Best Condominium Poems
Harvard, Princeton or Yale?
I'll take some courses by mail
Engineering or Mathematics?
I'm majoring in Acrobatics
Piano, Violin, Flute or Clarinet?
I'll play my music on the Internet
Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton or Dickens?
Give me a J.K. Rowling tale of Wiccans
Pheasant under Glass with Caviar?
Slice of pizza and fries with that, sir
Sparkling wine, Liqueur or Pink Champagne?
Make mine tapwater -- plain
Mansion or Penthouse Condominium?
A dreary shack, the bare minimum
Representative or Parliamentary Democracy?
Socialist Republic, where everything's given to me
Life offers you choices, let there be no doubt
The worst thing you can do is take the easy way out
An elderly television
speaks to her
in a deafened condominium.
Curtains billow
turning daylight on and off.
Sometimes she looks
in her mind,
often an old movie is playing.
She sees her late husband
dancing with Ginger Rogers.
She goes to the bathroom,
puts in her teeth, wanting to look
her very best.
Ciggy’s day out this is just another normal walk but where shall I go to the haberdashery or to the local library on this wonderful February day. I think I will start at the library and look for a book on an auto harp or maybe a book about a calliope. So I can use them in my collaboration latter today. I am a little thirsty I think I will get a soda in an aluminum can of course with no algae. Now back to my condominium I will go cuz it’s time to start my live web show.
David was a Symbol, he was a king,
But Samuel was a prophet, who spoke for my Savior,
Barak is a symbol, he is a politician,
But Jeremiah is a prophet, who speaks for my Savior,
I do not look to Barak for salvation,
I look to him to symbolize a new beginning,
He is not the solution for my people,
Nor can he be,
Jeremiah, speaks truth to power,
And so he has my reverence,
Barak navigates power, and so he has my respect,
Barak cannot stop misogyny in Hip Hop,
Any more than Bill Clinton could address devil worship in Heavy Metal,
He is a man, he is a symbol, nothing less and nothing more,
But I love him, like I love the gangsta’s in my condominium complex,
For like those gangsta’s,
He is America,
For like Jeremiah,
He is America,
For like Hillary,
He is America,
And so let it begin,
This new beginning,
Symbols in symbiotic knowing,
But my Savior,
He is not just a man,
He is a high priest of an unknown order,
He is the alpha and the omega,
And it is he, that I serve.
My room, which is in our school's condominium is miles away from home. All alone, I stay in this beautiful room which has one glass window and two sliding glass doors . On weekends, especially Sundays, it is so quiet here and peaceful. Neighbors are few, their doors are closed and many of them go back home. At first, melancholy was killing me. Finally, I've found some good diversions; which had extricated this feeling. In tandem with my household chores is sitting here in a balcony where a very fantastic view I see! Overlooking here are swimming pool, manmade lake, the flying birds and squirrels running and swaying on the branches of those tall green trees. So, I really find this balcony a perfect place to stay while silence engulfs me. In here, I play piano and paint; then, conglomerations of feelings I have as I write my poetry.
In Your Heart
The tall green trees are beckoning,
They can sense what I feel;
Those squirrels which make sounds and grin,
They've secrets to reveal .
Silence will never make you sad,
It refreshes your mind;
You can enhance your skills and pray,
In your heart, you can find.
Written: Sept. 1,2012
First Place Winner
Contest: My Quiet Place
Contest Judged: 9/17/2012
Sponsor Poet: Sara Kendrick
June 29, 2021, in an early morning hour,
While most of the residents in a Surfside condominium were asleep
The South apartment building of the Champlain Tower
Collapsed, with 97 confirmed dead and counting, over 60 more missing.
Horrible pictures document the building rubble in a ghastly heap;
Leaving South Miami residents in shock, while rescuers and recovery units scour
Through the ruins looking for anything relatives will want to keep.
SECOND PLACE WINNER
Written July 20, 2021
Especially for “Julyme” poetry contest
Sponsored by William Kekaula
Something for my lady, gettin that money by any means.
Who get with the player type, a thug, from the hood with good dreams,
Who kick it in high heals, plenty tank tops, camouflage, fatigues
Her thongs clear to the vision, so you can see some good things
Stretch marks, body smoother then Marble floors in Hamptons
Lampin' large in a condominium or mini mansion
Sidekick mobile phone, three flip like kirk
I'm very religious, superstitious, and like David I ain't scared to flirt
I'm from the dirt, root and soot. Came up on my own foot.
Used to hang with the crooks, But now I'm legit don't ask where I work just know keep a job
on the books.
I took my chance with many girls, but until I looked for a woman.
I got one thats crazy, sexy & cool. Waterfalls, good lookin'.
I can remember back in school, being judged by chicks,
People hearing I have some money, suddenly I'm the sh,
Past baby's mama, drama, karma, dillemas and problems
got me writing this jingle, ready to mingle, Holla, holla, holla, holla.
Condo Commando Landings
They came in shiny silver saucer shaped air ships
With cylindrical flashing red lights in the night
From Planet New Jersey
Alien space crafts…. I mean .… weather balloons, (according to NASA)
From many light years…. I mean… traffic lights away
Landing in Miami first with a thirst for power
They slithered from the… ‘Weather balloons” in zombie brigades
Heads tilted, drooling, snorting and looking for trouble
Your condominium community is their new headquarters
Condo commandos are here to stay
A cruel fiduciary species without any borders
Going from door to door
Giving owners & tenants lists of rules with magnitudinal orders
Millions of regulations, line item expenses, and assessments
You must fulfill….You will fulfill…you will comply or die!
