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Sonnet Places Poems | Sonnet Poems About Places

These Sonnet Places poems are examples of Sonnet poems about Places. These are the best examples of Sonnet Places poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Sonnet | |

A Contest Win of Friendship

A fledgling poet round two thousand three, I found some friends who mentored me; they led me to a site called Shadow Poetry. By mental challenges there, I was fed. I learned to better write according to specific forms or themes, and I was thrilled by all the many things that would ensue the more time there I spent; I was fulfilled! The annual big contest, Shadow Ink, gave not just money, but a chapbook deal. I paid to enter it and did not think I stood a chance. How good I soon would feel! My best friend and I tied. We HAD to call our chapbook “Friendship Garden.” That said it all! Note: Shadowpoetry.com was not able to be maintained as an interactive poetry community and after several wonderful years, the owner had to pull out. All our chapbooks were removed from the bookstore and the contests are no longer done. Today it is a website for writers' development only.


Details | Sonnet | |

Springing Sea of Green

I love it when Spring finally comes The buds showing their little sprouts Yes indeed from this seasons of four I'm awake many sleeping plants shout I love it when I walk through the parks When these buds turn to a sea of green Forgotten are the plants being so stark This birthing season just has to be seen I love it when I sit on the park benches When the breeze caresses Sakura trees The airs scented by their pinky blossoms Mother nature and man in total agree When I retire I'll grow a green thumb for I love it when Spring finally comes


Details | Sonnet | |

JOURNEY COMPANIONS: THE FRIEND SONNETS PART II

HEROES

Near somber guards, units of children heap 
dead leaves, naive to any else fallen.
Friend, you chuckle, but your posture speaks
of duty on this day of contradictions.

Firefighters bow heads in silent paean, 
while polished trucks stand at attention.
Families have again answered the call
to attend this festival, so uncommon.

Here, laughter rings around the memorial
for exuberance must never be doused,
Gloriously wrought, a sculpture of angels
commiserates with each mourning house.

You say, I see valor in lives that inspire.
 I see heroes and their lines of fire.


*For Craig

NEW DALI

Surreal, the way a contortionist knots
himself as the escape artist breaks free.  
Uptown, buskers beckon with what-naughts,
drawing thousands. Candyland, sighs New-Dali

at its epicenter, his true element,
and he takes it in: the sword swallower,
blindfolds, jugglers, clowns miming laments,
fire-fed gals, stilted-men and tots taller 

on shoulders. This carnival can endear,
turn heads, but only one with a seer-heart
studies the music box dancer, then swears
that she spins perfect webs with street-smarts.

Mirroring that swivel, awed by his entourage,
He becomes centrum to his own collage.


*For Chan, fully alive in Heaven.


SNIPPETS

Your brows are up. The Princess Cinema
is not your choice. C'mon, I don't fit here,
you snort. You, with all your charisma 
and kindness, stand in a short line, fearing

boredom or worse ... pretense. Promise me,
that we aren't about to wallow through
subtitles, you sigh.  Give me clarity,
a story, something that I can relate to.

But the charm catches you by surprise,
a star-struck atmosphere, the seats are new
and the popcorn is still warm. Friendly eyes
laugh, then amusement streams from you

for these Global TV spots simply delight
like each snippet that you joyfully write.


*For Andrea




TARTANS

There be Scots as farrrrrr as the eye can see.
Brawn calves and bright kilts delight lasses 
while pipers swagger out of the pub, tipsy.
Your smile broadens as a caber is tossed

end over end. Then, across the glen, highland                      
dancers in ghillies beckon with hearty flings.
Auch, it’s hot yet heather dare no’ wilt. Clans
gather, roguishly rib each other, as wool spins

in wheels. Aye, the romance can fair overwhelm
e’en the sensible. Worse for we, the fanciful. 
Come, here’s the tea tent. Let soft fiddles calm
as we nibble oatcakes. Tartans and tunes pull

heartstrings. We sit raptly, lost in Brigadoon,
put pen to napkin to let wee thistles bloom. 


* For Francine

TESTIMONIALS

Rustling maples break vows of silence,
naturally. As pleased, spears of hyacinth  
worship breezes with such soft reverence
that we give pause in this living labyrinth. 

