Best Subdivision Poems
The thick numerous shoots of grass have come out,
no more snow shovels til late autumn comes about.
I hear the robins chirp as they tend their nests,
wait....the sound of a cranky lawn mower chugging
to life from its winter's rest!
Quickly, dear, go out and mow before everyone else
does!
our yard needs to look perfect, 'cuz-
the neighborhood spring lawn mowing wars have
just begun,
it's quite serious, not so much fun.
Yard envy is so common in our subdivision,
The HOA "Yard Of The Month" prize brings derision.
If the young couple who just moved in across the
street think their landscaping is the best,
my roses and begonias will put them to the test.
Hubby can't start the riding mower,
he's cursing its parentage midst dandelions
and clover.
The other men in the cul-de-sac are already
halfway done,
as their wives bring out iced tea for them
under the strong sun.
Well, well, tomorrow is the neighborhood
block party,
I've already made an array of warm weather
dishes so hearty,
My potato salad and baked beans will surely
be the envy of the other cooks,
it is in the good 'ol American spirit-
to compete and be a smug schnook! ~
I don’t know
where dreams go..
Maybe they take form in the sky
a genesis of nothing but cloud castles,
building subdivision into an eternity
where no one’s ever home.
Or maybe the winds drift them through time,
lazily pacing histories progress
searching to reseed on fertile ground.
Thistledown dreams.
Some of them might
be that kind.
Like the prayers whispered through battered lips
where the fight for freedom
blood lets on the ground of reason
for what the bible was reputed to have said.
Prayers for Acceptance,
Peace,
Love
and Wholeness.
Prayers for freedom
wave flags to the breezes
that blow on by,
looking for that fertile ground
that we have yet
to prepare.
I don’t know
where dreams go..
But I want my field ready
my mind open
my heart warm.
I want the dreams of my people
of all my relations
to have a place to be..
I PRAY FOR A SIGN
Lost in the world I see no vision
Amidst my fellow men I see subdivision
Death is but a necessity and not a decision
The world is doomed, God heeds to no admission
Tears tainted on the faces of the unborn
Our world is doomed as our mothers still mourn
Crying day and night we hope for a new dawn
A better tomorrow is as good as a light at the end
of the tunnel unknown
Mother deliberately drowns her new born in hot boiling water
While a father rapes his one and only five year old daughter
The world is at end as we are bound for the slaughter
Be warned of the last days because we are
still in the last quarter
Voices of sorrow echo inside my head
My heart bleeds more, each time children are
pronounced dead
The wars we started never to end
Is this the life that of which we shall die?
Like we never cared…
Email: [email protected]
Under the wrought iron arch and gateway
crawling with both wild and deep red creepers
complimented by evergreens.
The fall colors are splendid.
Most of the flowers are giving way
to the chill, and the swans are graceful and content
with the breeding season now over
Walking slowly along the narrow drive,
spots of color scatter around the green grass.
What beautiful yards,
each house made of stone,
granite - marble - sandstone.
The foundation of the earth
Dark stone black, pink, white, gray, burnt umber, rose
beautiful houses inviting you closer,
please see my name.
I was here many years ago.
Cholera came to me and took my spirit away.
But I was pretty and young and full of joy.
For a little while.
Old stones to the early 1800's.
Stones with angels guarding a lamb
baby tears fall, in time giving the stone soft edges.
One from yesterday.
Come see me in my house. Mausoleum strong and tall.
Handsome and successful.
Each as individual in death as their homes and places were in life.
Over here, I fought for my country. Me and all my buddies here,
laid out under each of these many white crosses.
Hello, don’t forget my free spirit ... riding high over the houses
touring where ever the wind wishes.
Swirling fine invisible ashes through the trees
sparkling in the late closing sun.
A town’s history. Natural, tragic, sickness, murder ... all here
The history wraps around the casual visitor.
Keening out not to be forgotten.
Calling, we were important pioneers.
The end of day sun setting on their windows
Aglow with the spirit of yesteryear.
