Best Boroughs Poems
In the smiting chill of a dreadful wintry night
When through every fiber n’ nerve, was the cold bite,
I was sitting cocooned beside my hearth,
Sipping a cup of steaming tea of my choicest blend.
Suddenly my attention was caught by something moving,
Through my window I saw a shadowy figure.
But who would dare to be out on such a night?
It was a night when winter slumber suddenly had grown,
Into a blizzard with blinding snow and hail flooding
When the land lay blanketed under snow’s strangulating clutch
When leafless trees stood motionless like spectral shadows
When animals stayed in their boroughs or dens in hibernation
But what I thought I had seen earlier
Was not a whim or a figment of my imagination.
I clearly saw someone walking, moving slowly or stealthily.
It disturbed me and I wanted to know who he was.
Unlikely to be a robber or a rogue with some sinister intent.
Could be a man who lost his way and needed urgent help.
Impelled by an irresistible urge to find out who he was,
I plunged myself into the sea of snow holding on to faith.
Faint moon light was shimmering between dancing snowflakes.
Not quite sure if I would find an enemy or a friend,
I walked on, pledging I would face what might come.
As I moved closer to that tottering figure
I realized he was someone half frozen in snow,
Desperately trying to get back home,
And I was on a divine mission to be the hands of God,
To direct a waylaid traveler back home,
And save a helpless soul from being frozen to death.
I don’t know what happened to that man beyond that night,
But am sure, he has survived many more winters,
And would be thankful to God for the providential help,
That saved his drowning life on such a fateful wintry night.
Now when I think of it, I feel even a bleak winter day,
Can be made bright by the power of kindness that we show.
It is the concern and preparedness to help someone in trouble,
That ignites our hearts with a divine spark and helps us connect.
Categories:
boroughs, nature, snow, winter,
Form:
Free verse
Riding in a taxi cab through canyons of concrete,
you will see thousands of inhabitants on each street.
This one of the five boroughs has everything complete.
What an island that is a city within a city.
It stretches from Harlem in the north to the battery.
If you are riding a bus, or a subway train underground,
so much fascinating scenery can be found.
There is Broadway, Central Park, Greenwich Village, and Times Square.
The bridges and the tunnels will all lead you there.
This is a jolly old place that nobody can deny.
With this “Big Apple”, you can make one hell of a pie!
Categories:
boroughs, travel
Form:
Rhyme
The orchids in the Garden show,
So gorgeous, on display,
Must wonder what they’re doing there
In colorful array.
For it’s a long way off from where
They usually grow,
Where animals and insects
Are the creatures that they know.
Yet here the crowds come traipsing
To take photographs and gawk,
For orchids aren’t native to
The boroughs of New Yawk.
I’m sure they’d rather be back home
In jungle/forest setting,
But maybe they’re enjoying
The attention that they’re getting.
Categories:
boroughs, flower,
Form:
Rhyme
Oh no! Train again!
Perched upon parallels of steel,
You roll your way on heavy wheels.
Thundering through town
With a rhythmic rattle and clickity-clack.
Your deep throat rumbles diesel black.
Cars convey a cargo of corn syrup,
Commuters and coal.
You are an ant trail of steel
Packing prizes from a picnic port.
You are the artery of America’s life blood.
--Four full sets of dominoes
Laid in one long row.
--A segmented serpent
Slithering on shining steel.
--A bright-eyed Cyclops screaming in the night,
Awakening children with a fright.
--A termite traveling through boroughs
Beneath the “Big Apple”.
You are the canvas of gangland graffiti
And ferry for freight hoppers
Who dare to hitch a ride.
A network linking limits sea to sea.
Now, rattle past, and make it fast.
I’ve places I should be.
Categories:
boroughs, inspirational, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
I'm not quite sure when
they first arrived by boat
stepping onto Ellis Island
which is in New York,
alls I know is that my
ancestors came from
Germany, Wales and Ireland,
probably in the 1850s
or around that time,
when a lot of immigrants
came to New York with
barely a couple of dimes,
escaping their countries
from all different kinds of plights,
the ones from Ireland were
starving from the famous potato blight,
settling down in cold water flats
in different Brooklyn boroughs,
a lot of my ancestors working
printing presses while some of
them were plumbers,
I'm sure they were afraid
when they first came to
the overwhelming "Big Apple,"
and looking for work was
probably stressful and
pretty cumbersome,
in my minds eye I often
think how it might have been
for all of them,
walking around the big city
searching for the American dream
while trying desperately to fit in,
but somehow they made it
and rose above all the strife,
and thanks to them their
future ancestors like me have a
much better life.
