Early morning ride
Early in the morning
hawkers are standing next to the street
and they sell flowers, newspapers,
cigarettes and sweets.
At church square two doves are pairing
on uncle Paul’s head,
while people walk to and fro
and some are in lines
to buy bus tickets
It’s another thing when you are
stressed out
and are scared,
to be late at a new job.
a Bus stands with a closed door
making fumes,
while the driver is walking around inside
and already there are a large number of people
lining up in a queue.
a Pair of love stricken young people
are holding hands
and talk about the previous nights
party and drinks
that they enjoyed
and I try to see the route
to know were I have to get off.
School children tease each other
as far as we go
and time gets wings
and rushes by
and suddenly
I have to disembark.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
On the square
My motorbike is at a garage for a service
and when I return from work
I cross the square
to catch a buss
in Paul Kruger street.
There are hawkers selling sweets,
fruit, newspapers
and food
and people
walking to and fro.
This afternoon he is
on holy ground
with a shouting bugle
that yells to people
not to give money
but their hearts to Jesus Christ.
I wonder what uncle Paul
would think
about the neat black preacher
who is standing right against him
and the group
that listens soberly
and see grey-blue doves
picking up crumbs of bread
and I am glad
to drive my motorbike tomorrow again.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Johannesburg
There are mini-bus taxis everywhere
hooting, swerving, stopping anywhere
and people on the street
shouting to each other
as if they are not
in talking distance,
but as if everybody is deaf.
Some hawkers are selling
sweets, cigarettes and newspapers
while others are cooking maize,
porridge and eggs.
Youngsters stand next to
parking meters showing
open parking spaces
and demanding money
to watch vehicles parked there.
Some hobos sleep
in tattered blankets
and smell of wine
and liquor and the sick
sweet odour or retching.
Prostitutes walk up and down
street corners in mini skirts
and t-shirts
with nipples showing through
and have hello smiles
plastered across their faces.
Some gum sniffing children
beg at traffic lights
with twisted arms and legs
and other beggars
have posters wishing you well
or telling you to go to hell.
People queue in lines
waiting for busses
and some stand smoking
while they talk
and businessmen, lawyers,
soldiers, secretaries
are walking quickly past
with briefcases, satchels,
and handbags
and on the sidewalk
there is urine,
blood, vomit, some rotting food
and smoked cigarettes
and everywhere signs
of a city in a country
that is falling apart.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The flags at the Pretoria news hangs limp
The flags at the Pretoria news hangs limp
hangs limp
while I walk to the bus stop
and a man with a straw hat
with a badge on it
carries a backpack
and is armoured with a leather jacket.
His white smoke clouds
curls into the morning air
and a schoolgirl,
gets a cigarette from him
and a small group
smokes with him.
a Air force officer
with a blue penguin cap
on his head
walks past like on every work day
and I wonder why he
has to be so early on his post.
I buy sweets from a street vendor
who also sells newspapers and cigarettes
and I see his fingers
counting sixteen in the cold,
before he replaces his hand
into the pockets of his coat.
The people are already
forming a hell of a long queue,
to catch a bus to Hatfield
and the air is this morning
rather grey than blue
and I wonder why
a young lady
keeps looking at me.
a Bus that looks like the right one,
stops a away at a short distance
where the driver
changes the sign
and it parks at the right place.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bus ride at night
At quarter to five
the driver refuses,
that I get on a bus
in Burnett street
because it is already full.
There are men, woman and children
and we talk various languages
while we wait for the bus
and I see a car guard
dancing in the street
while he does tricks like a clown.
We wait on the next bus
and the afternoon passes
and the bus is very late
and it stays away
and just Putco and North Star busses
stop at other places.
At dusk the bus appears
and it’s got a double deck,
but is also full
and on the top level the roof is so low
that I bump my head
while it draws from the curb.
There’s no place to sit down
before we travel halfway to the city
and there’s a crowd of people around me
and we sit tight against each other
and in the front a child is holding onto a bar
while she licks the window with her tongue
and try to draw spit lines.
The bus braids through cars,
but it takes longer than an hour
to ride two stages
and a woman calls her husband
to pick her up at church square.
In Visagie Street the cars stand in a traffic jam
and it becomes night
while we wait in the traffic
and I embark from the bus
and twist through the pedestrians
and everywhere there are people
that stand in dark corners
and alleyways
and shout at each other in foreign languages.
At Church square I see stars in the sky,
but uncle Paul looks friendly
while the lights
of a few cars passes by
and I see how his men
are protecting him
and there’s nobody else in the street
and I wonder what to do
if the last bus has already left.
