Best Urban Poems | Poetry

Below are the all-time best Urban poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of urban poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Urban Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Urban poems are below this new poems list.

The Urban Rap by Loo, Laura
Urban Canvas by Foster, Christen
In The Urban Open Space 2 by Mishra, Ashok Kumar
In The Urban Open Space 1 by Mishra, Ashok Kumar
Urban Sonnet - Vanished by Wolf, Gershon
Urban Morning Sound by Love, Ian
Urban Legend by Morning, July
Concrete and Tarmac - urban sonnet by lawless, John
Neon Night: Urban Sonnet by Cozart, Dale Gregory
URBAN SONNET - FROM YOUTH TO HEAVEN by Talbot, Mick

View all new Urban Poems

The Best Urban Poems

Details | Urban Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Who Am I

I am the ring around Saturn
spinning words as particles of ice and dust
with the power to transcend

I am the original chosen to be right here right now
transmitting verbal frequencies 
through speaking my thoughts into existence

I am the heir of omnipotence,
born with a direct connection to profound abundance 
The one whose words will age, yet still have substance;
since there are no boundaries attached to my pen

I am constant energy
Translating personal experience into imagery 
Vulnerable to tyranny,
yet i continue attempting to share some truth
through this abstract language of poetry

I am the core
I am that I am more
I am the Divine Presence that is the Source of my rewards

I am the green you get when you mix too much yellow with the blue
That shade of gold you get when the sun resides into darkness
and when it ascends in the dawn burning dew
I am the transition between the third and fourth dimension of time;
the love you feel when you realize how it feels

I am the poem that is abstractly direct
because I write beyond limits
absorbing frequencies from 3 to 8 hertz
through meditation for several minutes
I am the one bridging the gap between
the analog ascension and the direct connection to spirit
The one who is love
because I am a descendent  of it

I am the rhythm that the wind blows
I am the beginning and the ending of stories told
about the universe and how miracles unfold
I hold the power to accept judgement from those who will do just that
Not knowing that I am them in the absolute reality of me
Judge that

I am knowledge beyond measure because that is my right
So I continue meeting the different parts of me
when I meditate and write
Who am I?
I AM, THAT, I AM




Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2012


Details | Urban Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Granny Panty Annie, the Tranny

Lemme tell ya' about a
*ding-bat skit-zo 
bee-hotch* tranny
named Annie...

I met her one night 
under disco lights 
up at Candies

She was 
starin' at me
grittin' her teeth
aimin' ta' see 
if I wanted a piece
of he 
OR
of she 
by way of flashin' granny panties

She was
shootin' pool
actin' a fool
so I 
took a shot
and one tiny glance 
but got caught

So I
lit up a smoke
and tried to play it off cool
but it was too late
she had pulled up a stool

She slurred,
"Hey young felluh, where ya' been all my life!"

I replied, 
"Sorry to burst yir' bubble, but I got a wife!"

"That don't matter kid, what she don't know won't hurt the girl" 
as she fisted my collar and yelled, "I'LL ROCK YIR' WORLD! Annie the Tranny is what they call me. Bet you been wanted ta' bone me since you first saw me!"

Fear and frustration danced on my face
I begged the bouncer to 
"Get this he/she outta the place!"

My pleas were to no avail, 
and that sea donkey lurked hot on my trail
flailin' it's arms and grindin' bar stools with it's tail

Speakin' of tails...
a shiny blue wale tail crept up her back
Her jeans were mean, but couldn't hold her underwear's elastic slack
but at least it beat feastin' eyes upon her crack
then she... 
wrapped her grimy hands around my neck and asked, 
"You n' me, boy, what the heck!?!"

I screamed,
"Look here lady, you seem real nice for a tranny;
but...
ya' see...
ya' need 
to hit the bricks,
you
and yir' Granny Panties!"

At that point the joint started to really heat up
people were glarin' like they really wanted me beat up
I can't recall how the hell I got out of there 
alive and free
it was like a big manly freight train
headin' dead at me

I'm pretty sure I owe the good Lord a big favor
that beast was the devil
and Jesus was my Savior!

It's a night I thought would never end... 
the night at Candies Bar n' Grill
Granny Panty Annie got a thrill 
tryin' to make me her sexy friend!!!





Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2012


Details | Urban Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Secretly Obsessed

Obsessed with the thought of you
wondering if it's only me or
if you sometimes remember the sweet things you've said
and if you meant them how I took them
or if I'm just obsessed with what's in your head

Obsessed with your very sentences
Every response I take personal
I know it's selfishness
Have you not noticed my eyes?
They hold secrets that only you can unlock
if you'd just take time to fill the thick juices of my pride
It's just boiling with lust, passion, trust and distrust
and other things I obsess over so much

I find myself writing to free myself from this prison I've created
where only you and I reside
I become confused about what I'm really feeling inside and I 
try to rid the thoughts that are highly debated as false and I
begin to cry and
think of casting love spells so that the universe can deliver this affair
I know it's unfair
but I don't care

I'm obsessed with what hasn't happened between us
I'm obsessed with your heart and that the fact that 
I don't think you've even noticed my selfish innuendos 
and secret undertones that blatantly express my lust
Or maybe you have and you calmly remain in resistance of distrust 
If you could only read my mind by simply touching my fingertips,
I'm sure I'd catch you out the corner of my eye biting your bottom lip
I'm obsessed with the passion and thoughts I think you have
Obsessing over an experience that I may never have....







Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2012


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A country walk

A babbling stream, a peaceful lane
These are the things that I enjoy
As I walk on a summers day
With a warm gentle breeze upon my face

A cottage in a field, with swirling smoke
A family sitting round ready to eat
Rich chicken soup and freshly baked bread
Then five little children all snug in their bed

A flitting bird upon the nest
Protecting her brood from unknown harm
A cow chewing cud all gentle and calm
Then sheep and one dog in one accord

Oh what a beautiful land we have
If we would take the time to see
Instead of rushing through the day
Let’s sit for a while and take it all in



Copyright © julie clark | Year Posted 2014


Details | Urban Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Carcass

The Carcass The shell remains picked clean by hungry vultures ravenous with greed. Gouged-out eyes now bare hollow sockets vacant in their stare. Morsels of choice parts deftly stripped or torn away— and gutted vitals, furtively devoured, have filled the wanton needs of scavengers who shared the feast. The carcass rests flat on bony frame supported once by plump, round legs on which it mightily ran. There it lies— a brittle, empty shell— the poor abandoned Chevy on the Harlem River Drive. December 10, 2015
~1st Place~ Premiere Contest: Bring To Life Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton Judged: 04/14/2018 ~3rd Place~ Contest: East Jesus Sponsor: Roy Jerden Judged: 01/02/2015 Note: Inspired by my many trips to New York City years ago in the late 70s, to visit my father in a hospital there. I would see so many abandoned cars as empty shell carcasses along the drive.


Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2014


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Are There Any of Us Left

The cruel streets I walked made me sad
I looked not at him, nor at her
Those who passed me by, gutter grads
I felt at home among the curs
We were outcasts from hearth and home
Over the land our kind did roam.

Looking here and then searching there
As many as stars in the sky
By foot, by car, sometimes by air
We wanted to understand why
We couldn't go back where we'd been
Burned our bridges and that's a sin.

Some were poets within their hearts
A killer or two in the crowd
And some were like me; a la carte
Doing what it took to be proud
Some chased women, some ran from them
And in the melee some lost a gem.

I sit here writing words of mine
Wondering how many are left
Who write words and sell for a dime
I have escaped death's cold, cold theft 
I have fought the fight and I've won
I'm old yes, but I've just begun 


Copyright © Race Benoit | Year Posted 2014


Details | Urban Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A Different Game

Friends and trouble go hand in hand.
Legends of the  neighborhood.
Like statues  and vacant buildings  still stand.

A crime in plain view no one ever saw.
Held hostage in fear.
The mouse sturggles to escape from 
cats claw.

Blood on the bricks  that stains my mind.
Time takes me away.
Yet never leaves the memory far behind.

Summers in the city nights run into days.
We turn are backs to the truth.
But in this game everyone plays.

Heros are villians  depending 
on who you are.
Stories told bout the other night.
Hidden truths  like the bat under the bar.

The players are future tombstones
Men glorified beyond there name.
the citys children caught within her  confines.
Forced to play a different  game.