Nothing here is still; wood thrush reverb
good news and cicadas buzz testimonials.
Nearby, a creek mumbles, Word-Word
while squirrels glorify their bounty. All

is abuzz with joy, save for the shade
under a weathered cross; it’s emptiness
resurrects veneration. A butterfly wades
the sudden hush, lands on your hand, nests.

My friend, you lift it to wood, sympathizing 
on bent knee, speechlessly evangelizing. 

*For Brian

ON THE FRINGE

Your eyes drink the hues of the Shisha Lounge:
art on walls, art brewing over charcoal.
This coffee ceremony is on the fringe,
far from the pallid and staid. I’ve marveled

at these dear blends, how culture can transcend 
barriers and ignorance. We order too much.
Tibsy, zignie, timtimo.. injera bends 
to each spiced delicacy as our plates touch. 

Gone is this haven where pleasure was shared.
Still, I’ll bring you there. Scribe, man of integrity,
sit with me. Exhale poetry. Imbibe tribal air. 
Mine, this moment and mine, this memory

but that mystifying brew, that receptive floor,
the smoke refined by deep respect… each are yours.  

*For my cuz, Scribe


SUMMERLAND

A warbling vireo hops from oak to elm.
Your gaze wanders, too. This amphitheater
hosts the lyrical, almost overwhelms,
for beyond the mill ruins, the Grand River

is deep in thought, reflecting. It’s as though myth
lives; Summerland has come to the hillside 
where weathered fieldstones beguile the impish
to dance. They do or else tin flutes will chide.

Though cozy the spot,  the world's at our feet.
Tanned toes can not help but tap. Strong is the lure
of pipes and those songs that dulcimers keep.
When night softly falls, one group brings rapture. 

They sing until stars tire and all are hoarse
like poets rousing words to supplicate verse.

*For Carrie


WORD ON THE STREET, 2009


Pure pageantry, how publishers' banners
wave over tents. Flocks of readers graze
on glossy trades, leaflets, hardcovers,
chapbooks. My friend, a true gent, stays
his ground. Maybe, it is the press of page;
Its forthright weave petitions for slants,
favors unique fonts, yet gilds no edge,
sees no need for illustration, just verdant
language. I did not intend to read
over his shoulder. He grins good-naturedly,
tweed makes an allowance. Each line, poetry,
he praises and I still my chatter. We feed
on gems, unrushed, but their brilliance spurs
a verbose woman and a man of his word.


*For David


Details | Sonnet | |

WORD ON THE STREET, 2009



Pure pageantry, how publishers' banners
wave over tents. Flocks of readers graze
on glossy trades, leaflets, hardcovers,
chapbooks. My friend, a true gent, stays
his ground. Maybe, it is the press of page;
Its forthright weave petitions for slants,
favors unique fonts, yet gilds no edge,
sees no need for illustration, just verdant
language. I did not intend to read
over his shoulder. He grins good-naturedly,
tweed makes an allowance. Each line, poetry,
he praises and I still my chatter. We feed
on gems, unrushed, but their brilliance spurs
a verbose woman and a man of his word.






*For David


Details | Sonnet | |

DIVINE STEEPLES

She lets me put violets in her hair,
good-humouredly, calls me Ophelia
in such a way that I spout, But Shakespeare
pushed war, not love. Resplendent, Thalia

strolls the peaceful paths of Victoria Park,
taken with the interplay of people,
the signs of change, bridges like love at work;
Often, her hands become divine steeples

of calm prayer. Yet there is imminence 
heard in fervencies, a tremendous will
wrought with words of truth and tolerance 
that dare to preserve all that is spiritual.

Three share our views in comfortable silence,
Me, hope and a Goddess of Non-Violence. 


*For Catie
 





Details | Sonnet | |

Fresh Pillow (Kyrielle Sonnet)

At night I lay my soul to sleep,
Closing my eyes there is no peep,
This soft bed is just so mellow,
My head rests on this fresh pillow.

Forgetting the stress of the day
I am in bed without delay.
Soul at ease— the mind must follow,
My head rests on this fresh pillow.

Satin sheets over my shoulder,
Keep me warm—not getting colder.
Fantasy dreams I now billow,
My head rests on this fresh pillow.

At night I lay my soul to sleep,
My head rests on this fresh pillow.


