Bus poetry

Here is a selection of poems I wrote commuting to work this month on the 460 heading downtown. The actual work was written in a wonderful little black book that is full of to-do lists and wishful thinking. The pen I used has a heavy metal casing that makes my thoughts heavy (or maybe it is the other way around). I am blogging my poems so that their content will be preserved more permanently (and in a format that doesn't look like it was created by a psychotic drunk...the bus has terribly detrimental effects on handwriting).

Without further Ado:

After Refolding the Front Page

The marketplace of ideas is closed for winter
The vendors have run out of inspiration;
have locked their stalls.
I went walking through the cold deserted pavilions,
passed the pillars of ancient wisdom, long forgotten.
The warehouses of manufactured notions--
They used to churn out concepts by the trainload.
Now, the train of thought is lost.
In the alley, I saw a Dusty Blue Bin (municipal in shape and texture)--a few recycled ideas at the bottom.
But the windows of opportunity have been shattered,
the soapboxes dismantled,
and the memories are dead.
~


At Glory Market
In Model T Square
the bus driver refused to open the back door
Hallelujah
~
Haiku:

Wildflowers growing
In an empty city lot
The only new growth
~

Haiku #2:

I love this city
but without direction, Is
the map not useless?
~