My dad, born today, the 17th of February
bucked fate head-on, courageous and daring
Raised in a home on a block so poor
he swam upstream, de rigeur
In 1926, all his teeth fell out
lack of fluoridation won that bout
In 1929, young brother Sidney died of malnutrition
the family couldn't afford to see a physician
In '33, he chucked religion, came to Chicago on a mission
to look for a job midst the Great Depression
His family had gambled on their decision
that my father Maury's iron-willed ambition
Would see brother Herman through dental school
which my dad would pay for, as a hard-working fool
And so he did (!) and so it went, 'till my father Maury was
sent overseas, B.A. in hand, to fight Adolph Hitler in a foreign land
When he returned, he earned himself a law degree
married his sweetheart Maxine with two pennies
or three to his name, he toiled at his law firm's bottom
'till he saved so much money that a ranch house he got him
in Highland Park, Illinois in a subdivision on a tree-lined street
my dad's rags-to-relative-riches story, a Horatio Alger throwback treat
Since you’ve been gone.
I lost you…
Died within to reform a better me
Consoled my fears to become a better me
Hid my tears to show a stronger me
My feelings dealt with
I no longer write to please
My words a sharp jab never to appease
I changed…
Never been approved
Never been achieved
Never been unleashed
My heart in chains never to feel
Never been tamed
Never been construed
All the negatives turned to positives…
Numb to my feelings I still write to be free
My words a death-wish to your prominence
A subdivision to a lingering dominance
You succumbed to their lies
Certified your hopes to fake cries
Love is not what you seek no more
A clean slate…
No more destiny or luck to consider the term “fate”
New and improved
The past-a-fortress built within
Dear old me, goodbye…
Our stay in the
mushrooming subdivision
Ashley Springs
can achieve full ownership only
by meeting the developer’s
latest requirements...
six bushes and two deciduous trees,
keep your garbage can in the garage.
Such restrictions have put the whole
neighborhood in the throes of unrest.
Gears are clashing even as I write.
To sully the community spirit
in this way evokes emotions which
attempt to sidestep legality.
We more flexible newbies,
about thirty in number now
are pitted against
the established oldies
who could grandfather out of some of
the constraints based on length of residence.
Solution? It’s our property now!
Mr. Developer. Your raw power gains nothing
by the forcing of personal preference.
written May 27, 2018
I lay my head down to sleep to the calm and peaceful sound of music flowing through the thick trees cruising from the subdivision below my dwelling.The rhythmic sounds of crickets and frogs composed a beautiful sympony and spawned a strange unfamiliar song that lay motionless on my ear, forcing me to absorb the quiet scent of the night and fall asleep without fear.In the dead heat of the night something thrust me from my bed and I found myself in the tumult of everyday life wrestling with the bearded probe again .I discovered my truck in a parking lot with bright white paint applied to the side. A sheet of paper lays flat in the windscreen bearing a name and number "Why should someone paint my truck in white", I muttered silently to myself.This strange happening propelled me to anxiously called the number.A high pitched voice woman answered the phone and gave me directions to find her. I drove endlessly humming a tune until I ended up on the other side of town. As tacky as it seemed and as gloomy as it appeared I entered the place without fear. I parked outside an unpaved parking lot and entered a tall gigantic apartment building and walked up the stairs. Suddenly two young women met me half way and told me that they would take me to the person who painted my truck .All three of us ventured down the stairs and pounced upon a confused crowd of people walking aimlessly up and down the streets while motor vehicles sprawled out everywhere.We hurriedly walked passed a depot and saw hard working men dressed in military suits standing next to barbed wire fences loading people urgently into trucks.They were recruiting barbers and people with skills to join them while screaming and shouting as if they were on the auction block. Many people boarded the truck but we shoved our way through the crowd until we reached a crowded market. The two young woman suddenly disappeared and left me alone standing there.I searched for my truck but I could not find it.Dawn brought the night's fury to an end and I was relieved to be back to reality again.
©2014 Christine Phillips
A sunken tombstone lay on either side,
The wall itself enswathed in moss and fern,
Fragmented, as the bond of blood which died
Before the grave envelopped each in turn.
Two brothers who had once been closest friends
Who ran through fields and forests hand in hand,
Too proud and hard of heart to make amends,
Had forced a subdivision of the land.
Their Father, by such hatred torn apart,
With his own weathered hands had built the wall
Each brick ripped out a portion of his heart
Partitioning his sons once and for all.
Now woodland hides their memories from sight
But passers-by will often stop and stare
To contemplate man's universal plight
And wonder why the rugged wall is there.