I wait at night at a bus stop
and an old black man
comes and stand near me
and we are both glad,
to catch a ride
on the last bus.
The bus is lighted brightly
And it’s comfortable and hot inside
and I see the zoo passing by
just before the bus stops for me
and red lights
disappears in the distance
and the evening wind tugs at my jacket,
but my house is near.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Six o’clock on a Friday morning
It’s six o’clock on a Friday morning
and I wait for my bus
and across the street,
the lights are burning cheerful and yellow
in the square and dome shaped windows
of the state library
and I wonder what documents are kept there
Street hawkers sell newspapers and sweets
in front of the Pretoria News,
while passengers are already
catching busses in rows.
There’s an icy chill
that hangs in the morning dawn light
and there’s a skew pointed obelisk
that is in front of the high court chambers
and a newspaper heading
talks about the recession
that is blowing hot and cold,
but it’s freezing
and the cold even eats
right through my leader jacket.
On the east side of Vermeulen Street
the sky becomes a light yellow,
while the blue of the heaven
folds open all over the rest
and streetlights stand in a long row
up the street past traffic lights.
Schoolgirls dressed in blue
are watching school boys with red jerseys
and young women
stand and shake
from the cold and I wonder,
how the old red delivery bicycle
behind the pillar
are not getting stolen
where it stands every morning on its place.
There’s a street sign that points to the Pierneef museum
into the L te Groen Eureka factory building,
but it’s still too early
to go and look at paintings
and I wonder how
the Pierneef paintings inside looks.
On the side of a building
I am amazed at the Tswane sign,
but this big city
will always stay Pretoria for me
and I wonder how people
can build buildings so pressed into each other
and look at old and new buildings
standing rowed in onto each other
and the bus stays away,
while others come and go
and I wait
a while longer in the cold.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A view of the queue...............
I'm sitting outside a café
as my feet are killing me
from walking too much,
I've heavy bags and it's hot.
I watch a queue for Vue - Cinema,
they're showing Avatar.
The queue is getting longer
and people start to sweat.
A couple of guys down the front
start making whooping noises,
loudly, like they're apes.
I don't get it, at first,
but then I notice they're behind
a black man and they're
gesticulating to him.
I begin to feel uneasy.
The black man is big and stocky,
he ignores the thugs
but they won't stop.
People in the queue do nothing.
There's an old couple standing
next to the black guy.
The old lady starts to fidget,
she moves towards her husband.
The queue still does nothing
and the black guy stands stock still,
like a ship that's sailed into harbor
big and grand and masterful.
His invisible flag is flying high
and he stands there proud and firm.
The little old lady is still fidgeting
and the thugs are making ape noises.
The black man does nothing
and the queue does nothing.
Me, I watch from the café
and I do nothing, I'm scared.
People passing by start to gawp
start to stare and the queue does nothing
The little old lady starts to shake,
she's looking pale. She fidgets.
I get up from my seat in the café,
I will have to walk past the queue,
the thugs and the black guy.
Instead I walk right up to them.
I go up to the biggest thug,
say, "excuse me for interrupting".
Then I pick up my very large bag
and swipe his evil face with it.
I didn't know I had it in me,
I'm that sort of woman!
I'm shaking; He staggers back;
__________ and does nothing.
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Two Sleepy People
(f. loesser/h. carmichael)
Here we are, out of cigarettes
Holding hands and yawning, see how late it gets
Two sleepy people by dawns early light
Too much in love to say goodnight
Here we are, in the cozy chair
Pickin on a wishbone, from the frigidaire
Two sleepy people with nothing to say
But too much in love to break away
Do you remember, the nights we used to linger in the hall
Your father didnt like me at all
Do you remember the reason why we married in the fall
To rent this little nest, get a bit of rest
Who will .......
Here we are just about the same
Foggy little fella, drowsy little dame
Two sleepy people by dawns early light
And so much in love, so much in love
Too much in love to say, too much to say, to say
song performed by by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Two Sleepy People (feat. John Travolta)
(f. loesser/h. carmichael)
Here we are, out of cigarettes
Holding hands and yawning, see how late it gets
Two sleepy people by dawn's early light
Too much in love to say goodnight
Here we are, in the cozy chair
Pickin' on a wishbone, from the frigidaire
Two sleepy people with nothing to say
But too much in love to break away
Do you remember, the nights we used to linger in the hall
Your father didn't like me at all
Do you remember the reason why we married in the fall
To rent this little nest, get a bit of rest
Who will .......
