Related quotes: I know the British people...

I know the British people and they are not passengers - they are drivers.

quote by David Cameron
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes

My dad was very successful running midgets in Texas. Then, his two drivers ran into some bad luck. People started saying that Daddy had lost his touch. That it was the cars and not the drivers. I wanted to race just to prove all those people wrong.

quote by A.J. Foyt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Hate Women Drivers!

I hate women drivers!
Why, can they not park?
Near the kerb?
Not anywhere
With no regards!

I hate women drivers!
Especially in the dark
They put on their blinkers
Because, they can not see.
The problem, is neither can we!

I hate women drivers!
How they love to drive fast
Only for school runs
Then they cruise all day long

I hate women drivers!
Do they believe?
That the traffic lights are stops
To make phone calls
For their daily needs

I hate women drivers!
Can they see there are lines in the road?
They signify lanes
You should only drive in one
Not in all 3!

I hate women drivers!
They stop at zebra crossings
Because they feel this is the time
To speak to their friends and catch up
What feels like an hour long!

I hate women drivers
Oh, I wish men
Will stop shouting
THIS AT ME!

poem by Sarwah OseiTutu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet: A Weird Workplace

The carriage looks so fabulous indeed:
And drawn by steeds and horses, superbly
On roads in tough terrain with rather greed;
They do it sub-consciously but ably!

The passengers are from far-off places,
And some are picked from road-side on the way;
A few wear masks of poverty on faces;
Only a few are truly made to pay.

The drivers change too frequently at times;
Some do not know the horses, roads at all;
They sleep both day and night in changing climes;
They do not care if horses stop or fall.

The carriage has to be repaired often;
The hearts of drivers will never soften!

poem by John Celes
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Fugue

You see them vanish in their speeding cars,
The many people hastening through the world,
And wonder what they would have done before
This time of time speed distance, random streams
Of molecules hastened by what rising heat?
Was there never a world where people just sat still?

Yet they might be all of them contemplatives
Of a timeless now, drivers and passengers
In the moving cars all facing to the front
Which is the future, which is destiny,
Which is desire and desire's end -
What are they doing but just sitting still?

And still at speed they fly away, as still
As the road paid out beneath them as it flows
Moment by moment into the mirrored past;
They spread in their wake the parading fields of food,
The windowless works where who is making what,
The grey towns where the wishes and the fears are done.

poem by Howard Nemerov
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Devoured Spring

Like cotton candy flakes
they fall on the ground
white and stiff as sand.

In few minutes they turn
the streets and fields
into a silent sea of ice.

Passengers are stranded
Drivers fear to glide
Buses and cars collide.

Why is this long winter
devouring the great
colors of sunny spring?

poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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The British Way Of Life

The British people have a good sense of humour
They like to strive on gossip and rumours
I like the British way of life
It can be stressful at times but they don’t dwell on strife
Britain is a country of multi-culture
People from all countries came to the UK for a better future

The British culture is embraced all over
Once ago the UK was the world shaker and mover
English people like to have a party
They will drink and get drunk
But they are generous and like to give money to fight poverty
The UK is a fun loving nation
They embrace multi culturism
But some ethnic group don’t do integration

poem by Clifton Cameron
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It Is Not...

it is not the language
but the thought
it is not the house but
those who live in it
it is not the road
but the car and the drivers
the passengers too
it is not the ship
but those waving hands
it is not the school building
but the students and teachers
deep in their mission
for more
it is not the church structure
but the pilgrims
in prayer
it is not this Earth
but us
it is not the River
but the bather
it is not the paper
but the words that you write in them
it is not the pen
neither the ink
it is you and your memories
it is not the feet and hands
but your distance
the journey
the things that you create
along this
path
this hill and mountain
that cloud and
sun

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Street Signs

Street signs were invented
I believe
to confuse drivers
of which way to go.
When they were originally put up
they pointed in the right direction,
then some jolly jokers
turned them all around
when no one was looking
so they could have a laugh
at us drivers
driving around and around
in ever decreasing circles.