10.10.20
A Wall In The Woods Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish
N/A COMPLETELY YOUR CHOICE (28)any form any theme Brian Strand JUDGED :10/18/2020
Hm's And Na's October 2020 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
Here is my story, raw and uncut.....
I was a DJ at a small gentleman's club - I loved music, and so I had an "ear" for mixing
tracks, plus with my passion of creative writing I wrote lyrics to songs. But working in a club
you're around alcohol, and drugs. I quickly got hooked on cocaine, the rich mans drug.
Liquor and cocaine was my thing. On the night of my crime, A "homeboy" of mine came
over to my apartment with some coke, I had the liquor. So we begin getting high, drinking
liquor while playing the Playstation2. We got a call from a mutual friend, a girl we had both
dated. She asked us to come over. We said we were on our way.
Now by this time, I remember, I was soooo messed up man. But I got in my car, him in
the passenger seat - on the way to Jenny's house, we are passing the bottle of Jack back and
forth. It's around 2ish in the morning. I was off that night from work.
So we pulled in the driveway, we went around back, like we always do at her house.
(Everyone goes to the backdoor). The door was unlocked, lights were off, all was quiet - we
figured she was asleep. My homeboy goes straight to the kitchen to fix him a sandwich -
don't ask me, I have no clue how he could eat. I go into the living room, she's laying on a
futon, I jump down next to her, playfully saying, "Girl get your ass up." But to my surprise
an older woman jumps up saying , "What are you doing in my house?" _ Now understand I'm
high out my mind, I was invited to Jenny's house. Who is this woman screaming, "Get out of
my house!" I say, "Where is Jenny?" And she says "No Jenny lives here!" - Then like a light
switch comes on! I realize, "Shoot I'm in the wrong house." - Now I know what you're
thinking (How would I not know?) I can only say with the amount of alcohol and coke, and
the fact, the houses looked the same (It being a subdivision) I believe that's what they call it.
So I take off running "Man we in the wrong house" I tell my homeboy. As we are leaving
I'm asking him questions like (How we not realize this isn't Jennys office?) He's got this big
stupid look on his face - A lot of what happened that night has come back to me over the
years. And the look on his face when I asked him that question confirmed - we sure was
trashed!
Continued in Part 2
Between waking and slleeping,
I noticed two men,
I knew they were naZis,
They were measuring my body,
And what's more they had a name for my body type,
Geraudeaus,
They called it,
#Further investigation proved that there is a paodophilic cult,
A subdivision of the now everomnipresent Nazis in this world,
Whoi rule this world by stealth,
Not dictatorship or fear.
A narrow street separates my subdivision from the graveyard,
a place for the living,
a place for the dead,
a place for us all.
Both under the sun and bathed at once in shadow,
are they so far removed?
It's a good feeling to see
The natural voice of nature
Is so soothing to hear
The sounds of the birds singing
It so sad because the experience
Is short lived and unexpected end
It's near to be lost and unseen
Big building will soon arise
The place will soon be full of houses
Convert into subdivision and high rise
No more bird's music, no more nature
No more fresh air, no more chills.
When my family and I moved into this house in 1977, Dad was our patriarch.
For four decades I have lived in a subdivision that is called Crosby Park.
Today I've lived in this subdivision for forty years.
I was only five years old when I moved here.
When a person lives at a place for that many years, it fits like a glove.
This is where I'll live for the rest of my life and it's a place that I love.
I'll tell you why my place means more to me than it did just ten years ago.
It's because this place is now mine and there's no place like home.
Carnival without merit, affinity, and association
Brash, bellowing band bleeting notes in oscillation
Circus creatures cavorting about with every unseemly provision
Cascading, carnival chorus clanging through every subdivision
Haughty, kilted henchmen trotting in front of the procession
Decadently-dressed damsels fawning at mock adulation
Coarsely-clad clowns tromping along in derision
Freaky, festooned floats fluttering through every alley and intersection
Ghastly garlands strewn about with every drunken petition
Teaming, throbbing townspeople on marauding mission
Corrupt Councilors culled and paraded about in degradation
Frugal, free-loading foragers scraping up every token donation
Vacuous, votive vendors profitting from their abnegation
Ebullient, enterprising entrepreneurs scalping without aversion