Details | Sonnet | |

I am a Red Rose

Regardless of the scene, I, determined to stand tall Wavering, bending slightly on breaths of breeze Allowing pertness to show flaunting to thrall My stem of strength tipped enlightening please Petals prom in blood red, they peak to bloom My curves of delight like silken sheets, splayed Undulations tremble as they beautifully plume Such an attraction so joyous in hungered display Let my scents lure, tickle those nature tongues Taste my nectar becoming entranced by I For every dawn allures my stem to sprung In stance I'm proud as wanting eyes espy I, the garden jewel, the prime delicate Rose Swelling whenever I'm warmed, boy see me grow . The beautiful Red Rose - meaning Passion & Love.


Details | Sonnet | |

San Francisco Fete - Co-authored with Thvia Shetley

Cornices, and Gargoyles with eyes turned low,
hold fast the passing in a frozen stare
as slow vapor rising from vents below
is churned by soles into thick city air.
 
Undeterred, the well-heeled leather bottom
wingtips fly past sandaled sloths at crosswalks
while clicking heels kick dead leaves of autumn
and wind their way through crowded city blocks.
 
Just above a breezy sidewalk café,
sheer fabric wafts a low-loft window sill,
two pair of empty vamps and laces lay,
removed in shameless haste and lustful will.
 
Beneath the sheets, a naked feet affair,
entwined, aligned, with dreamy souls laid bare.


Michael F. Lewis and Thvia Shetley
3/6/2013


Details | Italian Sonnet | |

All Through Tuscany

The afternoon outlined. The sunny strokes
of a samurai blade on her body
revealing things the eyes feign see.
Tempted, wounded, the virgin parchment floats
between her skin and satin cloak.
Artist; afternoon, craving company
draws her inside-out so innocently,
on purpose leaves the yolk indwelling.

The painter in the corner moans,
he jealous of the afternoons artly
sensual oration.
Improving skin, bare olive tones
of subtle pastel, the moment partly lost
to the constellations.


Details | Sonnet | |

On Maydays Day

I turn to my girl highlighting Mayday is near A day of spectacle that the whole village views There's Jesters of folly and Knights without fear Witnessing lances and jokes, always going askew To view such we can venture along different ways We can stroll by the river listening to many sounds In awe as we walk amidst most wondrous displays That on any given day beautiful vistas abound Decisions, decisions, as we contemplate which way It's such a special day wondering what to wear Beauty personified will my Olive be on this day Knights or Royal Princes, all they can do is stare So tomorrow we've decided to be our chosen route Two hearts in decision, declaring what's their suit <*> Mayday morn now greets as I turn next to me She my guiding light as beautiful as the dawn Excitement illuminates for into her eyes I see Onto my back I lie, that feel she's now upon Into this day we go heading along the river Crystal clear translucent such serenity in it's flow Under greened canopies cooled shaded deliver Wafting leaved dress in delightful fanned throw We sense the clearings near for scents we sense Sporadic clusters in capture of welcoming eyes Mayday games have started, distant heard suspense Knights on horseback mounted, now in espy Now we're in amidst encapsulated we now are She's here to cheer, her Sir James, soon to spar <*> Balcony she now awaits, white steed he's now astride Blinkered pairings gallop towards intended foe To win this Mayday he, to fight for her his bride Eliminate his enemy, witness his crimson flow His lance in now connect, thrown metal disperses Petals of beauty hurled of rainbows selected Images of we, now thinking marital rehearses To know on this day, her intended she's elected Moments of their previous now in recent past Knowing they're now free in kaleidoscopic stream Spectrum of feelings now in view full cast In colourful extremes, fight for your dreams .


Details | Sonnet | |

Fading Dream

I’ve loved her dearly since my childhood days
Watching her subtle movements under the sun’s hot rays
She was sheer beauty when calm and warm
And magnificent in the eye of the storm

She lured me with her magic charms
To far away places and a woman’s arms
To mysterious places and exotic sights
Under the Southern Cross, romantic nights

She reached inside me and touched my soul
She took my life and made it whole
The longing for her, my heart retained
A fading dream is what remained

I still dream of sailing her waters once more
As I stand alone along her shore.