Categories:
boroughs, appreciation, family, immigration, new
Form:
Light Verse
I come from a place where its all about your pace
Where hopes and dreams, Are written on your face
Sink or Swim, How?, If in a fire hydrant we played
Streams leading to sewage drains, Childhood dreams washed away,
Tabs on a corner store credit, Verses credit for a house to own
Bare foot and Pregnant, The statistic Known
Wall Street Stock market, Numbers rise then fall
The Statue of liberty, Skyscrapers stand tall
Graffiti and Death painted on Cement Walls
News of Mothers mourning, Repenting on a Sunday morning
Looking down from a firescape, Five storeys high
View of defeat, Hopes and Dreams Still Alive
Bridges merging boroughs of four
Brooklyn, Bronx, Queens, Manhattan their called
Window shopping in a Mall, We can't afford
Those women in Macy's, Their fragrance oh my!
Heightened my senses. My ability to strive
Crackheads at a corner store, itching for some kind
White picket fences, Time spent behind bars
Up on a roof top, Viewing of the stars
The American dream, Off the Avenue of Puerto Rico seen
The hustle and grind of a poor mans dream,
Sparking the hunger, To eat by all means
No walk in the park, No Broadway show theme
Average life in the City, The City that never sleeps
Dreaming with eyes open
Categories:
boroughs, city, dream, encouraging, growing
Form:
Couplet
A person shot dead,this how it unfolds
rioting and looting,electrcticals clothes and gold
Tottenham bore the first brunt,that came undone
and spread throughout the boroughs of London.
As i sit viewing the tabloids that brings
aireal shots fires destroying buildings
mindless youths as it spreads north
Leeds,Bristol,Birmingham to Liverpool and forth
People go homeless,shopkeepers go broke
no school for children,an absolute joke
we have soldiers in countries fighting wars
they are the unsung heroes fighting a cause
Ashamed to be English? to an extent
i have never seen anything like this event
what will go next Buckingham Palace?
one word from me being absolute " disgrace".
.
Categories:
boroughs, slam,
Form:
Rhyme
I decided to drive through the city today
Instead of the freeway. And,
I still remember when we first met.
It was like receiving my little red bike under the tree
so long ago. The excitement of something so new,
so shiny. I was just so impatient to take you out
and tour your beautiful boulevards, striving to
explore every block of you—one by one.
You were a skyscraper that reached so high
that you ripped the very fabric of my sky
and spilled fortunate stars like
glitter on my existence.
The rain never came. And, I felt it never could.
I would just hold you like a crane—breathless.
All those delirious nights that lasted ‘til dawn.
And the laughter, think back how we laughed,
out loud, that it would echo through the alleys
and above to places the pavement couldn’t reach.
My mouth got wet with just a whisper
of your name on my breath. And I gorged,
oh how I gorged at the restaurants of
your soul until there was no room left and
I was ripe and plump for the picking.
All the boroughs of you,
I thought, would never stop growing.
Now, the constant sun (that used to be there)
can barely break the fog from your buildings and
beyond. When did your sky turn into a sponge of
liquid silt that I squeezed and squished
over my head—constantly? It feels like I never
have an umbrella anymore. The roads got
rougher and the cracks grew into fissures
in need of desperate repair. Some,
beyond repair. Where did it all go?
Time can be so careless and relentless.
You have been torn down and rebuilt
in my mind, many, many times
to unrecognizable sizes.
It all just got confusing and crowded, right?
We saw all the signs and signals
steering us in the wrong direction.
But, we journeyed on,
slowly—never surely.
The whole thing, everything, now,
just looks like the homeless from the
thoughtlessness and neglect of it all.
It was just red light after red light.
I saw our favorite restaurant,
still standing on our favorite corner.
