In The Baggage Room At Greyhound Poem Rhyme Scheme

Recent Interactions*

This poem was read 16 times,

This poem was added to the favorite list by 0 members,

This poem was voted by 0 members.

(* Interactions only in the last 7 days)

New Poems

Wonderful Women
by Umaru Kanneh Boima
Freedom To Scratch In Peace
by Olute Aete
Happy New Year
by Felix Menda
Human Beings
by Dana Graslie
Lust
by Wisdom Greatness
An Isolated Tree's Song
by Sayeed Abubakar
A Strange Boy
by Sayeed Abubakar
O Soil
by Sayeed Abubakar
No War, No War-monger
by Sayeed Abubakar
Night's Town
by Sayeed Abubakar

Popular Poets

1. Emily Dickinson(2414 poems)
2. Madison Julius Cawein(1231 poems)
3. Ella Wheeler Wilcox(1136 poems)
4. William Wordsworth(1016 poems)
5. Robert Burns(986 poems)
6. Edgar Albert Guest(945 poems)
7. Thomas Moore(849 poems)
8. Robert Service(831 poems)

I	A
	-
In the depths of the Greyhound Terminal	B
sitting dumbly on a baggage truck looking at the sky	A
waiting for the Los Angeles Express to depart	C
worrying about eternity over the Post Office roof in	D
the night time red downtown heaven	E
staring through my eyeglasses I realized shuddering	F
these thoughts were not eternity nor the poverty	G
of our lives irritable baggage clerks	H
nor the millions of weeping relatives surrounding the	I
buses waving goodbye	A
nor other millions of the poor rushing around from	J
city to city to see their loved ones	K
nor an indian dead with fright talking to a huge cop	L
by the Coke machine	M
nor this trembling old lady with a cane taking the last	N
trip of her life	O
nor the red capped cynical porter collecting his quar	P
ters and smiling over the smashed baggage	Q
nor me looking around at the horrible dream	R
nor mustached negro Operating Clerk named Spade	S
dealing out with his marvelous long hand the	I
fate of thousands of express packages	T
nor fairy Sam in the basement limping from leaden	E
trunk to trunk	U
nor Joe at the counter with his nervous breakdown	V
smiling cowardly at the customers	W
nor the grayish green whale's stomach interior loft	X
where we keep the baggage in hideous racks	Y
hundreds of suitcases full of tragedy rocking back and	Z
forth waiting to be opened	Z
nor the baggage that's lost nor damaged handles	A2
nameplates vanished busted wires broken	E
ropes whole trunks exploding on the concrete	B2
floor	P
nor seabags emptied into the night in the final	B
warehouse	C2
	-
II	A
	-
Yet Spade reminded me of Angel unloading a bus	D2
dressed in blue overalls black face official Angel's work	E2
man cap	F2
pushing with his belly a huge tin horse piled high with	G2
black baggage	Q
looking up as he passed the yellow light bulb of the loft	X
and holding high on his arm an iron shepherd's crook	H2
	-
III	A
	-
It was the racks I realized sitting myself on top of	I2
them now as is my wont at lunchtime to rest	J2
my tired foot	K2
it was the racks great wooden shelves and stanchions	D2
posts and beams assembled floor to roof jumbled	L2
with baggage	Q
the Japanese white metal postwar trunk gaudily	B
flowered headed for Fort Bragg	M2
one Mexican green paper package in purple rope	N2
adorned with names for Nogales	D2
hundreds of radiators all at once for Eureka	I
crates of Hawaiian underwear	P
rolls of posters scattered over the Peninsula nuts to	O2
Sacramento	P2
one human eye for Napa	I
an aluminum box of human blood for Stockton	E
and a little red package of teeth for Calistoga	I
it was the racks and these on the racks I saw naked	Q2
in electric light the night before I quit	R2
the racks were created to hang our possessions to keep	S2
us together a temporary shift in space	D2
God's only way of building the rickety structure of	I2
Time	T2
to hold the bags to send on the roads to carry our	P
luggage from place to place	D2
looking for a bus to ride us back home to Eternity	G
where the heart was left and farewell tears	D2
began	U2
	-
IV	I2
	-
A swarm of baggage sitting by the counter as the trans	D2
continental bus pulls in	D
The clock registering A M May the	I
second hand moving forward red	V2
Getting ready to load my last bus Farewell Walnut	W2
Creek Richmond Vallejo Portland Pacific	I
Highway	X2
Fleet footed Quicksilver God of transience	D2
One last package sits lone at midnight sticking up out	Y2
of the Coast rack high as the dusty fluorescent	Z2
light	A3
	-
The wage they pay us is too low to live on Tragedy	G
reduced to numbers	D2
This for the poor shepherds I am a communist	B3
Farewell ye Greyhound where I suffered so much	C3
hurt my knee and scraped my hand and built	D3
my pectoral muscles big as a vagina	I

Allen Ginsberg

In The Baggage Room At Greyhound Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Write your comment about In The Baggage Room At Greyhound poem by Allen Ginsberg

Recent Interactions*

New Poems

Popular Poets