From dispatch to Bus Drivers Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Miranda Hawley
Placed 3rd
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
People on foot or on bicycles, on roads you see many;
With your careless driving, you have no right to kill any.
Dare not sit before the steering until you feel totally fit;
Lose not your attention at any cost even for a single bit.
Give not any scope for the creation of unnecessary fuss;
Be aware, you are the guardian of all lives on your bus.
Weeping willows stand
As silent as sentinels:
Children’s laughter rings.
The sun’s golden show'rs
Filtered by weeping willows--
Dazzling dance of light.
The lake’s calm waters--
Picture of serenity
A boat passes by.
Weeping willows stand
Beside the lake’s still waters
Sheltering lovers.
The much trampled grass
Wet with rain from yesterday
Looks verdant today.
Scores of bicycles
Plying the same narrow route
Some fast, some slow, some -----.
A sea of faces--
Some real, some blank, and some masked
But which one am I?
Children play, shout, run
The air echoes their laughter
Longing fills someone.
My old bike is good for me,
It takes me from A to B
Times when I need to be alone
My bicycle and I on our own
Cars are fine for families,
Cruising along can be a breeze,
Cars are too expensive to run
Petrol prices are no fun.
Registration, Insurance, maintenance, and more
Cars can no longer be purchased by the poor,
Public transport fares will rise
Poverty for many before our eyes
What a miserable sorry state.
Welfare is necessary at this rate
Of affairs, we are in,
Without a mention of
War, Flood, Fire and sin.
Back to basics and common sense
It would help to recompense,
For some of those that feel a need
To cause corruption because of greed.
Greed and power, I can't abide
I need my old bike so that I can ride
So my trusty cycle and I can roam,
To a quiet place to dream alone.
Hot In L.A.
.
Hot in L.A
Where the girls are so pretty
And the sun smiles down all day
Three friends on holiday
Take to the road and ride
Far away from the hustle and bustle
They head cheerfully for the countryside
With the wind streaming their hair
Each a peach
The boys whistle and stop to stare
So young so alive and free
Time is on their side
And budding movie stars they dream to be
Singing and laughing as they go
On their merry way
Waving to people they don’t know
They all met at collage and were cheerleaders for a spell
They shared their secrets
And their kiss and tell
This was just before Pearl harbour
And just before the war
All three were nurses
In the army core
Bonded as sisters they stuck together through thick and thin
For almost sixty years
And old age settled in
But still have their cheeky girlish charm and fun
Still at heart
Forever young.
.
Peter Dome©2020.
bicycles touring
in single file
moving caravan
posted on July 18, 2018
Muhammad Butler
Day by day the thunder strikes.
and so does our bikes.
as we riding down the mountains pipes.
with all different types of bikes.
wondering how can we improve every turn
without allowing our tires to burn.
and making sure the tires are not worn
not allowing them to be stubborn.
wishing that there not if trouble
whether or not there in a stumble
or even if there in such a small bubble.but the bottom line is there still humble
I watched them spread the checkered cloth
To picnic in my yard;
Two bicyclers resting from the pace
Of pedaling so hard.
My Susie went to greet them.
I saw them share their lunch
With this sweet dog who wagged her tail
And matched them, munch for munch.
They didn’t see me peeping
From my window by myself.
They didn’t know the memories
I had tucked upon a shelf,
The memories that came tumbling down
From that tall hiding place.
They brought with them a picture of
My lost love’s laughing face,
Of bicycles of the long ago
When we would, just as they,
Go pedaling with a picnic lunch
On Spring’s first sunny day.
I watched them spread the checkered cloth
To picnic in my yard,
Two bicyclers resting from the pace
Of pedaling so hard.
My Susie went to greet them.
I saw them share their lunch
With this sweet dog who wagged her tail
And matched them munch for munch.
They didn't see me peeping
From my window by myself.
They didn't know the memories
I had tucked upon a shelf.
The memories that came tumbling down
From that tall hiding place.
They brought with them a picture
Of my lost love's laughing face.
And of bicycles of the long ago,
When we would, just as they,
Go pedaling with a picnic lunch
On Spring's first sunny day.
By: Joyce 2005