NY Daily News Overlooks Inaugural Style Poetry of Crazed Bus Driver Biter

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The New York Daily News has reported on a crazed woman passenger who bit a driver over the unavailability of a hybrid bus. However, if the Daily News had investigated the background of the upset passenger, Shelia Bolar, they would have found out that she was every bit as qualified to deliver an Obama inaugural poem as was Elizabeth Alexander who is credited by many for delivering the worst inauguration poem ever. First the Daily News story about how Shelia Bolar has come to our attention:

Going green was a cause she could really sink her teeth into.

The frantic passenger who bit a veteran driver's arm was upset that his bus wasn't a hybrid, he said Thursday.

"She came on the bus, and she said she waited more than an hour for a hybrid," said MTA driver Peter Williams, 42. "I said, 'I'm not in control of what bus is assigned to me.'"

Williams, a dad of two who is in the Navy Reserves, plans to take a little time off after Wednesday's bizarre attack on an uptown M104 bus.

The woman, Shelia Bolar, 49, started hollering at Williams soon after she boarded the Broadway bus on the upper West Side.

When her rant was done, she she grabbed his arm.

"Miss, don't touch me while I'm operating the bus," Williams warned Bolar.

At W. 79th St., Williams let passengers off and gestured to a dispatcher he called for help.

"That's when she bit me. ... I couldn't believe it."

Bolar chomped through a jacket, a sweater and a thick shirt, causing a bruise and swelling but not breaking skin.

"She bit through all that," said Williams, still shocked.

And then she fled - but cops nabbed her blocks away. Bolar, who faces assault charges was held without bail, pending a psychiatric exam.

Williams was released from St. Luke's Hospital and plans to return to work soon. "I hope it doesn't happen again," he said.

Okay, interesting story by Daily News writers Sergey Kadinsky and Carrie Melago.  However, if they investigated the crazed biter on the Web, they would have found out that in addition to biting bus drivers, she is also a poet whose work could easily have been delivered at Barack Obama's inauguration. Let us now look at an online poem, "Way Off In The Distance," by the bus driver biter and compare it to the one delivered on inauguration day by Elizabeth Alexander:

way off in the distance i hear a sound
tis the sound of a bell
tis the sound of a bell
way off in the distance i hear a sound
tis the sound of a bell
tis the sound of a bell
and it sounds so loud
and it sounds so loud
and it sounds so loud
sounds like
i hear voices
cries from the deep down under-r-r-r-r-r
i hear the cries of freedom
they're the voices of black men red men
they're the voices of children
the young 'n the old
my people yo' people my people
oppress'd suppress'd repress'd depress'd
abus'd misus'd confus'd denied mis-tried
enslav'd deprav'd in different ways
no lie no lie no lie
i ain't tellin no lie
they're sayin no more no more no more no more
no more no more no more
they're callin martin malcolm nelson mother teresa
oh jesus please help them
oh mandela oh mandela oh mandela
he's not in a cell
but he's still in jail
and he want to tell his story
oh loose him
somebody loose him
from the coast of africa
all the way to the caribe
tripoli
great are the woes of china
even behind the wall
they're risin up ev'rywhere
here 'n there
they're tryin their best to make a difference
all 'cause they want equality
and it's a reality
that their time has come
and they're saying no more no more no more
no more no more no more no more
so - go tell your mother
go tell your father
go tell your sister and your brother too
go tell the nations go tell the leaders
and please be sure to tell the oppress'd
suppress'd repress'd depress'd abus'd misus'd confus'd
denied mistried enslav'd deprav'd in different ways - people
my people, lawd have mercy
have mercy have mercy have mercy on my people
yo' people my people
i cry i cry i cry i cry for my people yo' people my people
for their time has come
yes their time has come
and it sounds so loud
and it sounds so loud
and it sounds so loud
way off in the distance

 It is the contention of your humble correspondent that the poetry of the crazed bus driver biter is every bit as "good" as that of Elizabeth Alexander who actually did deliver the inaugural poem. Let us now look at the text Alexander's inaugural poem for comparison:

Each day we go about our business,
walking past each other, catching each other’s
eyes or not, about to speak or speaking.

All about us is noise. All about us is
noise and bramble, thorn and din, each
one of our ancestors on our tongues.

Someone is stitching up a hem, darning
a hole in a uniform, patching a tire,
repairing the things in need of repair.

Someone is trying to make music somewhere,
with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum,
with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer considers the changing sky.
A teacher says, Take out your pencils. Begin.

We encounter each other in words, words
spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed,
words to consider, reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways that mark
the will of some one and then others, who said
I need to see what’s on the other side.