10 May 2008

poem by David Harris
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We'll Let You Know

How sad are we ?
And how sad have we been ?
We'll let you know
We'll let you know
Oh, but only if - you're really interested
You wonder how
We've stayed alive 'till now
We'll - we'll let you know
We'll let you know
Ah, but only if - you're really interested
We're all smiles
Then, honest, i swear, it's the turnstiles
That make us hostile
Over there ...
Over there, over there
Over there ...
Over there ...
We will descend
On anyone unable to defend
Themselves
Over there ...
Over there, over there
Over there
Over there
And the songs we sing
They're not supposed to mean a thing
La, la, la, la ...
Over there
Oh ...
You're lonely
Oh ... you're lonely
Oh ...
Your arsenal !
We may seem cold, or
We may even be
The most depressing people you've ever known
At heart, what's left, of course we know
That we are the last truly british people you'll ever know
We are the last truly british people that you wouldn't want to know
Oh, so ...

song performed by by Morrissey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I consider myself one of a very small handful of drivers in the world that are top drivers. The best one? I don't think anybody can say they're the best one because, from one week to the next, you can be on form or off form a little bit.

quote by Nigel Mansell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Passengers

The things we think that feel the best.
Most often cause us pain.
So we risk to seek the pleasure.
Again, and again and again.

This is for the ones we hurt the most.
They sit and watch us slowly die.
We sacrifice their little hearts.
We rarely bat an eye.

They are merely passengers.
Riding on our ship.
We unknowingly bring them along.
On our destruction trip.

When we feel the pain.
They feel it even more.
The quest to our destruction.
Lies just beyond the door.

We open it up and walk right in.
The pleasures make us blind.
The innocent little passengers.
They follow right behind.

A tear wells up in the little one’s eye.
And rolls down their little cheek.
But we journey down the road to hell.
Their pain is worth the peek.

Another door, another room.
Further in we go.
The passengers hurt and terrified.
As we continue on our show.

Then when it is all said and done.
And we admit our own defeat.
The innocent little passengers.
Stand behind us bruised and beat.

We turn around and there they are.
We see the damage we’ve done.
The pain for the innocent passengers.
Was not at all worth all our selfish fun.

We say we’re sorry, forgive me please.
Can we leave this all behind.
Not aware of all the scar tissues.
We’ve left in their little minds.

So chose your path so carefully.
With everything you say and do.
The pleasure we seek, it is all lies.
But to our passengers it’s the truth.

We hurt the ones we love the most.
Our actions lead the way.
Remember their tomorrows.
Lie within our todays.

poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Solidarity

The last train stopped at midnight
With the passengers!
A mechanicl fault it seems.
And an old bus towed her
To the last destination!
All the passengers and the disabled train
Gave lot of thanks to the bus.
That's all!

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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A Summary History of Lord Clive

About a hundred and fifty years ago,
History relates it happened so,
A big ship sailed from the shores of Britain
Bound for India across the raging main.

And many of the passengers did cry and moan
As they took the last look of their old home,
Which they were fast leaving far behind,
And which some of them would long bear in mind.

Among the passengers was a youth about seventeen years old,
Who had been a wild boy at home and very bold,
And by his conduct had filled his parent's hearts with woe,
Because to school he often refused to go.

And now that he was going so far away from home,
The thought thereof made him sigh and groan,
For he felt very sad and dejected were his looks,
And he often wished he had spent more time at his books.

And when he arrived in India he searched for work there,
And got to be a clerk in a merchant's office, but for it he didn't care;
The only pleasure he found was in reading books,
And while doing so, sad and forlorn were his looks.

One day while feeling unhappy he fired a pistol at his own head,
Expecting that he would kill himself dead;
But the pistol wouldn't go off although he tried every plan,
And he felt sorry, and resolved to become a better man.

So Clive left his desk and became a soldier brave,
And soon rose to be a captain and manfully did behave;
For he beat the French in every battle,
After all their foolish talk and prattle.

Then he thought he would take a voyage home to his friends,
And for his bad behaviour towards them he would make some amends;
For he hadn't seen them for many years,
And when he thought of them he shed briny tears.

And when he arrived in London
The people after him in crowds did run;
And they flocked to see him every minute,
Because they thought him the most famous man in it.

And all the greatest people in the land
Were proud to shake him by the hand;
And they gave him a beautiful sword because he had fought so well
And of his bravery the people to each other did tell.

And when his own friends saw him they to him ran,
And they hardly knew him, he looked so noble a man;
And his parents felt o'erjoyed when they saw him home again,
And when he left his parents again for India it caused them great pain.

But it was a good thing Clive returned to India again,
Because a wicked prince in his territory wouldn't allow the british to remain,
And he resolved to drive them off his land,
And marched upon them boldly with thousands of his band.

But the bad prince trembled when he heard that Clice had come,
Because the British at the charge of the bayonet made his army run;
And the bad prince was killed by one of his own band,
And the British fortunately got all his land.