“Resistance is futile!” They cry…. Or mumble…or moan
Or whatever it is the walking dead do
If you walk on pavements you will be fined
If you have babies they must return to the womb
No plants…. No flowers… No signs on your condos
And keep your doors closed at all times
Don’t think about crime. Don’t ask any questions
And pay your condo dues or be sequestered
Mae Baneda Jackson reigns
from her throne,
a crate on the side
of the crossway
before the feeder at
S610 at S288.
Her kingdom encompasses
a grassy knoll in
the greatest country in the world.
Like Nzinga, with cinders in her eyes,
She rises like the phoenix,
dazed by the sunlight.
She could have been.
Borne and buried
alive in Jasper, Texas.
She vanished from
Jefferson High School
like a phantom.
An invisible woman,
the alcohol dyed her lips
permanently pink,
like a passionflower.
Her smell was musky
like passion fruit.
Hair, curly like lambs wool,
skin like burnished copper,
shoeless, crusty toes,
she embraces her box,
and builds a mansion
(condominium, apartment,)
with dreams of something
lofty, like a full meal
in a restaurant and
a house with a door and a yard,
or maybe just a bed
that didn't have nails in it.
Scraps of discarded aluminum,
shopping carts, rags and pieces of
cardboard are found treasures.
Her breakfast is from the trash of the
convenience store in the gas station
across the way,
but she always says grace.
And when you hand her a dollar
or a quarter or a ten,
she says thank you.
If you pass her by,
or roll your window up,
or speed by,
or never even see her,
she still sings to herself,
some old Supremes song,
"Stop in the name of love,"
that her dear departed mother loved.
Mae Baneda swims
in a sea of gas fumes.
See her at the crossway,
her arms outstretched,
swimming in blood.
of course there are absurd mornings
for example this one where the rain gives in
the sun shines displayed
and it's almost may
can i keep the weapons
collect the traps
is the security of solid wednesdays
I already knew that we would be saved
when the mall next door closed
but my old neighbor is still bloodthirsty
insulting the janitor
there is something proverbial with these two
a cruel clash between generations
as for me, I stopped being a rebel
I don't press all the elevator buttons anymore
now I almost separate the dry waste from the organic
I greet everyone falsely
and with the guide half loose
I walk my fierce dog.
we tried time
for many of our own discrepancies
there is not enough we bellowed
from cave to condominium
grabbed disrespectfully its minutest
portion and dragged it to court.
there is the job lined up,
on the line or maybe in line
the latest craze to master
the kinder need camp
planning for the future
and must keep up with those Jones
whom ever they may be
no one has ever found them, yet.
untouched time moved on
as it always will
pitying we poor folks.
"Faith Can Move Mountains."
I have heard that term time and time again,
but it is for the most part a misunderstanding.
The only time that I witnessed faith move mountains,
was when an entrepreneur had FAITH in his vision,
and then took ACTION,
to bulldoze those mountains into the background,
and erect where they once stood a complex condominium.
Faith alone does not accomplish anything,
unless you approach that faith with the appropriate action.
I am hooked deep inside my cavern-hanging host
replicating in cosy subterranean cell
night-time radar feeding my needful innermost
viral reservoirs overflow with gruesome gel
I slurp onto scaly creature, grimly scuttling
fissures unfold, revealing gory condominium
caged meal within a meal, proximity shuttling
re-absorbed, disturbed, unsettling equilibrium
I emerge, swimming 'Trojan' in moisture flowing
aqueous channel opening, internal organ-treat
indulged, engorged, rapacious appetite growing
coughed-up bipedal phlegm, damp cold air to greet
I am scooped again, adjacent cloth, nearby skin
bodies pressing, heavy breath, compulsive sneeze
defences haemorrhage, weakened corpses grin
death is killing me, wretched repulsive wheeze
I seep through porous mask and sweating gland
my time is spent, havoc wrought, no place to go
anti-bodies gathering, hostile hordes at hand
I am oblivion but still have many names to know
The sandy beach awaited the celebration,
We were with relatives and friends.
We had a lovely dinner together,
After dinner we went out on the porch facing the beach.
I had collected shells which I had displayed on the bench
Shells of varying shapes and sizes.
They had fireworks profiled with excellence,
The sky was the background for the display.
We were with our favorite companions,
Enjoying the warmth of the Sarasota weather.
A midnight swim in the swimming pool guested,
We all liked swimming, our parents had taught us.
i wore a royal purple swim suit especially for the Christmas holidays,
My relatives liked swimming in the swimming pool.
A glass of champagne guested where we celebrated the New Year,
With relatives, friends and good neighbors.
We retired in the evening to our very comfortable and somewhat posh
condominium,
These are good memories that God and our parents have given us.
Author: Gwen von Erlach Schutz
I sailed an olive boat
into the center of the sea
alone
to find a cure for my loose heart
not the spring-back type, noble with elasticity
but leap-forward lecher-wild
binding to any skirted frame and drooping hemline
like friendly burrs in shrubbery lanes
sat in an olive boat
drifting mid-seas
unaccompanied but for Hope to land a cure upon my knees
to heal my lousy, narcissistic zeal
an insatiable human thinks like a possessed apiary
an overwrought dam
I tonsured my beatific locks
as bare as Samson
hoodwinked
by his pet Flytrap
tossed reflective surfaces, anything that would give my face
a way to self-seduction
safe in a roasted green-pea float
lost like dead at sea
to recover a voice that scarcely has been mine
its echo returns not
through bursting towns
busy at trade
hawkers cawing,
hucksters' crow delirious,
chattering cashboxes
traffic snakes wending
Nowhere do they end in time
always metal and rust
ferric towering towers, condominium pride,
noisome domiciles, toxic steel cages
barring the success of this voice~
the sound of your mind drowned inside the urban brawl
not a jot of space to reckon nor conciliate
blushing-rushing-golden consciences
an echo may not return to its sender then ~
a man with no name.