestic light
In the Land of In Between.
Paint no man black or vivid white
Whilst points of view be gleaned
With race and politics ignored
Then manifest, obscene.
Where labour be a man’s reward
And filthy lucre screened
As noxious be a spider bite
In this Land of In Between.
Where hate be strangled to the end
Then with a keen blade ,sheened,
Be put to death with avarice
No guilt or guile redeemed.
Leaving in the pristine wake
A countryside so clean
That God be queuing up to live
In this Land of In Between.
All ****** love be sacrosanct
And soft endearments seemed
As normal as the light of night
When by the moon dust preened.
And that laughter be our currency
Affection always seen
As bonding in fraternity
At the Land of In Between.
M.
Foxglove, Taranaki NZ.
30 January 2016
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 6:33 PM UTC
*daddy screams and shouts, eyes burning with rage
mummy cries tears bitter with sage
brother is scared, eyes wide as moons
we all agree daddy has gone through menopause too soon
on our faces, we brush aside this sudden burst
"it's just nothing," we say, "he knows family comes first."
but the sight of him consumed is etched in the air
trapping the three of us in trauma's snare --
his eyes were livid, veins bulged from his neck
pulsing with the viscosity of a lava lake
he burned like blue fire, the kind that burns too hot
destroying everything around it, leaving death-clogged smog
i don't know why daddy is so angry today
till then, in our room, mummy brother and i will stay
i have never seen daddy so angered and flared
so distant with fury, so paralysingly mad
i fear for this family, i never have before this
this fear scares me, so i will make a list
i hope it will serve to place some of my fears
into linear thoughts, before it rains tears
first, daddy has always been holy and kind,
on his chest a cross, you would always find
but as he grows older, with hair turning grey,
with valley-deep wrinkles and memories gone astray,
he seems to forget, that i am human too
with his words, he beats me, beats me black and blue
criticisms and 'bad bad bad' ring through the house
if only he saw, he is the wolf that prowls
second, daddy had been a family man
the kind that spends a fortune flying us over land
but lately, he's just been out of touch and sight
sins queuing outside the door, waiting to enter at night
he seems to forget when i was a child
the cards i gave him, the way i made him smile
but i remember, when his hair was still black
in our family, love and warmth was never in lack
time, stop. return my daddy back to me.
stop this affair, i beg you; don't let age run free.
don't run through your fingers in his hair like that.
don't paint his hair grey, don't make it fall away.
give me the daddy my mummy met, back.*
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 10:21 AM UTC
Toy plane flying
Yellow is playful
For sliders queuing
Wanting all the thrills
Life worth living
What’s waiting ahead
Deep breath, leaping
Look back to my friends
Kids keep fighting
All for turn table
One start crying
Other walk the road
Parents’re watching
Tourists getting lost
Higher swinging
Pigeons leave their flocks
Many’s happening
In the park of mind
So overwhelming
But I know I’ll do just fine
Sep 28, 2022
Sep 28, 2022 at 8:41 PM UTC
Miriam coming out of her tent
caught the early morning sun;
let it transform her into slow
wakefulness; allowed herself to be
caressed by its heat, its motherly
warmth. Her companion in the
tent, some girl from Lancashire
who spoke such utter tripe, slept
and snored on. She scanned
the field of tents, red and blue
across the greenness. She wished
she knew where Benny's tent was,
but it was pouring with rain last
evening and both fled to their tents
to avoid getting wetter than they
already were. How wet she got,
right down to her underclothes;
sticking to her skin, which had
to be peeled off, and trying to do
all that in the small tent unable
to stand, with the girl gawking
at her as if she'd never seen a
naked body before. She zipped
up the tent, and made her way
up to the campsite restaurant
through the green field still damp
dampening her shoes. The restaurant
was busy; people talking, queuing
up for food and drink, table upon
table packed with other campers.
She lined up; she'd find a table
after; sit where ever. Benny found
her and told her where he was
and the table. She felt a thrill enter
her; a sense of excitement flowed
through her body as if someone
had switched a switch and sent
off a deep overriding desiring itch.
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 1:14 PM UTC
Taking long drives,
Through these country roads,
Catching butterflies,
And memories along the way,
Taking advantage,
Of the nicest of days
Dipping our feet in the sea,
Of sheer iciness,
Instantly feeling like needles,
Prickling our toes,
But we keep running as far as we can,
Holding hands,
as we go.
Eating a lemon top,
In freezing cold weather,
Not a single care,
When we're together,
Villages, pubs,
And countryside,
Our two hearts,
Will be full inside.
Even as summer passes through,
We always go back,
To that cosy shelter,
Whilst you're wearing 3 layers,
And my best sweater.
Birthday on the London eye,
Trying to count the bowler hats,
From up in the sky,
And seeing how many bulldogs,
Walk closely by.