I know there’s something better down the road.
We need to find a place where we are safe.
We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain: that many have died for this day.
Sing the names of the dead who brought us here,
who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges,

picked the cotton and the lettuce, built
brick by brick the glittering edifices
they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle, praise song for the day.
Praise song for every hand-lettered sign,
the figuring-it-out at kitchen tables.

Some live by love thy neighbor as thyself,
others by first do no harm or take no more
than you need. What if the mightiest word is love?

Love beyond marital, filial, national,
love that casts a widening pool of light,
love with no need to pre-empt grievance.

In today’s sharp sparkle, this winter air,
any thing can be made, any sentence begun.
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp,

praise song for walking forward in that light.

So what is your opinion, Dear Reader? Which poem is more unpoetic to qualify as an Obama inaugural poem? And has anybody spotted Elizabeth Alexander biting bus drivers recently?

—P.J. Gladnick is a freelance writer and creator of the DUmmie FUnnies blog.


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"Bolar chomped through a

"Bolar chomped through a jacket, a sweater and a thick shirt, causing a bruise and swelling but not breaking skin."

 

Wow. That's what I call rabid liberal. I hope she was up to date on her shot's.

Maybe by going green, she meant gangrene

 

 

"You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. We must be cautious. "

- Ben Kenobi on  Liberals, and the MSM.

" The Cake is a lie."   

Good evening P.J.

Both of these seem like they would be great RAP "songs". Excuse me for calling them songs, I don't want to be banned.

You didn't say whether Bolar was wearing baggy pants.

Jesus Loves You

Poetry?

There once was a man named Obama....;-)

There was once a man from

There was once a man from Honalulu......

When Americans elected him, they made a big boo-boo.......

He thumped his chest at The GOP and exclaimed "screw you !"...

Oh who will get us out of this mess.......John Sununu ?

 

"You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. We must be cautious. "

- Ben Kenobi on  Liberals, and the MSM.

" The Cake is a lie."   

My Poem

At the risk of bleating my own horn, I do believe that mine is much, much better than both.  Lemme know if I am right, please?

http://liberalsmash....

I wish

I had those 5 minutes back. Excuse me while I call 911, I drove a pencil into my temple while listening to her "poem".

Two Dogs....

Your poem is at least as good as the examples. In fact I think I like it better. It actually has some phrases that mean something to me.

Thanks!

Northcoaster, thank you very much for your wonderful taste in poetry.  Surely you are a very cultured person.

→ Cultured indeed!

A son is born to me.
I see outside my teepee
An elk runs through the wood
I name my son Running Elk

Again a son is born to me
I see outside my teepee
An eagle flying in the sky
I name my son Soaring Eagle

I forget the rest of the poem, but it's incredibly beautiful and moving.

Ask not what your country can do for you.  Ask what you can do for your country - Khalil Gibran

Cool

I think I remember the poem. It presented American Indian culture through a father's eyes.

→ That's it!!

"The Inquisitive Son"

Yes, now I remember it.

Ask not what your country can do for you.  Ask what you can do for your country - Khalil Gibran

Cool

Thanks, I'll look it up and re-read it.

Both

Both poems are examples of poor English that passes for poetry today. These poems fit right in with some of the "stuff" that passes for music. Neither music nor poetry need to be classically styled but there needs to be a lyrical resonance to both that never quite happens in the examples. Even Haiku, a minimalist form of poetry has a structure and pattern which is recognizable and pleasing.

Haiku

  OK here's my Haiku:

 

The Island child speaks

As throngs cheer to the heavens

A bitter wind blows

MidAm

You are leading the Ox

  Hey thanks, I'm

  Hey thanks, I'm flattered.

 (or are you trying to say I'm only a couple steps ahead of my bull?)

MidAm

No, disrespect is intended. You've mastered the Ox and now you're in the lead instead of allowing it to lead you causing you to chase the unruly thing.

No bull intended. The two supposed poets are still chasing the unruly thing about.

  Oh I never infered any

  Oh I never infered any disrespect from you.  I did search up the meaning to your phrase which I did infer correctly.  However I hate let go to waste a good twist on a word or comment which is why I posted what I did. Sometimes words are toys and you just need to get them out and play with them.  And besides I know bulls.  I've led them, chased them and had them chase me.  Believe me, a bull chasing you is a reality inducing moment.  So 'leading the ox' is very understandable metaphor for me.

MidAm

Some of my favorite moments are when I can go back and forth with friends over words. I regularly have fun with a coworker, tossing words and phrases back and forth. Often others nearbye, hear us and roll their eyes and tell us that we shouldn't be having so much fun.

