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  • buses
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buses

Stop - by Graham Fulton

{ Poem }

the bus driver says it’s really nice
to see the children in the park

11:00: Baldovan - by Don Paterson

{ Poem }

Base Camp. Horizontal sleet. Two small boys
have raised the steel flag of the 20 terminus:

me and Ross Mudie are going up the Hilltown
for the first time ever on our own.

Breenge - by Stuart A. Paterson

{ Poem }

This morning, as the 372 shoogled
/ through Carsethorn, hirpled
/ wabbit past the kirk and through
/ dreich smirr hoyed down from
/ droukit braes above,…

The Forfar Bus - by J. B. Salmond

{ Poem }

On the Forfar ‘bus in a morn of spring,
/ A nipping wind and the frost’s sharp sting;
/ And I can’t tell why,…

Last Bus Ride in July – a Mother Speaks (Genocide – Srebrenica, July, 1995; Karadzic captured – Belgrade, July, 2008) - by Gerda Stevenson

{ Poem }

Summer grass is shoulder high once more, / higher than my sons will ever be.

‘In a dream’ - by Kristiina Ehin

{ Poem }

In a dream / I saw a ticket booth / at a bus stop where / birds’ feathers were sold…

Good Friday - by Edwin Morgan

{ Poem }

Three o’clock. The bus lurches
/ round into the sun. ‘D’s this go –‘
/ he flops beside me – ‘right along Bath Street?
/ -…

Embra buses - by Stephanie Green

{ Poem }

I like tae sit at the front of the bus
/ and keek through the hole
/ at the driver’s heid.
/ As he pulls on…

La banlieue… - by Leslie Kaplan

{ Poem }

La banlieue, c’est pareil. L’espace, l’espace tue.
/
/ On est debout à l’arrêt du bus. On attend le car. Autour
/ il y a…

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