Best Suburbia Poems
Your love is real
the love you feel.
Your love is great
the love you make.
Your records are on fire
its your desire.
Take me out tonight
and go wild and crazy,
or be fat and lazy.
So I played some Doors
and saw some whores.
So I said goodbye
and they all must die, fool.
So dig my guts
and eat my brain
and then go insane.
I don't
Care I love it
so forget it, Punk!
cupcake.
dollface.
blue eyed beauty.
cookie cutter girl,
princess of suburbia.
she's sick,
because she likes it.
blood confetti on her notebooks,
the twinkle in her eye.
staining words on twisted minds.
her followers.
they want to taste the berries on her lips,
feeling the metallic taste in her mouth.
they love the broken things,
mangled shoelaces,
hearts torn apart.
they look up to her.
she used to play with barbie dolls.
turning them into baby prostitutes,
coke heads,
models who rose above.
she used to sing to herself in the basement,
or where ever there was running water.
math makes her brain itch.
wal-mart makes her claustraphobic.
so lets break out,
she thinks,
slipping valium into her teddy bears head.
no need to hide from the monsters of her mind.
theyve already gotten to her.
Lawn furniture flavored ice cream
served in moxa cups
Candied eyes of freshwater bream
pickled bushdog pups.
Pig pizzle wrapped around a stick
grilled upon the deck
Woven rope with cat head and brick
hung about your neck.
Marzipan violin bowed by a stoat
badminton played widdershins
A toast of poison without antidote
barefoot on needles and pins.
We are drawn here for the festivity, to glorify His name.
In our crimson best, presents wrapped gaily, to glorify His name.
Joyous revelers and their dutiful handlers arriving.
Doors open, we are welcomed heartily, to glorify His name.
Presents not expected, but the mistress will not feel neglected.
Material offerings stacked neatly, to glorify His name.
The High Priestess, same outfit as daughter she wears, begins the Mass.
Tailless donkey, fat clown smirks knowingly, to glorify His name.
The sacrificial ham, its remains doused in mustard and served up
In a Wonder Bread coffin festively, to glorify His name.
Materialistic revelry, the presents torn asunder
Young onlookers seethe deliriously, to glorify His Name.
Priestess brings out decorated cake, pink frosting, five blazing flames
Candles trace pentagram, implicitly, to glorify His name.
Ice cream Bacchanaila, another unhinged Saturnalia
Revelers sway intoxicatedly, to glorify His name.
Sugar crash dysphoria, the merrymaking ends tearfully.
Priestess signals the Mass’ ending quickly, to glorify His name.
Thomas asks, with tremulous hesitation and no small dreading,
Is Jimmy’s birthday party next Sunday, to glorify His name?
3/13/16
For the "Give me a Gazal" contest by Timothy Hicks
Electric Bleeps and bloops
Powerlines buzzing as the
Sunset going behind the roofs
O’lovely neighborhood lost
Facades of families
And degeneration
Of cultural paradigm
No crime
Just a hollow
husk town
Consuming the lives o’the poor folks
Sigh sigh
but alas
The community
dies
slowly
highway burning over the hill
and man I’ve got way too much
time
to kill
Wavy grass carpet,
Manicured green lawn stretching
To horizon's end.
I don't live near the ocean,
But I long to hear the waves.
I don't live near the mountains,
It'd be cool to see the caves.
To far from the city lights,
To be considered hipster.
To far from a working farm,
To get a working blister.
Dwelling in suburbia,
Sounds of mowers fill the air.
The only lights are porches,
No farms or caves anywhere.
Ode to suburbia,
The land of human cages.
Friendly waves may fill the air,
But inside everyone rages.
"Know yourself and you will win all battles" – Sun Tzu
Jesus of Suburbia, He
who hits rock bottom
with timely persistence,
gets HIGH
on the burning cross
of Drunken Hostility..
-THIS IS NOT A RELIGION;
St. Jimmy knows that
Monday's belittling unfolds
into Holsten-Pilsner-Fastbock sippin',
and something like
seven-day drug binges...
----> Still he awakens
in a pool of piss, LISTLESS,
and because the pills
are gone,
Jimmy claims to have lost
the will to go on
:{
He's done.
but. but. but. but. but. but...
The son of dusk
always resurrects at dawn...
SOBRIETY
returns to Earth
like Christ, or
the shittiest pop song.
*I should really go do some homework...*
Walking past their witching cackles
and Phantom screams I noticed
them all looking the same
External, different
Masquerading they all were
pulsing to the rhythm of
their hearts and music
Symphony of noise all around
Internally they are all different
each their won unique voice,
look, feelings, they only differ
from the masked appearances
all of them united in their
dance. They internally do not
know each other, their
Suburb homes, Suburbian
life, faking rap/hip-hop
appreciation, they don't know
each other and yet, masked
on this night, they still don't
The moonlight allows me to
see the truth of this Masquerading
Troupe of Suburbia.
See that pastel world
realm of green lawns and mansions.
An elite kingdom.
Trim prim lawns
Glistening dew drops
In the summer sun
Trim slim blades
Evaporating raindrops
In the summer sun
I hail you suburbia!
You who can neatly replace nature's disorder
And transform it into a methodical scheme
Of meterical dwellings and measurable property
You who is prepared for the chopping of unruly grass so green
And the bagging of it all in a plastic sack
a blue chevy impala basks in a suburban driveway
like a beached whale it oozes gases and black oils
its seeping white walls beg for rubber movements
little boy inside the house sits on a pleated couch
he watches the setting sun through a screen door
fat mother stirs pudding in a wall-papered kitchen
smoking father works a tv guide crossword puzzle
he flicks white hot dust into a crystal glass ashtray
the corner television set transmits black and white
cathode rays of a half-naked wrestler pinned down
the destroyer with mask on lifts his victorious arms
little boy hears calliope music in the green distance
the ice cream man comes with dry ice and cologne
still three blocks away he makes another long stop
fat mother fries bloody meats in a fiery blue skillet
she turns on boss radio to hear elvis sing the blues
little boy goes to the admiral and turns the channel
bishop sheen appears in black cursing the darkness
skipper frank implores the kids to brush after meals
tennessee tuxedo chases tiger tornado to megapolis
smoking father finishes a tv guide crossword puzzle
the ice cream man arrives with dry ice and cologne
Been landscaping crew cuts
Mowing down yards constant
Gravel in its place, hedges and drapes
All for you to live accordingly
In the right scheme
Where wildness is tamed down
Where citizenship, not so profound
So we can go on our way
Planting seeds for the future
Seeding children with identity
Posing God on marble balconies
Any upset to the balance
Police find the scent
Guard dogs and lawn gnomes
Our plastic surreal american lives
clock hanging pendulous
fealty
realty
sitting stoned on the ride to work
dazed and bedazzled by the shining
working, heavy engine roar.
sitting stoned on the way home
waiting
debating
wishing you had
avoided the trappings of middle-class
two-car garage
inflatable
single-serving
trophy wife
life.
Lights moving in time with the music
at a mansion in a neighboring town
Vibrations pounding through the stereo bugle
hark you feel it escalate then drown
projectors casting shadows of colorful hew
raindrops falling to the sound
windshield covered in dew
and moistening the ground
wishing to share that moment
with everyone thereof
but business interferes bestowment
and it was aggregated by the one I love
would have enjoyed it nor
if intuition didn't find me last night
I won't be discussing it to for
just hope everything is alright