Details | Sonnet | |

Just Dreaming

Walk along the shore with me and let me see you smile
Close your eyes and visualize a romantic tropical isle
Palm trees and a summer breeze, sunshine overhead
Conversation with only our eyes, nothing being said

A secluded beach just out of reach, the surf the only sound
Two hearts one in the summer sun, a blanket on the ground
A sailboat dancing on the horizon, sun is going down
Tropical evening, harbor lights, as we walk back to town

Was it real or was I just dreaming as we walk along
And as we walk, the ocean singing her enchanting song
Feel the sand between our toes and taste the salty air
A falling star streaks across the sky going God knows where

You touch my heart and my soul in this island Paradise
The reflection of the Southern Cross in your loving eyes


Details | Sonnet | |

MUSE


Sunset. Synergy is moving between chairs
that don't quite match, widening tight circles   
of rovers. Muses Cafe, a small cove where
views internalize, so we heave heavy troubles

outside. Minstrel Mary Anne Epp shelters 
songs about happenstance. When a server drops
a plate, she ad libs, Save cracks for later.
Heads nod to her witty vibes, bite-sized bops.

Inspiration strums as parlance sighs, Good grief,              
my journal's at home.  You say, All's fine.
but your purse offers only ONE loose leaf,
curiously room enough for TWO to lay lines.

Pens groove. Friend, you prove that poets can wage
self-determined verse while on the same page.


*For Kathryn 




Details | Sonnet | |

River Laps Softly

River Laps Softly

The ripples of water lap river's edge
 quietly I sit, a man seeking love
The orange twilight stirs my lonely soul
 nearby, lonely call of a single dove

Sweetest place roaring river moans and churns
 fish splashing about in a soft replay
Continuance as the world slowly turns
 colors splash endings to wonderful day

The smell is that of fish , water and mud
 cool air spreading its greatest soft relief
Comfort gives to stop anger in my blood
 as Nature gifts a most calming belief

Soon its quiet , knowledge enters my soul
Victory came because I made it so

Robert J. Lindley, 08-08-2014

Poem Syllable Counter Results
Syllables Per Line:  10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10  
Total # Syllables:  140  
Total # Lines:  17  (Including empty lines)  
 Total # Words:  101  


Contest results....
Sonnet

Entered in the contest, Any poem under 15 lines, Poet Destroyer


First Place


Details | Sonnet | |

Silver Strands




Silver Strands Woven in Gold ~~~~ Beneath the earth in the vale of the kings For countless years undiscovered, unseen In an old leather bag bound with brass rings A necklet so rare, ‘twas fit for a queen This beautiful piece with deep lustrous shine In beaten red gold and fine silver strands A stunning linked chain of complex design Depicting the skill of artistic hands From where had it come, to whom would belong? A Queen, or princess of elegant grace? Whose story was writ in the poet’s song Sung by the slave girls in this ancient place A priceless treasure found under the sands A link to the past in fine silver strands


Details | Sonnet | |

My Backyard Volcano

My Backyard Playground....Mt. Lassen Peak


Our playground is a mountain steep
Come climb with me to Lassen's Peak!
It guards our valley, rust and green
Like roughing it?  A camper's dream!
Or take a picnic for the day
Such beauty takes your breath away
With lakes and streams and meadowland
Boiling mudpots, volcanic thrills
And sulpher springs to take a bath
With fish and game and hiking trails
In summer take your fishing poles
Or ski the slopes when winter calls

One hundred years, since last it blew
Prepare to run....'cause it ain't through!!!



.    .     .     .     .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .        .        .
Inspired by Brian's contest "SONNET ME"
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lassen_Peak


Details | Sonnet | |

I Frame

I Frame 

As sure as I stand in the mixed of this garden, 
Glimmering gold falls to the earth by my call. 
Many are great and then some are a bit small. 
I release magnets clutching an obscene pardon. 

It is like balancing a beam that only I will harden. 
I wrap myself into a silver plated resilient shawl. 
Person place and time steadily climb up to maul. 
It’s a give or take rejection expected to turn on. 

One day ye shall see, 
My Moon half drawn, 
Ye see it was all of me. 
Your Sun will be gone. 

Only one Star shall rise up above my name. 
It’s a special place inside my heart I frame! 

®Registered: Ann Rich 2007 



Details | Sonnet | |

A SCARY DREAM OF DANTE'S INFERNO

I have had many frightening visions
of demons pulling me down into the infernal abyss:
to burn and torment my bound and shivering body...
as Dante envisioned it in his Divine Comedy.