Here we are just about the same
Foggy little fella, drowsy little dame
Two sleepy people by dawn's early light
And so much in love, so much in love
Too much in love to say, too much to say, to say
song performed by by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sabbath
Early in the morning
they sit rather proper in the benches
and sing out joyously
and read the Word
and rolls of notes
are in the offering plate.
Sometimes I see them look
at people in the street,
as if they are a little beneath them
and circle around
a blind beggar.
Dressed in church suits
and designer dresses
I see them in the cafe,
the chain store,
restaurant
and even at the movies.
They are buying bread and milk,
sometimes a bottle of wine
and husband and wife
and at times
all of their children with them
are peacefully
going through the shops
or wait for tickets
in a row.
Every thing happens
as if they do not have
another time
for all of these things
and in the restaurant
jokes are told
that even people
at other tables can hear
and I wonder where and why
man has lost
his respect for God
and of His day.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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March Horse Fair Day
The morning has a heavy winter chill
And dark rain clouds move over Clara hill
And the old man says that the rain will bucket down
As he stands holding his horse in the Square at Millstreet Town.
In Ireland on March the first the sun doesn't often shine
In fact the day is seldom ever fine
Old February till latter March remain
You take your hat and coat expecting rain.
Near 10 A.M. it makes a heavy shower
And it keeps on raining maybe for an hour
And horses and their owners soaked right to the skin
But rain doesn't worry tough horse loving men.
The deals were clinched with hand slap and hand shake
Your bond your word and your word you would not break
The Town Square packed with people young and old
And deals were done and many horses sold.
And people there from many walks of life
The travelling man with his children and wife,
And the man who owns forty acres of moor
By any standards he's considered poor.
And wealthy farmer down south for the day
To buy good horse and make the journey pay
And horses changed hands when the deals were made
And Uptown pubs were doing a roaring trade.
My thoughts return to happier days gone by
When I was younger and a school going boy
And March horse fair was always school free day
The better memories with us tend to stay.
And I too went to Millstreet old Town Square
For to watch the dealings and the barterings there,
The slap of hands, the handshakes deals were done
And old friendships renewed and new friendships were won.
A nip of winter in the morning air
As people made their way to the horse fair
A shame about the weather some did say
But rain or sleet did not keep them away.
A time of year between winter and spring
Too cold and early yet for birds to sing
Old February till latter March remain
And you take your hat and coat expecting rain.
The morning has a heavy winter chill
And dark rain clouds move over Clara hill
And the old man says that the rain will bucket down
As he stands holding his horse in the Square at Millstreet town.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Friend The Professor
Because he was my friend
I will not mention his name
But this brief story lends
So much mystery, just the same.
We all rented that apartment
In separate units of nine-
Near the school where we sent
Our children, to save time.
But life had its testings,
And my friend, the Professor
Found his health had been failing
Soon he needed a doctor.
But the biopsy was grim
Unfortunate and not hopeful,
His chances were quite slim
And the prospects were so awful.
The cancer had advanced-
Surgery was probable,
So he took a last chance
But his end was predictable.
He would walk the early mornings
In our wide tree-lined street
A daily scene repeating
To all the people he that he meets.
He regretted dying early
For his children were still young
He would beg God sincerely
Prayed he'd live more years on.
In three months, he was gone
And we soon missed the sight
Of the Professor's walking, done
In the early morning light.
But soon stories went around
Told by many who had seen
The late 'Professor' was found-
To walk the lane where he had been.
--
Co pyright Cynthia Buhain -Baello
February 17,2010
Philippines
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Party in the Park
Early morning, and the organisers are up with the lark,
Getting ready for this year’s ‘party in the park.’
They set up various stalls and marquees,
And tie coloured bunting between the trees.
Hundreds of people are expected to come,
So they’re really hoping for some summer sun.
A few hours later and the stage is now set.
They’re hoping that this will be the best year yet.
The entertainment all kicks off at twelve noon.
A man walks round selling coloured balloons.
At one stall, a lady paints designs on children’s faces,
While, on stage, a dance troupe go through their paces.
The stallholders are busy selling their wares.
The children enjoy rides at the mini fun fair.
The beer tent proves popular, especially with the men.
Children enjoy activities in the arts and craft den.
There’s a never ending queue of people buying ice creams.
Clutching a soft toy she’s just won, a little girl proudly beams.
In the mobile kitchen, they sell hot-dogs and chunky chips,
Whilst on the griddle, more beef burgers are being flipped.
Also on offer today, are temporary henna tattoos.
At the sweet stall, it’s hard to decide what to choose.
Young girls are having their hair put into pretty braids.
Most of the stallholders are doing a really roaring trade.
Up on the massive, brightly lit stage,
There are various acts, catering for every age.