Much of my enjoyment of the NB site, comes from reading the language and fact mastery, of the site hosts and posters. Your Haiku was simple, effective and showed mastery of the genre, unlike the identified pseudo-poetry.

northcoaster--

"Both poems are examples of poor English that passes for poetry today."

So true! The jargon started in the urban centers by ill schooled people. Why then does the rest of American youth like it so much and emulate it? Why do they revel in sounding ignorant???

It's beyond me. My 22 year old son loves to talk in "street". One of his close friends, who is black, never speaks that way.

Misterbill

I work in healthcare and most of the white kids talk in "street" also. I have assumed that it's just an attempt to rebel against adults like many of us have done for centuries. Eventually the rebellion passes and most youth become more normal. The few that I know who stayed rebellious, have created a self fulfilling prophecy of rejection.

And sad it is---

And sad it is--- My son is growing, but slowly. He has stopped curling in the middle and ring finger and gesturing while talking.

They say that 60 is the new 50. I also believe from quite a few readings about today's youth that 25 years of age is the new 21.

 

I thank God every day that I was born at at time when the temptation of drugs was rare. So many young ones are ruined by that.

 

Patience and prayer..

There

once was a man named Obama

who was raised by his radical mama

He moved to Chicago

were he met Rezko

Thus starting our terrible saga

We have

A Winnah!

Definitions, Definitions, Definitions

Who is "Liz"?
It's just "His"
way of signaling
the start of a "tingling".

'Cause don't you know-it
"His" favorite poet
was to cause us all
to stare in awe

At the magnificent
President.

But the oaf
Couldn't recite the oath;
and acted the fool
to the Press Corps pool;

And is hell-bent
On starting an argument
with someone who isn't in awe:
Rush Limbaugh.

So let's just wait
Till a later date
to celebrate
This loser's fate,

As Rush delivers a shiner
To this crybaby whiner.

___________________________________ 

If you can read this, thank a teacher. If it is in English, thank a Soldier. - My barber

Who is the author of this "poem" ...

... Under water grottos, caverns
Filled with apes
That eat figs.
Stepping on the figs
That the apes
Eat, they crunch.
The apes howl, bare
Their fangs, dance ...

 

Oh! Oh! O!

Pick me! Pick Me! I knOw!

Same author who wrote

Same author who wrote this:

I had a little chicken

And she wouldn't lay an egg

So I poured hot water all around her leg

And the little chicken hollered and the little  chicken begged

Then the gosh darned chicken laid a hard boiled egg.

For liberal Democrats and the Old Media, everything is crisis, chaos, calamity and catastrophe. That justifies stealing your property and liberties.

Old SNL - Eddie Murphy poem

"Images by Tyrone Greene"

Dark and lonely on a summer's night.
Kill my landlord. Kill my landlord.
Watchdog barking. Do he bite?
Kill my landlord. Kill my landlord.
Slip in his window. Break his neck.
Then his house I start to wreck.
Got no reason. What the heck?
Kill my landlord. Kill my landlord.
C-I-L-L my land lord!

YEAH!

I remember seeing that "live."

Now, THAT'S poetry!

;^D

 

"Meet the new boss, same as the old boss..." - The Who

Both are goofballs, but neither are "poets"

Not that anybody really cares about poetry any more, but...

I'm from the old school that believes for a gaggle of words to be poetry, at minimum they have to rhyme...and it doesn't matter what some fuzzy-headed college professor says about it.  Anybody can jot down a bunch of words about their "soul crying out;" but it takes real talent, an extensive vocabulary, and the ability to tell a story to write interesting poetry, stuff that rhymes and enthralls the reader.

The above stuff is junk. 

I live in the DC area and heard an Andy Parks' version ...

... of faux-nauguration style "poetry"

Washington Monument
grew there
on french toast

Storm drains overflowing with mayonnaise
and barbed wire

Payton Manning

Just some of the things important
to my

Uncle Sarah

Washington
bless me
FBI

amen 

http://www.wmal.com/...

Who's his uncle?....Sarah Lee.....

That poem moved my stomach to hunger.

So what's wrong with ME?

Okay. Now I know I need to see a doctor...

I'm reading this article- the story by TDN, the poem, the next poem... and I don't even find myself shaking my head and thinking, "wtf is wrong with these people?" That thought didn't occur to me until just now. Am I so jaded that nothing surprises me? Or is it that nothing an enviro-wacko does surprises me?  In either case, I think I need some meds...

...and I hate meds! 

She actually bit the guy! Bit the guy... with her mouth... because she didn't like the bus... 