 



Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo | Year Posted 2009


Details | Urban Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A Man From Asia

A night of drinking shots, shorts and out of test tubes,
it's summertime so everyone out has removed the pube.
This summer sun means you're always in the mood,
so stock up on batteries, lube and eat leaf food.

Tonight you dance like a dodo would do,
if the dodo re-rose and reproduced loads,
so move your toes, your butt and your nose,
dance the dance of a dodo re-rose.

Dancing is the human mating call,
so make those boobs and balls wobble,
everyone wants to go home with a pull,
if not it's the finger, paw or battery draw of the single.

She dances a dance that is so damn sexy,
you enhance and your underpants become messy.
She looks at you and says "come and get me",
and you say "I'm sorry I've cum accidentally".

Honestly mate that's never happened to me,
at least put it in before the apology.

She then moved towards you and you were both grinding more,
while it seeped down your leg and out on to the dancefloor,
then people started to fall like never before,
you had to many shots to see she was a man whore,
with a very present Adams apple and a bulge more ample than yours. 

She was tucked and taped but the tape fell away,
and out of that mini skirt two big fat balls did sway, 
you didn't pull a woman mate, you pulled a gay,
and trust me when I say she was not very young, 
but I've got to say mate she was very well hung.

It's now morning and you're thinking shall I see her later............
She wasn't fit mate..... she was a man from Asia!

I thought with boobs the balls got removed,
but you found a dude with balls like a moose,
and now you're in for a life of banter abuse,
If I was you mate I'd stay off the booze.

Carlsberg don't do piss ups, but if they did..............

they probably wouldn't talk such crap in their adverts.

22/03/2018


Copyright © Nick Trim | Year Posted 2018


Details | Urban Poem | Create an image from this poem.

It's Two Days After Thursday

Enter the Everest that devastates.
He never ever rests and he demonstrates,
how the greatness activates
traits that forever feed hate,
from enemies full of envious jealousy,
with sad little nul and void abilities.
It's a given that even if you sail the seven seas 
as well as trail the land you will fail,
to topple the unbeatable one,
he is second to none,
so you won't find better people,
clever mortals don't stand equal,
he's leaving them looking feeble,
falling short and in need of support,
one by one each face returns to its common space,
with a disappearance of their cocky ways,
disgraced and put in their place.

Total domination mate,
sinks you into a submissive state,
I'm taking your misses away on a date,
she's blowing me kisses,
she said to say you're finished,
I wish you best wishes
in the sea there are many fishes.

She said to me, 
Left toe, Right toe,
she turned and twerked her butt hole,
celebrate your birthday,
it's two days after thursday,
we visited the bar mate 
cus dancing makes you thirsty,
left toe, right toe
and party like a hero.

My rhymes are dirty,
immature and over thirty,
insults don't hurt me,
athletic and nerdy,
so punches get returned 
and you wake up all hazy,
I'm a master of all trades,
not a jack I get A grades,
I'm exceptional compared to any, 
I'm the Ultimate go-go
God of the rhyme show,
others go, 
way to slow, 
like a Skoda,
I'm a force beyond NASA
thrusting rockets out the ozone,
you're spelling like a bozo,
but don't get lazy cus I can see
you are quite cosy behind me,
you are the second best,
far better than the rest,
I like to have good competition,
It's a fashion to have a comparison,
We make the rest look comical,
we rhyme well,
while the rest are diabolical,
and rhyme stale.
We can tag team up and be great,
while they bag food up and clean plates,
we will live in mansions
while they hope for pensions,
I'm the God of rhyme
you're a King on a throne,
they're rhyme criminals
who become the unknown.

I've got to go mate,
I'm on a date,

She said to me 
Left toe, Right toe,
she turned and twerked her butt hole,
celebrate your birthday,
it's two days after thursday,
we visited the bar mate 
cus dancing makes you thirsty,
left toe, right toe
and party like a hero.


Copyright © Nick Trim | Year Posted 2018


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The Color Missing

The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes.  Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.

‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’



Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013


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The Internet: Rtrn

A void of Facebook
Creativity dies here...
Procrastination!


Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013


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Shawty Got Swag

$hawty Got $wag
Shawty got swag, Shawty mad dope. Face all cheesin’, She real turned up. Goin’ to da club, She steppin' wit her peeps, Lookin’ so ratchet, She’s straight up hoochie.
No racks in her pocket, No stacks in her wallet, But she all into bubbly Slurpin’ and burpin’. Lookin for a big baller, Who’ll give her wat she wants, Wildin’ on the dance floor, Tweakin’ an’ freakin’, Shawty actin' so cra cra! She just like da rest a dem, But Shawty real fly, Sure likes a lotta ice, Bling bling, and Benjamins.
Shawty creepin’ to hook up Coz she needs a boo wit finesse, Who’ll give her Yves St. Laurent, 5-star hotels, and 5-star restaurants. Shawty off the chain, Shawty off the hook, She got game and she’s aight! Shawty da bomb - fuh real!!!
08-18-2014 Contest: Ebonics – Let’s Do Some Slang Sponsor: Verlena S. Walker Placement: 1st Some Terms and Definitions: shawty – a young attractive female; dope – cool, nice, awesome; swag – style; turn up – excited; mad – really a lot; peeps – friends, close pals; baller – a thug that made it in the big time; racks/stacks– lots of money; aight – alright; wildin’– to go crazy, acting out of control; cra cra – crazy; tweakin’/freakin’ – dancing provocatively and moving around out of control; cheesin’ – smiling; finesse – man who has swag and can spend a huge amount of money; ratchet – ghetto diva; creepin’ – sneaking about; bubbly – champagne; bling bling – expensive flashy jewelry; Benjamins – hundred dollar bills; boo – one’s lover; da bomb – the best of the best; game – skills; ice – expensive flashy jewelry usually diamonds or jewelry with diamonds; off the chain/off the hook – excellent, fantastic, awesome; fly – cool, in style; hook up – getting together with someone romantically; hoochie – a female who dresses trashy; straight up – absolutely, really.


Copyright © Pandita Sanchez | Year Posted 2014


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Generic Oppression Poem

Oppressed by you, your state, your religion
So you think you good, kind and Superior
But I find you  cruel, arrogant and callous
But that is just in my view, what do I know?

You control the language that describes pain
But there is no for me in its grid, or how I feel
My soul is ripped from my body and bound,
On to your machines on which I slave and toil.

You say it has to be this way, no room for doubt
Master and slave, it is only a matter of degrees
But it is my kind that is always tied to the rack
While you sip vintage wine in the lap of luxury.

Everything has its time and its place, yours is over
End is near, for you and everything you hold dear
Everything carries with it the root of its own destruction
And I will rejoice now that your has very nearly come.


Copyright © tony northover | Year Posted 2013


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God Has Made Everything Beautiful In His Time

“There is a time for each season…
To everything made…  
There is a divine reason.

A time for purpose under
 the heavens above…
A time for meaning from a God of love.

A time to be born.  A time to die…
A time to farm the ground
 under the beautiful sky.

A time to kill.  A time to heal...
A time to tear down and
 to build up with a passion and zeal 
 
A time for weeping.   A time for laughing…
A time to mourn.  A time for dancing.

A time to keep...
A time to throw away.
A time to tear.  A time to make amends today.

A time to get.  A time for losing…
A time to keep.  And to give
 away at our choosing.

A time for silence.  A time to speak…
A time for each hour
 and day of the week.

A time for love.  A time for hate…
A time for war.  A time for peace at your gate.

How will you spend the time
 God has given to you?
What is your choice?  What will you do???

May this be a time living in 
God’s purpose and design.
He created you and made 
everything beautiful in his time!

By Jim Pemberton  05/22/10
Read Eccl. 3:1-11




Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2011


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Hashtag My Life Matters

#MyLifeMatters

My hands are up don't shoot!!

I'm a black man, with feelings and a valued life,
Please, I've done nothing wrong, point the gun the other way.
At my home, it holds the love of my valued wife,
There's no kids, but we talk of having children one day.

Is my tail light busted, was I speeding too fast?
If so I apologize, may not have been paying attention.
So what made you suspicious sir of me through the dash?
Tell me now, in the future I can maybe prevent it.

Don't want to be a statistic, I will soon be forgotten
After my brief CNN mention of me being shot.
Of me being SHOT, dash cam flashing non stop when
The masses see another man dead by the hands of a cop.