And nearly all India now belongs to this country,
Which has been captured by land and by sea,
By some of the greatest men that ever did live,
But the greatest of them all was Robert Clive.

poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Let Me Entertain You

To the man playing his music loudly onboard my train:
Both you and I can hear your music, oh so very plain.
It doesn't seem to be appreciated by this here crowd.
Tell me, does your music really need to be quite so loud?

To play loud music in a public place, I would not dare,
But, to me, it is very obvious that you just do not care.
If you bought yourself a pair of groovy new headphones,
Then your fellow travellers, on this train, won't need to moan.

To you, your music will still be heard loud and crystal clear,
But, your music, your fellow passengers will not have to hear.
During their journey, some passengers like to have a chat,
And that's perfectly fine by me: I'm totally okay with that.

Spare a thought for those poor people who are trying to read:
To play your music quite so loudly, is there really any need?
From the people who are trying to read newspapers or books,
You certainly seem to be acquiring some pretty dirty looks.

At first, I thought you'd turned the volume up purely by mistake,
But now I realise that you are doing it just for annoyance sake.
I guess that your sole ambition was to be the star attraction?
I hope you feel you've achieved this by your current actions?

Your fellow passengers, you decided you would like to entertain,
But can't you tell from their faces, they think your music is a pain?
I'm sure many people share my view, but don't want to get involved,
So if you could switch your stereo off, the problem would be resolved.

poem by Angela Wybrow
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Driving To Work (Revised)

Took a scenic route to look at jacarandas
in bloom - sadly their purple was stripped
by last night's rain, stuck behind a slow-
moving police van, no chance to play Grand
Prix again

Next time I'll keep to the highway, people
claim they see deer and giraffes in the
sanctuary next to the road, I would love
to see any but am always racing - it'd be
so such fun

Currently I have to watch other cars with
a hawk's eye after a crash yesterday, two
drivers not looking at a roundabout went
for the same spot, now I glare at drivers
with laser eyes

To make sure they are clear before I drive
off; I love my little Suzuki too much to take
any unwarranted risks' - speeding only on a
straight stretch of road is allowed in my
history book

Pretoria 17 October 2012

poem by Margaret Alice Second
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I wonder what a bus ticket buys

The driver fights with a passenger
that she thinks sleeps at times
on the top level of the bus
and something must be wrong
in her life
as she climbs into a child
because he did not take a school bus

I wonder what
a bus ticket buys,
but it stays far better
to take a bus
than to have to walk a long distance.

I wonder
if it takes a special person
to drive a bus,
or what rights it gives
above that of other people
if you climb behind the steering
of a bus?

Somebody asks the white
bus driver lady
for what she is looking
this morning and suddenly
she’s silent
and I can ride in peace further
while she swallows her tongue.

Bus drivers that are rude
I have experience a lot of times
and it has happened
that one stares hateful
at me
because I am white
and wanted to cut
every ticket of the coupon.

Still I am thankful
to use a bus
when I need one
and that some drivers
makes it a pleasure
to drive with them.

poem by Gert Strydom
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The worst drivers are women in people carriers, men in white vans and anyone in a baseball cap. That's just about everyone.

quote by Paul O'Grady
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mad Mariner

Mad Mariner rose in the city bus
That slowly on the road
In the crowded of city street
Heated the sleepy passengers
And was tired
Hook, hook, his fingers
Straight to the roof bus
Ran and ran again
He screams
On the city bus
How this could be happen
In the city bus
Apart From
Frighten passengers

poem by Prasetya Utama
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The Stag Party

To the ‘stags' standing up in my carriage,
I realise that one of you is soon to be married,
But please couldn't all of you just take a seat?
And do I really have to listen to that beat?

No doubt you'll all be out on the town tonight,
But to disturb other passengers, you have no right.
Your spirits are obviously soaring way up high,
And I notice that the Guard has turned a blind eye.

Your weekend of fun, I do not wish to mar,
But you are on a train, lads: not in a bar!
You've all obviously had quite a bit to drink:
I wonder what our fellow passengers all think?

Why don't you save the high jinks for later on?
Then, if you want, you can even burst into song!
I had been planning to sit here and read my book,
But, out of the train window, I now sit and look.

The seats on the other carriages were mostly reserved.
Tone it down a bit! You're getting right on my nerves!
This particular carriage, I had no choice, but to pick,
And you guys are really starting to get on my wick.

You're chatting non-stop and laughing out loud:
Why do you have to be such an annoying crowd?
For other passengers, you have no consideration,
And I'm glad that you're leaving at the next station.