Queuing for hours on end,
But filling in that empty void,
We call conversation,
Psychotic bond,
No hesitation.
I remember at the royal wedding,
As they passed by,
New princess with her dress sparkling,
I whispered in your ear,
You look much more beautiful, my darling.
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 6:32 PM UTC
I’m lying in the fetal position
at the bottom of a muddy trench dug during World War One
or
I’m queuing outside a gas chamber
skin exposed to Winter air by burlap
during World War Two
In one of these fantasies- - and that’s what they are- -
a man looks over his shoulder and asks
whether I deserve
to be alive.
“I don’t think so,” I mutter.
Then another man stands over my emaciated frame
and quanders “Have you had time
to
zink about your
life?”
I raise a muddy foot
or
adjust my weight to face
my conversation partner:
“What do you want me to say?”
I want you to say everything
(pointing to a field of shell-craters)
before you go out there
or
I want you to have a chance
(pointing to my head)
before you go in there.
Then, the vapor comes
or
it starts raining.
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 11:29 PM UTC
I'd like to charge,
the government.
With crimes,
against humanity.
Giving M.B.E's,
to hairdresser's.
Only goes,
to prove,
their vanity.
Elderly man
evicted.
Reeked of,
mental health.
Makes me fkin sick,
cos they have,
so much wealth.
Always pointing fingers.
Blood dripping,
from their hands.
yet giving,
tax relief,
to appease,
their Tory fans.
They have no,
understanding,
of what benefit,
equates.
As we conserve,
energy.
they increase,
fuel rates?
They talk of,
unemployment,
like its a,
personal choice.
Jumping to,
conclusions.
As though we,
have no voice.
They've,
no desire,
for shelters.
No funding,
for rehabs.
No interest,
in soup kitchen's.
Or people,
dressed in rags.
DO NOT
be a pawn
in their,
game of chess.
DO NOT fall,
for the lies,
that they suggest.
Destroying their,
own people.
welfare reforms.
Yet writing every,
penny down,
on expenditure,
allowance forms.
Don't they know,
its wrong?
state paying,
for second homes.
When those,
supporting families,
survive on,
payday loans.
Humbled,
working people,
queuing at,
food banks
I wonder,
what goes on,
amongst the,
Tory ranks?
The truth,
of austerity.
11 % bonus,
increase.
The injustice,
of it all,
destroys,
my inner peace.
It's obvious,
their strategy,
to conquer,
by divide.
lining their,
own pockets,
before they,
run and hide
(c) mandy rigby 09/01/2014
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 2:46 PM UTC
*Loud Music
Music that soothes
Music that rejuvenates
Music that speaks to the souls
Loud music
Forget the lyrics
Its just the beats
On a repeat
For the amoeba thoughts
Swirling twirling Swimming in uncharted waters
Moulding them into set shapes
Queuing them up in rows
Taming down their pseudo waves
Music that has a feel
The pebbles cascading
down the stream ,
A tremulous tippy tappy sweet sound
To the heart it appeals, heals
Music that is light and tender
Dim the lights
Close the eyes
Let the music do the wonders
Music for the senses
That soothes rejuvenates
And speaks to the souls
In tongues ancient
Known ,yet unknown*
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 6:46 AM UTC
I’m phased out to sepia, Pet,
The last cab on the rank,
My good looks and *** a memory, Sweet,
For which, I’ve you to thank.
One day blending through to next
Increasingly a blur,
Dissatisfaction total now
For things ain’t what they were.
Ignored by all and sundry
Quite invisible to they
Who converse in hieroglyphics,
Incomprehensible, I say.
Overtaken by technology
Can’t figure out the phone
Facebook, watch and wallet mishmash
Won’t leave us alone.
Confusion at the pace of things,
It’s all moving far too fast
Queuing up for life
Leaves us, inevitably, last.
But bitterness ain’t with me
For I’ve loved your churlish ways,
Tho we’ve sailed through life on cobblestones
That old sunshine warmed our days.
But now I’m phasing out to sepia, Sweet,
Cos I’m the last cab on the rank
One quick kiss before departure, Pet,
For which..... I’ve you to thank.
M.
Auckland
22 April 2015
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 11:43 PM UTC
And...it's here. A future. Agile? I was not enough to be.
Black in it's entirety. A new beginning and a new me.
Clockwork. As though a plan hatched by some supreme being.
Dear dog, which came first? Was it the white or the black?
Either way, it effortlessly taints your profoundly glorious genes.
**** this! Atrocious. Drugs?!
Goodness me. How did we get to this?
Horrible, dehumanising, and it's here to stay.
"It suppresses". But really only in the mildest of ways.
Just to remind you of the control you once had.
