Poetry Passages

poetry takes a ride on the SBMTD April 2024

Here are the complete poems those couplets came from. Enjoy!

Funding support was provided by the City of Santa Barbara’s Community Arts Grant Program.

Line 14 --

a mother and her little girl

step tenderly onto the bus.

stop requested, doors hiss open,

I the only one still riding.

boulder fields that were homes,

before that early winter dawn

-- Paul J. Willis

Line 5 --

Not having ridden a bus for a time, immersed in December’s silvered chill,

I ask the driver who calls himself Frank,

how much? “A hundred dollars,” he winks,

settles for one. No change. Yet, hasn’t it,

in more ways than I can count.

Frank holds steady as we lurch down Torino

lined with gingkos turned seasonal gold

like a gowned choir, hands folded skyward

praising the hour near year’s end.

Headed to the back of the bus I read

Pise con Cuidado, Watch Your Step,

wise words for a senior. We rumble down

familiar streets—Veronica Springs, Las Positas—

those walked or driven down half a century.

From my high seat I feel like a queen on top

of the world, being escorted, waving at cars,

the two students who board. Suddenly the bus brakes

for an intrusive truck. I roll sideways with a “Whoa!

Just like Disney World!” and we laugh,

our jubilance an exclamation to quite a ride!

-- Perie Longo

Line 2 -- Oracle

Who will you become when the bus kneels to release you, traveler?

-- Chryss Yost

Line 4 --

The world is falling and the rain is calm.

Gingko leaves disperse, petals blown and gone

To earth. I am reading a book about

Birds, what else – their mending and metaphors.

The passage is hushed; these windows speak home.

The world is falling, the rain calm.

-- Emma Trelles

Line 3 --

It was a glittering afternoon -- the rains

had washed the palm fronds & the Eucalyptus

trees wafted aromatic with their grayish-green leaves.

The bus stopped at San Onofre, the Adams

Elementary children escaping into Las Positas

like a flock of chirping sparrows.

One small boy, no more than 5 years old, holding

hands with his mother climbed into the bus, rushed

to sit down across from me, grabbed a thin book

from his backpack, and, quietly, eagerly, smiled

up at his mother, and; pointing to a page, asked:

“¿Recuerdas, mamá, el caballo es un horse?

And all along the ride, I, too, learned the name of all

the barn animals from that small, brilliant teacher of a boy:

vaca, cabra, gallina, gallo...

-- Laure-Anne Bosselaar

Line 11 -- Bus Stop

It’s the waiting that hurts, Makes the day feel longer.

Smiles and relief when the bus arrives,

a satisfying thrill, seeing a long, lost friend.

She speaks in a woman’s voice, announces the stop

For Goleta Valley Cottage Hospital.

Outside, Low Riders on parade turn heads.

Too tired. I’m glad I’m not driving.

So many rattling parts. The bus hums, squeals, exhales,

screeches to a false stop as it crouches to receive passengers.

As it gurgles forward,

I wonder if the bus is more tired than I.

-- Melinda Palacio

Line 20 --

Ode to the King Palm of Anacapa Street

King Palm,

you honor this place

by your being

Once Seaforthia Elegans

now Archtophoenix,

chieftain palm.

King Palm,

your like and near kin

line street after street

Anacapa, Chapala,

Santa Barbara;

cluster along the boulevard

at the ocean,

grace the skyline on the Mesa,

inspire dream vistas on the Riviera.

King Palm,

you stand

singular but not alone,

in a gesture of gratitude;

your proud posture

a thank you to the ones

who envisioned and the ones

who carry the vision.

The ones who make our

city a tree beautiful city.

-- Sojourner Kincaid Rolle

Line 1 --

She looks down brisk expectant

people waiting to board look up

and slowly they make way for Mary

A radiant, white-haired woman boards the One

and chooses a side-facing seat at the front ....

Fully equipped for insular bus travel,

I board the #1 in cap and shades, hunker in a window seat, ...