Some people sit watching on chairs or a rug on the ground;
There are so many people; for a clear space they search around.
Evening time closes in and it soon begins to get dark,
And so to an end, draws this year’s party in the park.
The organisers pack everything away, in the knowledge,
That everyone has enjoyed this really wonderful day.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Shopping at the Mall
People! Me, looking at People.
People, looking at me.
Old people, trying to look young.
Young people, trying to look old.
Walking, talking, laughing people.
fuzzy, frowsy, sober people.
tipsy, tip-toesy, striding people.
people's people.
Walking in protective units
of sobriety and gaiety,
merriment, wonder, and awe.
All kinds of people.
My people
poem by Joyce Williams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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People Will Talk
The following lines were written at the request of a little girl,
who said she would recite them at a Sunday School
entertainment. She wished it written to the refrain people
will talk. I presume the ideas in the following are nearly,
altogether original, or they are very differently worded
from the old pieces under the title of 'People will Talk.'
Dressing in fashion will be called vain,
And they'll call you a dowdey [sic] if you are plain ;
But do what is right, lot that be the test
Then proudly hold up your head with the best-
For people will talk.
You will never be wrong, if you do what is right,
And this course pursue with all of your might ;
And if you're a child, going to school,
Or full grown up, take this for your rule-
For people will talk.
The best way to do is to let them rave,
And they'll think more of you, if you are brave ;
For no one, will ever think you are rude,
If you are determined for to be good-
For people will talk.
Little girl, on her way to Sunday school class,
Rude boys sometimes will not let her pass ;
But if they do see that she is not afraid
They soon will respect the brave little maid-
For people will talk,
Little girls should learn to knit and to sew,
Then, if to womanhood they ever grow,
Their hose they can knit, and make their own dress,
Then to their homes they will bring bless-
For people will talk.
And their homes they should make tidy and neat,
Everything should be so clean and so sweet.
This line for ourselves out we will chalk,
And we are determined in it to walk-
For people will talk.
poem by James McIntyre
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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People On The Street
People on the street need a place to go
People on the street need a place to go
Walkin with the beat if its not too slow
Walkin with the beat if its not too slow
When the nights dark shadow falls
On the sidewalk scenes and the concrete canyon walls.
People on the street need a place to go
People on the street need a place to go.
Walkin through the night up and down the avenue
Lookin for a place,
A place to go,
A place to go.
Theres a muffled scream from the alley scene
From the alley scene comes a muffled scream
And the siren wails while the system fails
In the steaming heat people walk in the street
People cant run and hide
If you want to feel good then you gotta feel good inside.
People on the street need a place to go
People on the street need a place to go.
Rising through the grates come the fumes of industry
Floating to the sky
Keep walkin with the beat, walkin with the beat
Keep walkin with the beat, walkin with the beat
Keep walkin with the beat, walkin with the beat
When the nights dark shadow falls
On the sidewalk scenes and the concrete canyon walls.
People on the street need a place to go
People on the street need a place to go.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ruins
Its so quiet in the ruins walking though the old town
Stones crumbling under my feet I see smoke for miles around
Oh its enough to make you weep, all that remains of the main street
Up in the park on sunday, dogs chasing and the children played
Old man with his head down, cant see nothing more around...no
But he remembers how it used to be, back in the old days,
So nice to see you coming back in this town again
Its nice to see a friendly face come peeping through having tea
In the afternoon, so nice to see you coming back in this town again...
Ah but its all changed winter turned on a man
Came down on day when no-one was looking and it
Stole away the land, people running scared, losing hands
Dodging shadows of falling sand, buildings standing like empty shells
And nobody...helping no-one else
Young child with his hands high, aint able to see no reason why...no
But he remembers how it used to be, back in the old days,
So nice to see you coming back in this town again
Its nice to see a friendly face come peeping through
Youd better know what youre going through now
You came back here to find your home is a black horizon
That you dont recognize, evil destruction has taken everything
Youd better walk on the side while youre still walking
Just keep on walking on down the street keep your distance
From the people you meet. oh lord and youd better watch your eyes
cause if smoke gets in them, baby you wont rise again.
Wheres it leading to freedom at what cost
People needing more and more and its all getting lost
I want back, I want back
Back to the time when the earth was green
And there was no high walls and the sea was clean
Dont stop that sun to shine, its not yours or mine...no.