Ah, Popes, Presidents, Kings, enemies and friends made no apologies...
they were glad to see me join them in their cell!
I accursed them even in that place called," Hell ."
And that gave me an opportunity to write many appropriate analogies.


" My flesh will burn, not my spirit! " I desperately hollered.
" This is not a place where I should pay for my earthly sins!"
" Eternal fire and condemnation are wrong!" I protested.
" God loves everyone, and He only demands repentance!"


Finally, that dreadful vision ended at the coming of the sunrise,
I found myself on Earth witnessing the wonders of Paradise!


Details | Sonnet | |

In a Hotel Room

I sit on the edge of the bed thinking Wishing you were here or that I was there These work related trips keeps me hurting But then my heart, I come to you and share I sit in the middle of a moon beam That comes into the room’s hotel window A lonely bit of light, lonely it seems Opens the room to its cool silver glow I pout as I lay onto the hard bed Seemingly to sure keep me up all night I texted her with my whole soul, I sure pled Hoping she’s up and will respond tonight It’s hard to be away from by loved one But soon I'll be home, my love will be shown
Entrant into Black Eyed Susan's "In a Hotel Room..." contest 2/7/2013


Details | Sonnet | |

Kiss This

<                              master of disguise menacing havoc
                                I fear not your pronged fork and wooden stick
                                but one illuminates from presents sight
                                tis I carries master key whom ends plight


                               brushstroke if must with your evilness twist
                               for I stand strong from an Hevenly bliss 
                               poke and probe away with your woven schemes
                               tis I'll be the one laughing though it seems 


                               your inferno fire from gates of hell
                               diminished by just one shake from this bell
                               so bring on your barriers and good grief's
                               tonight I'll be the one with good night's sleep 


                               sowing not fear of satin's smitten grasp
                               but turning check telling to kiss thy ass




Entry For
Thvia Shetley's
The Devil Made Me Do It
Sonnets Only Contest
G.L. All


Details | Sonnet | |

DAZZLING IN SWEET MADNESS


Beneath strands of citrine dangling in the sky arms glitter on a Moulin Rouge display neon bulbs flirt with the Arc spinning high a scenic delight, like tinted colors from Monet And byways float on a flood of traffic yellow unleashing a thousand moths on flames, scenting an evening brushed by Van Gogh as bodies grind on a roulette of voltage frames The parade of magnetic sparklers blaze the café Soon, a flushed crowd tingles on popped wine dazzling in sweet madness, more hours to sashay; while I, I lose myself in a mist of a song’s last line “City of Lights” bathes in drops of fire glowers where new romance thrills starry-eyed lovers © . .. . . Paris night. 11pm ( few years back)


Details | Sonnet | |

Another Sonnet Written at a Coffee House

You sink into the bosom of the chair 
And wonder if I too once sat amidst 
The chattering, white coffee sipping fare— 
The lonely writers ‘pining for a kiss. 

Did I peer out over the porce’lain mug 
And purse my vulgar mouth over the lip 
My eyes a’roll behind my glasses’ fog 
My writer turning phrase and spinning quips? 

Did I curl my toes under my feet 
Threading my fingers ‘round the scolding cup 
My yellow molars grinding to the beat 
Of meds-a-glee and glutt’nous caffeine ups? 

No— 
I didn't’t sit cross-legged and introverted— 
I flipped through glossy pages and consorted.


Details | Sonnet | |

C'est la vie

Late 80s, Quebec, Ville de Lasalle, A piece of my life, a piece of me, I left behind; Fait accompli. What I miss most? Je ne sais quoi! Cartoons! Lagaffe, Robin Dubois! Bicycle rides with my good friends, Next to the river, along the bends. I left behind a piece of my life…


Details | Sonnet | |

All the world is a stage

Silver moonbeams strike the old packhorse bridge
As its ancient stones use silent language
To speak of those who passed this way before
And stood on these worn slates staring in awe

At the sandstone walls surrounding the pool
To echo the thundering waterfall
Firefly ballet on the watery stage
As nightingale chorus and frogs engage

A contralto owl adds a haunting tune
While the baritone fox sings to the moon
The whispering willows applaud with grace
As I lose myself in this mystic place

It moves me to tears, almost ev’ry time
But on moonlit nights, it is just sublime ~


Details | Italian Sonnet | |

Serenity Path

A woodland path in the dappled sun hushed and quiet,
Delivers the spirit to a place so sublime and sweet,
Drives the soul to eagerly await an angelic meet,
Allowing for moment in time, preciously private,
Upon the woodland path there is a special climate.
As you watch and adore all the animals you meet.
You know in your heart you’ll remember this retreat.
Especially since your movements are on auto pilot.