My hands are up DON'T SHOOT I didn't kill 9 members
Of a church, I don't even have a weapon to cause hurt.
My hands are up DON'T SHOOT I'm 3 credits away from my degree
Check my I.D. no history of batteries or felonies.

At my home, it holds the love of my valued wife,
There's no kids, but we talk of having children one day.

#MyLifeMatters

Written on 12/7/2015 @ 6:10am EST


Copyright © Mister Write | Year Posted 2015


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Felony Money

True definition of a hood love story,
They called him Felony.
Skin was as smooth as a shot of Hennessey.
He made a lot of other men envy.
His style was particularly different from the rest.
No gold chains around his neck, but a simple rosary lies on his chest.
Underneath his Sunday best was a solid bullet proof vest.
His pockets had a secret treasure chest.
Steepness with infinite thickness,
But every man has a weakness.
She killed him with kindness.
A righteous lioness,
His royal highness: his positive guidance.
She was the offspring of the titans.
 Exceptional of importance to his reputation,
 She was his foundation freedom from his everyday discrimination.
A safe haven like a wave equation, her name was Money.
Half black and half Puerto Rican,
Skin complexion of an Egyptian he nicknamed her Isis.
Dipped in gold went perfectly with her skin tone.
She was an overgrown precious stone.
Foreknown Money was working with the federal bureau of investigation.
 Deeply in love with a convict but yet victorious triumphant.
Stunting on everyone’s judgments Money is Felony movement.
A step ahead of the government,
Never seeing a seal indictment
Money was his antidepressant.
Felony was her significant participant.
Both of them reaping the enjoyment,
Bonded by each other’s fulfillment,
Seal their delinquent intimate commitment.
In love with a codefendant left them with a Bonnie, and Clyde ending.
Love testimony of Felony and Money


Copyright © twanna Irisha | Year Posted 2014


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Myself in Urban Chaos

Here I go again, focused on myself.
Remembering, analyzing,
Memorializing tragedy.
Thinking, endless thinking.
Suicides, death of grandmas, past loves.
Pining about passions and losses.
The condo I had to let go.
The jobs I left behind.
And the cemetery lots.
My mind wonders around in circles.
From darkness to darkness, city to city,
Job to job, decision to decision 
My children, I embrace with love.
Those years riddled with joys and pains.
Trying, always trying, 
Yet, still disappointed.
Clinging to religion, remembering God.
Accepting –
Then, the child in me curls up
Safe in my warm cocoon,
And I think of you in the next room.
Life made new, fear subdued.
The touch of your hand, my confidence renews.
That forever love so long wanted, found at last.
The pressures I once knew moved to the past.
To the outside world I say adieu.
I was lost in the hollow of myself.
Outside of myself, I found peace. 
Memories blot out urban chaos
And focus on woodland happy days.
Struggles not so painful anymore.
Peace found its hope in you.
…And then, we spoon.

Copyright January 15, 2014

Written for Poetry Soup member contest: Contemporary Figurative Artiste Stephanie Deshpande in Contemporary Free Rhyme Free Poetry Contest 
Sponsored by Cyndi MacMillan.

Inspired by Stephanie Deshpande’s portrait of a Sleeping Child http://www.stephaniedeshpande.com/porfolio/


Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Year Posted 2014


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blood transfusion



Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2011


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Background Music Before Sleep

  In the asphalt homeland 
I lay down to sleep 
   In the background 
a saxophone wails
  and relaxes tired muscles 
Streetlights cut through the darkness
    The day has passed 
as days do 
   This city dweller 
wishes to head off to 
    dreamland 
Jazz in the background 
   lets his mind wander 
through sweet pathways 
     not created 
 by the hands of man 
   My heart beats with a rhythm 
stolen from the heart of the city 
Sax wails, drums beat 
pianist plays lovely riffs
     My dreams will be filled with joy 
 tonight 
for I know 
   there are plenty 
of 
others
in 
this 
city 
   who will join
me in the jazz fantasia  
   which awaits us