And at that moment, I remembered, how much
I still love you.
Categories:
boroughs, love, passion, romancered, red,
Form:
Free verse
From my penthouse here in Manhattan
I observe crowds of bodies all in fast forward mode
Through slightly dampened windows I watch fascinated
As locals and visitors cramp into one “Big Apple”
More people in Manhattan than my four neighboring boroughs
I am just an unknown local or tourist to most
Later I sit among strangers and friends on black plastic chairs
Near the porcelain figurine of Elvis, the King
Enjoying my Southern Country breakfast with a NY bagel for an extra dollar
In EJ’s Luncheonette, below my building, on the Upper East side
Different races, skins and religions harmonious
A multicultural city that never sleeps
Times Square magnificently lit at night
Bright lights all colors of the rainbow flicker
Broadway theatres and shows all famous in their own right
Central Park or Central “Perk” put us forever on the map, all thanks to six Friends
The rivers Hudson and Harlem bind us all together
As we chant to each other “Have a nice day”
If you ever visit you will have no reason to be
Bored in Manhattan
Categories:
boroughs, adventure, culture, environment, usa,
Form:
Free verse
in thee event
the gothic garlgores
shall fly away
from their ledges
chasing the doves
deep within the hedges
startling bearded crows
ice skating over lake michigan
gazing back
at lake shore drive
in the event
the roaring stone lions
guarding dusable entrance way
shall leave their throne becoming docile
purring at my feet as fountains flow
of fresh running tears
from the garden of forever
everyone will know
in the event
connecting canals valleys with tunnels
throughout sleeping boroughs
gathering within the palm of my hand
in thee event
across the ocean upon white sand
i shall perch weeping
in that final hour bidding farewell
divinely we shall all sup
from the very same cup
Categories:
boroughs, beautiful, visionary,
Form:
Crown of Sonnets
While crossing Verrazano Narrows Bridge
recurring mem’ries of New York recapture
history and civilization of the two boroughs
provide me with deep interest and emphasis.
Brooklyn in its old Dutch for “broken land,”
and Staten Island named “Staaten Eylandt”
named in the early 1600s by Henry Hudson,
trailed off on a tangent through centuries.
A myth or perhaps a legend, the island thus far,
was like a quagmire of townships and disputes;
its meaning to immigrants’ culture and religion,
favored silence, security, peace, and integration.
The burden of too many choices based on clans,
growing businesses and stories of interactions;
new immigrants in droves through generations
like an orchestra combined with a sense of drama.
Reflections of their struggles to make ends meet,
reminded me of articulation through interpretation;
in sobriety of heeding of the composer’s intent,
such a musical piece made me suffer and sweat.
Oh, the pedal, rhythmic vitality and expression!
all these elements comprise what piano playing is,
the technique, in a special way, a benchmark item
indeed, a struggle to interiorize those conventions.
But as a human person with some limitations,
with my own history and capability in playing,
I see where I can be fit and freely express myself;
through movements in diverse missionary works.
As it says in French, “bon débarras, il est partí.”
my life continues with a backlog of other issues,
a different world focused on service to the Lord;
with my own repertory – its beauty to humanity.
It’s true that my prayer for the church at large,
is also a bridge across the gulf of separation;
coming to this borough of Staten Island
a hodge-podge of concerns, covenanted within.
Now that relationship with God and people
brings me to nourish that faith and commitment;
with that long stretch of Verrazano Narrows Bridge,
a metaphor to my own journey as a missionary.
Categories:
boroughs, history, hope, imagination, introspection,
Form:
Narrative
Shimmering sea, glimmering waves
Glistening waters, mirroring moon-glow
Beyond the beaches, coral lagoons
Mellow boroughs, dotting the shore
Rising sun, peaking through the sky
Day has arrived, ousting dark night
Merchant adventurers, sail forth to venture
The deep blue hue, revealed to the crew
Vast is its reach, and cool the salty breeze
Violent are its storms, and mighty its depths
Haunted by sirens, whose tunes take wing
Amid broken dreams, and forlorn hope
Morbid castaways, adrift or ashore
Gaze upon the horizon, dazed and confused
Perhaps they seek, an island of nymphs,
Just like Odysseus, or so they think
This is the sea, daunting and promising
Poseidon’s wonders, for all to see!
