Best Suburban Poems

, 
riddles N' rainbows paintbrush the day
summer's heaviness invades
rain circumvents geraniums 
ant's N' azaleas dance through sidewalks 
where tiny green grass creep 'neath weeds 
to see sun seed grey with bright 
frogs N' grasshoppers flop along
best friends 
when storm clouds bend beyond old oak trees

boys...

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Observe the bending of tree & flower.
To rages; a gale… in tempestuous hours.!
Rain deep in curtain, makes interplay;
Fresh night skies, await the sun in power.

Morn air stirs, Lady’s chinking; breakfast crocks.
Day-streams 'cross backyards, endless blocks.. 
Splashes as sound; tables, are scrubbed..
Cars all hues; white thru...

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Chickadee flies low
looking for food he buried
runs into a tree.

Copyright © Cynthia Jones
Jan.28/2013

I haven't penned one of these in a while....

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Suburban Spring	
(4.15.10)


	Springtime fills the air, 
			like laughing gas.
		(Or maybe more like whiskey.)
The suburbs are drunk on the nectar of it's dawn.
	Middle-class houses 
			are starting to dance.
		(Or maybe they're just wobbling.)
They vomit whole families onto their lawn.

			I watch them the same way dogs watch TV:
				Confused and...

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A tree bends over 
not to smell the sweet grasses 
but to pick up leaves. 

Copyright © Cynthia Jones 
Sept.17/2005 

Just having fun with words....

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SUBURBAN DECAY.

First glance,
On a Dullton day,
Golden years,
First glance,
eyes meet 
to dance.
Both so old,
Winter's fling
on summer's daze,
Languid heat,
even his dog trod slow,
shops half closed,
wishing weeds a'blow,
Suburban decay,
Going nowhere much today,
Rotted pavement,
Greet and meet, 
Their last romance,
Beyond first glance,
withering blasts 
from adult kin,
deleted to trash,
Golden oldies,
family misfits,...

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He's the last of the suburban cowboys
At the end of the cul-de-sac.
Oh, he may still have that Western Channel
To bring his memories right back--
But those days of Roy Rogers and Trigger,
They're now just fading to black--
He's riding alone in his condo home
And that's the gall...

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This is my peanut 
the one down there is mine too 
I know, I dropped it. 

Copyright © Cynthia Jones 
Sept.12/2013 

I figured I would take one of my many pictures I snapped while walking around the park and make a poem out of it....

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Well, get up on time,
See your days pass by.
Don’t ask questions,
To leaders of suppression.
Cause court is in session.
Obey this do that,
When you go out,
Don't wear hood or hat.

Ah, eat more Tyson food
City gave us a candle,
Ask for a meal, they might be in a good...

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I can be your sister and your brother
Your husband and your mother
I’ll bake and clean and treat you mean
Be your quarter back on our own private team
I’ll prepare your meals and iron your clothes
Leave your supper on the table as I walk out of the...

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It's Saturday in suburbia U.S.A.
Lawn mowers buzzing, chores underway

Planting and pruning, nourishing flowers that will bloom
To announce and brighten the month of June

Contented cats perch on fences high
Loftily appraising the collared dogs led by

To the dogpark, filled with Frisbees and tennis balls
A meelee of fur,...

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In the grass, I lay my head,
a pillow soft, a verdant bed,
blades of fingers gently wrap
around my limbs, a loving trap.

Leaves rustle up their lullaby 
as buzzing bees go buzzing by 
a symphony of sight and sound 
out of the grass life lives unbound—...

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The suburbs have been a part of the lives of all Americans, especially that of the  awesome Caucasians. It's been affecting the lives of all U.S. citizens since the day frozen TV dinners were invented. There's a lot of suburban communities that are outside...

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Suburban life is quiet.
It's as peaceful as can be;
And out the window is the sky
And every type of tree.

The snow is white and blinding,
Though it's on the ground for days.
The lifestyle is deserving of
The highest form of praise.

There's lots of room for roaming
In the houses...

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In raw dawn I emerge
crow-thoughts
pecking skull-bone
black as plowed earth.

Farm-stench floods –
dung, hay and blood –
primal musk of life
and death intertwined.
Yet in this first breath
of day there’s a peace
and so stillness
rising from the land
like a satin prayer.

Twin mountains loom
granite-toothed giants
gnawing at the pale sky’s
underbelly.
I but a...

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