Copyright © Matthew Anish | Year Posted 2014


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Blood upon Pages

As I place the pen
on paper
my soul beings
to bleed
upon the pages
my secret longings
hopes and dreams
of which I hope to be,
how I want to reflect me
transpire into the universe
within my poetic lyricism
the warm sweet smoke
of my vega blunt
swirls about me, flickers
in and out of motion
as the vanilla candle nearby
fights the shadows in my room
the cool summer breeze
from my window
carries dancing sinsemilla 
fog around me, allowing
my mind
to adventure elsewhere
into the nights abyss
of minutes, turned to hours
I write
pages, of words
scribbling my life, struggles
and fears
Bob Marley and Lauryn Hills
“turn your lights down low”
beat inspirational peacefulness
on my eardrums
my small hands delicately pluck
my imaginary guitar strings
as I join her in a solo, Miss Hill's
magical voice cracks
with emotion, and my soul
tingles with excitement
For creativity flows
within my veins
I breath real music, such as
she, as soon as daylight opens
thine dark brown eyes to see
The poetic flowetry, carries me
and speaks to me
the notes capture my inner 
disturbance and desires
until the soundtrack of my day
takes me into Summers night
thoughts of my dreams 
of being a published poet
clearly float
into my sight
Then, I sit
as I place my pen
upon the paper
black and white turn to one
and my soul bleeds
onto pages
into an early sun


Copyright © Heather Hill | Year Posted 2010


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My Strong Black Man

Brown eyes so deep with anger and pain yet, so hypnotising and sweet they 
tempt my soul.

Lips so soft and warm, such harsh words for such gentle lips. Kiss me so I can 
feel your pain.

An embrace so safe and secure that could crush you and destroy that which is 
oh so pure- hold me closley.

I feel your heart,
I hear your breath,
I know there is love inside.

A sculptured body, skin of a king, I see you in my dreams-I feel you when you are 
away.

If only you loved me with a heart that's pure.
If only you'd let me in so I could love you,
forever and ever,
my strong black man...


Copyright © crystal Hill | Year Posted 2006


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Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Nite

Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Nite
I wish we can all die from old age
Life is a book death is the last page
Brave, be brave against the dying of the light

The ignorance of temptation makes desire feel right
Though roses have thornes you thirst to own one
Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Nite

The ones who survive, though gutsy, remember the fright
Be it luck or having blessings from one
Brave, be brave against the dying of the light

Children dive to safety as brids take flight
This affair is normal to some
Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Nite

The young are hard-head, and the elders are right
Live by the custom die by the gun
Brave, be brave against the dying of the light

And to you, my brother, I pray you stay strong
Life is a book, may your pages be long
Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Nite
Brave, be brave against the dying of the light.


Copyright © Jay PorknBean | Year Posted 2010


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GOOD NIGHT PRETORIA

The sun kneels to kiss the 
skyscrapers
The Darkness floats above like 
clouds
And those homeless become 
accidental campers
Setting their plastic beds on the 
cold floors

These black concrete rivers
Flood with moving lights
And its banks are swarmed 
With men who’s faces lulled 
Locked in deep thought

As the night ages once more
Laddies emerge from the 
Corners of the streets
Clothed with nothing but 
desperation and despair
As they seek an audience with 
men of matrimony,
They sway their hips fishing 
them to their cause 

Good night Pretoria, the city of 
dreams.


Copyright © RONNY MADONSELA | Year Posted 2012


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Streaking at the Mall

Eddie went to the mall full of spunk
He was always real proud of his junk
While taking a leak
Decided to streak
Suzie yelled, “Mommy, he has a trunk”


Copyright © Natalie The Rogue Rhymer | Year Posted 2012


Details | Urban Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Night in New York

This city demands to be explored
   It aches with the yearning of a living metropolis
The broad masses of the people 
   take sustenance from it 
    One cannot help but believe that 
the city is a living organism 
Does time tell everything? 
   Time is a manic relative of this city 
   If you know this you can survive in this urban homeland 
You can thrive when 
    you know that 
the swift pace of life here 
   keeps you on your toes 
   You can survive 
when you realize 
that the millions pounding the pavement 
are searching for the peace you seek 
The bright lights which shine in the shadows 
are reflected in a million eyes 
Every time you see a smile in this city 
      Treasure it 
for the hectic pace of this asphalt homeland 
allows for only brief moments of love


Copyright © Matthew Anish | Year Posted 2014