Killed! And now ceded in it's entirety to a tad bit of a fad.
Let me just turn back the hands of time!
My fate I leave with you alone.
Nothing seems to relieve this pressure and irreparable pain.
Oh God! Could I be spared such a destiny?
Prayers.
Queuing from my heart to yours.
Respectfully admonishing your power and grace.
Simply, do I ask for that childlike sense of serenity.
To take me to a place of restoration and hope.
Unlock my mind. Repair my soul. For vaults of this kind are too strong.
Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 9:22 AM UTC
Awake in the night listening to rain
Well placed ice packs when feeling the strain
Spacing those tents to ensure a safe distance
Getting it right aides coexistence.
Welcoming all with smiles and sweets
Giving assurance with replies on repeat
Directing the lost with maps and good grace
Shifting the freezers to maximise space
Finding the child who wandered from mum
Keeping kids safe while ensuring their fun
Spraying the sinks and mopping with vigour
Trying and failing to pull down that zipper
Queuing for showers at early 5.30
Teens these days don't tolerate *****
Whenever you need them they'll sort out the flushes
And when the loo blocks they'll get out the brushes.
These are the heroes of New Day each year
Whenever you see them give them a cheer
Enjoy your time with us, have a real blast
We're all here for Jesus - the first and the last.
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 7:04 PM UTC
Sat in Coffee shop, latte in my hand
Watching people queuing, time turning to sand.
The server takes your order, writes your name upon the cup.
The Barista makes your order, then serves it up.
The server calls your name over a microphone.
Chocolate sprinkles, marshmallows, flake bars and pretty stuff, adorning the top.
Workmen in their high viz, ordering macchiato to go.
Watching the clock tick tock, tick tock, 15mins is all they've got.
Business women in sharp suits and heels, ordering double espresso.
Watching the clock tick tock, tick tock, 10mins is their lot.
Mothers and their children enjoying babycino.
Watching the clock tick tock, tick tock, waiting for the hour hand to reach the top.
I sit taking it easy, watching the world rush by hoping that something miraculous will catch my curious eye.
Something hot & steamy.
Something with a froth on top.
You never know what you may find in your local coffee shop.
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 12:46 PM UTC
Should we be grateful ?!
We can eat three times a day.
Meanwhile people in Gaza are starving.
Should we be grateful ?!
we can drink coffe , fruit juice and cold drinks
Meanwhile people in Gaza are thirsty.
Should we be grateful ?!
We can sleep using a warm blanket in our comfort room.
Meanwhile people in Gaza are freezing in flooded tents.
Should we be grateful ?!
We can freely use wifi.
Meanwhile people in Gaza have difficulty getting internet.
Should we be grateful ?!
We can freely use electricity.
Meanwhile people in Gaza have to charge their cellphones using solar panels.
Should we be grateful ?!
We can relax and enjoy the beauty of nature.
Meanwhile people in Gaza are trapped in dangerous chaos.
Should e be grateful ?!
We can go to any places we like.
Meanwhile people in Gaza don't know where to go.
Should we be grateful ?!
We have money to buy anything.
Meanwhile people in Gaza have difficulty getting donations.
Should we be grateful ?!
We can buy all the necessary things.
Meanwhile people in Gaza cannot buy anything because prices are increasing.
Should we be grateful ?!
Our children can play in the park and go to school.
Meanwhile children in Gaza are exhausted from queuing for water and food in the sweltering heat.
Should we be grateful ?!
Our children can sleep peacefully while having sweet dreams.
Meanwhile children in Gaza cannot sleep because of the sound of non stop bombardments.
Should we be grateful ?!
Just because our lives are still pretty normal.
Meanwhile the lives of Gazans are far below normal.
November 2024
By Alvian Eleven
Dec 9, 2024
Dec 9, 2024 at 1:29 PM UTC
Walking, Sitting, talking everywhere
People standing, please don't stare.
Running, jogging, around the park,
Please don't go there after dark.
Screaming, yelling, children shout,
Mothers queuing at the checkout.
Singing, dancing, laughing, crying
Babies born, people dying.
Talking on the mobile phone
Sat at home all alone,
Settling in the old armchair
I'm sure I should be elsewhere.
Daylight now is growing dim,
Chance of visitor now slim.
Locking up for the night,
Waiting, for tomorrows daylight..
© Hazel
Aug 7, 2012
Aug 7, 2012 at 5:43 PM UTC
Who's enjoying themselves
Not those standing in those long lines
Or those broke ticked up for 2017
What's going on with all the joy
We're has the fun gone
Look don't bother with consumerism
Let it go all that queuing lark
Get creative write a poem
For those you love
Make cake and give it away with glee
Kindness gives joy
Joy is happiness
Just whats needed in this darkness
Merry kindness
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 2:18 PM UTC