-- Enid Osborn

Line 7 –

As the bus hangs a right from Hollister

onto Fairview, we passengers lean into

the turn, then resettle ourselves

as it rumbles over the 101

and eases past Wells Fargo, Break

Time, O’Gorman and O’Gorman, LLP.

Then it’s a long way down Calle Real,

looping in and out of neighborhoods,

most of us minding our own business,

a couple of folks restless, communing

aloud with themselves. On the freeway,

finally, it’s only minutes to downtown,

so I scribble these words in my notebook,

a pale transcription of experience.

Still, I imagine a portion of this poem

visible between poles and straps,

a couplet reminding us we share

the ability to decode a sign that says:

The person sitting next to you—tired,

a little sweaty—may be reading this, too.

--David Starkey

Poetry Passages

poetry takes a ride on the SBMTD April 2024

Line 14 --

a mother and her little girl

step tenderly onto the bus.

stop requested, doors hiss open,

I the only one still riding.

boulder fields that were homes,

before that early winter dawn

-- Paul J. Willis

Line 5 --

Not having ridden a bus for a time, immersed in December’s silvered chill,

I ask the driver who calls himself Frank,

how much? “A hundred dollars,” he winks,

settles for one. No change. Yet, hasn’t it,

in more ways than I can count.

Frank holds steady as we lurch down Torino

lined with gingkos turned seasonal gold

like a gowned choir, hands folded skyward

praising the hour near year’s end.

Headed to the back of the bus I read

Pise con Cuidado, Watch Your Step,

wise words for a senior. We rumble down

familiar streets—Veronica Springs, Las Positas—

those walked or driven down half a century.

From my high seat I feel like a queen on top

of the world, being escorted, waving at cars,

the two students who board. Suddenly the bus brakes

for an intrusive truck. I roll sideways with a “Whoa!

Just like Disney World!” and we laugh,

our jubilance an exclamation to quite a ride!

-- Perie Longo

Line 2 -- Oracle

Who will you become when the bus kneels to release you, traveler?

-- Chryss Yost

Line 4 --

The world is falling and the rain is calm.

Gingko leaves disperse, petals blown and gone

To earth. I am reading a book about

Birds, what else – their mending and metaphors.

The passage is hushed; these windows speak home.

The world is falling, the rain calm.

-- Emma Trelles

Line 3 --

It was a glittering afternoon -- the rains

had washed the palm fronds &amp; the Eucalyptus

trees wafted aromatic with their grayish-green leaves.

The bus stopped at San Onofre, the Adams

Elementary children escaping into Las Positas

like a flock of chirping sparrows.

One small boy, no more than 5 years old, holding

hands with his mother climbed into the bus, rushed

to sit down across from me, grabbed a thin book

from his backpack, and, quietly, eagerly, smiled

up at his mother, and; pointing to a page, asked:

“¿Recuerdas, mamá, el caballo es un horse?

And all along the ride, I, too, learned the name of all

the barn animals from that small, brilliant teacher of a boy:

vaca, cabra, gallina, gallo...

-- Laure-Anne Bosselaar

Line 11 -- Bus Stop

It’s the waiting that hurts, Makes the day feel longer.

Smiles and relief when the bus arrives,

a satisfying thrill, seeing a long, lost friend.

She speaks in a woman’s voice, announces the stop

For Goleta Valley Cottage Hospital.

Outside, Low Riders on parade turn heads.

Too tired. I’m glad I’m not driving.

So many rattling parts. The bus hums, squeals, exhales,

screeches to a false stop as it crouches to receive passengers.

As it gurgles forward,

I wonder if the bus is more tired than I.

-- Melinda Palacio

Line 20 --

Ode to the King Palm of Anacapa Street

King Palm,

you honor this place

by your being

Once Seaforthia Elegans

now Archtophoenix,

had washed the palm fronds & the Eucalyptus