All rights released into Public Domain
Categories:
boroughs, adventure, blue, boat, deep,
Form:
Free verse
The surf, ferocious in the distance
white caps and roller coaster waves
nose-dives into the shore
sand rearranged; sea life takes cover-
the hermit crab –boroughs;
the gulls greedy, hungry - grab
remnants of human litter- their meal for the day-
and flee.
Homeward bound.
Rain-
torrents or drizzle feed flora, fauna, man
all given a pardon: one more day to live.
Mother Nature in a cathartic mood sends
the wind, chaotic, blasted, twisted;
or patronizing - to clean and clear.
Then returns the earth to serenity
and life.
Homeward bound.
Geese choreographed in flight
synchronized to fly as one
north to south in the winter
and intuitively reverse when
it’s time to breed and feed.
Homeward bound.
Lovers- finish
the evening’s repartee with a
nightcap of Bailey’s or Port
conjoined as they coo their way.
Homeward bound.
The warrior-committed to peace-
combative, defensive, protective, vigilant,
conflicted- kill or be killed.
The good soldier returns-decorated for bravery- in the box
covered in the coveted colors of the employer.
Some maimed –without limbs, eyes, mind.
The whole- return- many missing-their soul.
Homeward bound.
The dying- incontinent, incoherent, incompetent, in pain
wishes for a reprieve. Moans.
More morphine.
The death rattle gurgling through lungs
ravaged but determined
to discharge the last hooray of life.
Then, so it goes, homeward bound.
Kathy Tauber-2015
Categories:
boroughs, absence, introspection,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Raiding hoards assemble to make the attack;
Aerodromes on high alert, we’ll fight them back.
Brave souls scramble to cockpits everyone;
Awaiting the final vector to where the deed is done.
Away boys! Away!
And off they take to meet their fate,
The dwindling few do not hesitate.
Some to return and some to not;
Together forward they meet the onslaught.
Sirens blare the target is sure,
To your guns lads! We’ll give’em a cure.
Barrage balloons aloft, we’ll keep’em up high,
The gunners are ready, waiting the spotter’s eye.
Run from your flat to the safe tube below,
Gas mask at the ready, you just never know.
The old man leads us in songs of good cheer,
Knowing all the while that our end could be near.
Bombs drop and the guns blaze,
Another neighborhood disappears with a haze.
The docks are burning a bright orange hue,
Damn you bloody bastards, our boys will take care of you!
Swirling trails against blue skies,
Belie the deadly dance taking place before our eyes.
Flaming wreckage, another early grave,
More mothers grieve, have we all gone insane?
Finally all clear, we creep from our boroughs,
Shattered buildings surround, but the Jack’s still unfurled.
Mr. Churchill walks the rubble to buck up our faith,
On the beaches, in the fields and in the streets he says,
We’re standing alone, but to persevere is our fate.
This one is for my dear friend Gladys. She was 11 and living in London during
the blitz.
Categories:
boroughs, courage, history, inspiration, war,
Form:
Rhyme
my anonymity is stalking the streets
like a preoccupation. mornings, slowly I creep
into august daylight, filling beat boroughs.
passing the time: digging fake burrows:
motel rabbitrooms don't come with sheets:
boxes gloomy in the dinge; dead-end streets.
dark corners; alleys; clean and replete.
rowers; faces; kept random, entreat
to be shadowed and cut - copied and reprinted:
E. de Silhouette: silk-screen and tinted.
marionette hands are fire-flies nigh night
like acariasis-itchy eyes: broken from sight
watching the downpour:
downbeat and worn
like tire-worm whitewalls:
peeling and torn.
the blanched, arched faces
(trampled like elephant’s acacia)
are garnets staring blankly at me
between the tiny gaps of a wintertime fleece
a paisley studded blanket, wrapped knee-high round niece.
running tubes from great maple: palsied cold saps
berry's blood ulcer pours like paint with no cap
from a bucket it spills: unravels, unwraps.
It splashes my feet then runs red and abrupt;
silvery and smooth, sanguis from a cup.
Categories:
boroughs, angst, social,
Form:
Rhyme