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Twist in my sobriety
All God's children need travelling shoes
Drive your problems from here
All good people read good books
Now your conscience is clear
Now your conscience is clear
In the morning when I wipe my brow
Wipe the miles away
I like to think I can be so willed
And never do what you say
And never do what you say
Look my eyes are just holograms
Look your love has drawn red from my hands
From my hands you know you'll never be
More than twist in my sobriety
More than twist in my sobriety
More than twist in my sobriety
We just poked a little pie
For the fun that people have at night
Late at night don't need hostility
The timid smile and pause to free
I don't care about their different thoughts
Different thoughts are good for me
Up in arms and chaste and whole
All God's children took their toll
Cup of tea take time to think yeah
Time to risk a life a life a life
Sweet and handsome soft and porky
You pig out 'til you've seen the light
Pig out 'til you've seen the light
Half the people read the papers
Read them good and well
Pretty people nervous people
People have got to sell
News you have to sell
Look my eyes are just holograms
Look your love has drawn red from my hands
From my hands you know you'll never be
More than twist in my sobriety
More than twist in my sobriety
More than twist in my sobriety.
song performed by by Tanita Tikaram
Submitted by Simona Enache
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Dont Pity Me Babe
Young pegi just died today
Young pegi just died today
And I guess nobody even knows the case
But the way the story goes
She just ran out of clothes
No will this world
Just for the peg down
Last words, cant talk
And then she wrote.
Some people cant stand no rain
Some people cant stand no rain
When its cloudy outside
You cant see the sun
But on a bright and sunny day
The people all go away
Except one
Oh no dont pity me babe
I know Im alright
O yeah, Im alright.
Dont see no tears around me
Dont see no tears around me
I dont take too much stock
In the things people say
Im not saying that theyre wrong
Theyve just been standing around too long
Gone bad,
Oh no, dont pity me babe
I know Im alright
O yeah, Im alright.
Cant ride my broom no more
Cant ride my broom no more
cause the landladys taken
To sweeping the floor
I guess Ill go back to my place
And occupy a little space
John doe,
Oh no, dont pity me babe
I know Im alright
O yeah, Im alright.
The streets are crammed, cant walk
Might find somebody and talk
I cant find nobody who
Say boo, guess who
cause that street is paved with aires
And everybody is putting on theirs
Cant breathe
Oh no, dont pity me babe
I know Im alright
O yeah, Im alright.
Hes standing outside my door
Hes standing outside my door
But he wont ring the bell
And hes just to scared to knock
And hes puzzled
And hes young
And hes doing whats already been done
One more
Oh no, dont pity me babe
I know Im alright
O yeah, Im alright.
Oh no, dont pity me babe
I know Im alright.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Eyes-radio-lies
Slipping past position
You know I watch you dive
Watching you painted in chrome max factor
And feeling number one
all alone now
I can see you way, to the drone
Radio waves, hitting your brain from the phone
I can see
I cant see whats on your mind
Because your never alone
I am the voice inside your head
And the eyes in your radio
Im the eyes in your radio (radio, radio)
Im the eyes in your radio (radio, radio)
Hello mr. race car driver
You know Im watching you too
In the trauma-room, brain dead, still you went faster
Now your number means nothing
Mr. nickel-plated candyman
Are you feeling in lifeless in aluminum
Spinning decisions to the core
As everyone dances in the fast lane
I cant see whats on your mind
Because your never alone
I am the voice inside your head
And the eyes in your radio
Im the eyes in your radio (eyes in your radio)
Im the eyes in your radio (radio, radio)
With all thats fake, theres sence to make
From toys that break (from toys that, from toys that break)
Its time to throw away, all the bad things that you hated
You scared yourself away, now heres what you appreciate
Thats why people lie (people like you)
Thats why people lie (people like me)
Thats why people lie (people like you)
Thats why people lie (people like me)
Thats why people lie (so go away)
Thats why people lie (people like me)
Thats why people lie (people like you)
Thats why people lie
Im the eyes in your radio (eyes in your radio)
Im the eyes in your radio (radio, radio)
With all thats fake, theres sence to make, from toys that break (radio,
Radio...)
With all thats fake, theres sence to make, from toys that break (radio,
Radio...)
With all thats fake, theres sence to make, from toys that break
With all thats fake, theres sence to make, from toys that break
song performed by by Orgy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The River Road
Late last night
I saw you coming
Early this morning
I saw you go
Late last night
I saw you running
Up the street
From the River Road
Early in the morning
I saw you walking
Hands in your pockets and
Your head down low
Little senorita
Has got you coming
All the way up from
The River road
Early in the morning
I saw you walking
Up the street from
Where the men all go
Turn your head and
I will tell you something
Little Senorita
Doesn't want to let you go
Little senorita
Was smiling at something
As you walked all the way
Back up the River Road
poem by Brian Kilpatrick
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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