We're ALL jaded

Insanity has become the norm. Virtually nothing can shock or surprise us anymore.

Except maybe civility and talent. That's the rarity nowadays.

 

"Meet the new boss, same as the old boss..." - The Who

Come on

she was coming to the defense of the environment, er, world, uh, the climate changey thingee, you know. 

The only thing that disappoints me is she didn't attack the bus too.  And she's just a wonderful poet.  OK, pass me the meds too.

Poetry?/ Alas!!!

If that be a pomie, I be a homie

It be a crime??, To make sumpin rhyme??

If this be a poet, How come she blow it??

Meanderin' thoughts, Can't connect the dots

 

The thing that she showed, Is how walkin the same road

The difference in thinkin, Some is good, some is stinkin

Seems those who is black.Have a great lack

In writin in verse, Their stuff is worse

 

If you tink I'm a cryer., Just check out old Maya

She made birds in a cage, Somehow, a rage

They is those who accuse, Me of tryin to abuse

Those of a race, And get into their face

 

But I'm tellin you plain, These folks, in the main

Is pullin your chain Like you ain't got no brain

So don't sit their tipplin, Go out and read Kiplin

No ignorant bellow, Jus read ole Longfellow

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The attached lines will yield, The words of Eugene Field

It's known as poetry.

: LITTLE BOY BLUE by Eugene Field

"The little toy dog is covered with dust,
But sturdy and stanch he stands;
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
And his musket moulds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new,
And the soldier was passing fair;
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.

"Now, don't you go till I come," he said,
"And don't you make any noise!"
So, toddling off to his trundle-bed,
He dreamt of the pretty toys;
And, as he was dreaming, an angel song
Awakened our Little Boy Blue---
Oh! the years are many, the years are long,
But the little toy friends are true!

Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
Each in the same old place---
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
The smile of a little face;
And they wonder, as waiting the long years through
In the dust of that little chair,
What has become of our Little Boy Blue.

-----------------------------------------------------

And that be to me, What is poetry

I tried and I tried, But I get teary eyed

Each time that I view, His love for Boy Blue

I hope there''s a quest, For those who write best

 

Instead of a chase, To find poets of one race

Who are destined by fate, To write poems of hate

And so up we should lift, And look to them with a gift

To do something grand, And unite this great land.

 

 

 

Misterbill... Your

Misterbill...

Your reference to "old Maya" reminded me of my favorite Maya Angelou story. You'll appreciate this.

Some years ago, a friend of mine spent big bucks to attend a "summer with Maya Angelou" poetry course at one of the southern universities. She was a budding poet, and thought, "WOW, this is something I would like to do."

Later in the summer, I saw her when she returned from her "summer with Maya Angelou" and asked her how it went. Her face got grim.

Apparently, Mzzzz Maya showed up for about 15 minutes the first class to welcome the students, and for 10 minutes the last class to thank them for attending the summer course. Every class was taught by a graduate student. Mzzz Maya took the money and ran, it looks like.

And my friend couldn't, though she tried, get her money back.We all understand that graduate students teach a lot, but this was a bit much.

For liberal Democrats and the Old Media, everything is crisis, chaos, calamity and catastrophe. That justifies stealing your property and liberties.

celator-

Show me the money!!!!!

It went

It went thataway-------->>    

 

For liberal Democrats and the Old Media, everything is crisis, chaos, calamity and catastrophe. That justifies stealing your property and liberties.

Masterful misterbill,.......

It gave me a thrill

Down my leg it did run

out into the sun

Like the meatball

ugh

I couldn't read them all the way through, I felt my cerebral cortex beginning to atrophy.

In order to be pro-choice, one must first be born. Ah, the irony.

They maketh me to hurl

Is it not rather telling that Joyce Kilmer can make something as mundane as a tree more
interesting and exciting than the utopian, Marxist wonderland of equality these
leftist drones are always babbling on about in their "poems?"

I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day, And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree.

(Sorry about the formatting. Not sure what happened.)

dane-

Love the poem -- always did. I was a poetry fanatic in HS. I was embarrassed to let my classmates know. I was supposed to be a jock........and of course, poetry was sissy. (We did not use bad expressions back in those days.) I added a few lines. It has been decades, but as best I recall, it went something like this . (You will probably guess, correctly, I attended Christian school.)

And I watch the  tree as raindrops fall,

And  think of Heaven and its halls

Where resides this God, my king,

He who created everything.

And to him I do pledge my love,

For His gifts from above

For He who made this lovely tree

Also made both you and me.

 

 

 

Poets All

Youse guys ain't no poets.

Good evening Jay

They're probably commodiens

Jesus Loves You