A woodland path excursion has made smiles appear.
Your soul is at peace now with nature’s serenity.
Thinking has been freed, clouded webs are now clear.
At the end of the woodland path, lies a new amenity.
Though if heartaches should return, a path is near.
Just follow your memories to woodland paths heredity.


written by
Cecil Hickman ©  ®


written for
Sponsor Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~  
Contest Name A Woodland Path ~ 


written 6/12/2011


Details | Sonnet | |

Night Watch

The harsh winds snarl and bite like fighting dogs.
No pity in this bull-black bitter night.
No stars nor moon can pierce the city fog.
No shelter saves the beggar from his plight.

The winds whip swirling grit and stinging grime.
Mad demons breathe out sour tasting wrath,
And wine red sky now marks the passing time
When, waking widows mourn the hour of death.

Although  the sulphurous gusts still groan and howl,
The night begins to fade for dawn's debut
While roaming dogs bare yellow teeth and growl
As smoky shadows slink through trembling dew.
 
The daybreak chimes, and morning sweetly sings,
Retreating night’s outshone by brighter things.



Details | Sonnet | |

CAPRICE




When limbs of Montmartre tint the glow
chemise de nuit falls to the ground,
belle de jour, come moan a pale sound
through alleys winding lamp light’s flow.
Her fine heels toss on follies’ show
she, au naturel , caprice bound ;
taunting stars to rouse below.

Uphill, this mistress wraps fired lips
fleeting sighs mixing red-hot drips,
amidst night bistros’ fragrant plight
where rows of faces wet love’s sips.

Then like a dream, her bedgown flips
denying passion, oh one last bite.


©french sonnet/personification



*Montmartre—famous Paris hill where art,
music, romantic atmosphere, and bohemian
culture thrive despite its religious strains.


*belle de jour--- beautiful lady
*au naturel--- in a natural state, also, nude
*chemise de nuit--- nightdress

.        ….         .

by nette onclaud
for Cyndi Mac Millan’s Un, Deux, Trois contest
31 may 12




Details | Sonnet | |

The Embracing

I cut through tedious chit-chat,
Null knick-knacks!
Zap Idiotic whacks!
I tip toe tapping atop pitters pat.
I’m your best bet seated where you once sat.
Smearing out your tad-bit lacks,
Running them out by the packs,
I tip my hat fancying you purr like my fat-cat.

Up and away my hands shall uplift weights like you.
In and out of reality I’ll take you with me everywhere.
If only you knew how well I’m too do getting through.
Do you think one day to obtain me to be eh unaware?

Personally, I’d charge a big fat whacked out idiotic fee for the likes of thee,
I’m declared as freely expressing many pleasures for the embracing of me.

® Registered: 2010 Ann Rich


Details | Sonnet | |

Never-Ending

In the center I sit.
Unraveling a core,
I lay it by the shore.
It’s a wondrous fit.
 
It is in pieces by a bit.
It sails an ocean floor.
It has a rip where tore.
It makes the seas split.
 
It travels day and night.
A never-ending drift,
It is brilliantly bright.
Moving along so swift!
 
It travels a path lit by a Star,
Rendering miles that are afar!
 
 
© Copyright: Ann Rich   2007


Details | Iambic Pentameter | |

The Shanghai Sonnet

Congealed upon the banks of this
tamed dragon sprawl stacks of crude buildings.
Concrete covers all but two glassy kings,
thick smoggy gusts give them a grimy kiss.
Insipid pillars choke sunlight, endless
roads incise the very earth, wings
of apartments cram into ev’rything,
ev’rywhere stacks upon stacks of units.
Herein lies the future, our dystopia
has arrived through the hazy looking glass.
Perhaps a reminder, utopia
is not coming, or maybe the hourglass
has but some time left. Then the route is clear.
We must turn everything around. And fast.