Best Urbanites Poems
I'm just a bedouin:
I live in a tent -
Cozy an' fair
Its fabric woven
From rough goat-hair-
A shady cover
In the summer
A rain-proof shelter
In the winter
My possessions:
A single garment - a loose black robe
I call a thobe
A pair of worn out sandals
A coffee kit
And other little things
I put in a sack
That may not fit
With countrysiders' appetites
Or urbanites'
My homeland:
All this infinite expanse
Of deep beige sands
My sole companion:
A faithful camel
Who carries me
And all my stuff
Together we cross the endless desert
And when I sing
Some cameleer song
He gets so light
Out of delight
And makes as if to fly
Towards the sky
Light from
untold apartments
attracts my interest
I wonder how lives are
being played out
in them
Wonder whether
they are deliriously
happy
or in a melancholic
frame of mind
Nightfall in the
metropolis
Cars rush by on
the avenue
Sitting here alone
in my place
as a crescent moon
hangs overhead
A little tea
then sleep
Shall I dream of
the asphalt homeland
tonight - or will my
ship lead me elsewhere?
For now I contemplate
the urban scene
So many millions of
fellow urbanites
are becoming tired as
I tire
I can see the river from my place
Lights from the bridge
hang like jewels
One can meditate
on the urban scene
Take joy from the
fact that
plenty of others
are contemplating
it with me
Peace to the metropolis
and all its inhabitants!
Some noises startle, jolt or jar
While others soothe or soften.
We perk up for the new but tune out
Those we hear quite often.
To locals, city sirens make
The tiniest impression
But visitors consider them
A barbarous transgression.
The hum of traffic rolling by
To urbanites equates
With cricket chirps or chickadees
In countryside debates.
The noises that surround us
Are as varied as our homes
Or the subjects and the wording
Of a plethora of poems.
Light from untold apartments
attracts my interest
I wonder how lives are being
played out in them
Wonder whether the inhabitants are
deliriously happy
or in a melancholic frame of mind
Nightfall in the metropolis
Cars rush by on the Avenue
sitting here alone in my place
As a crescent moon hangs overhead
A little tea, then sleep
Shall I dream of the asphalt homeland tonight - or
will my imaginings lead me elsewhere
For now I contemplate the urban scene
So many millions of our fellow urbanites
are becoming tired as well
I can see the river from my place
Lights from the bridge hang like jewels
One can meditate on the urban scene
Take joy for the fact that
plenty of others are contemplating it with me
Peace to the city and all its dwellers
At the museum, with wall to wall art,
My choices were varied and vast.
I saw an exhibit with works of Matisse
And checked out some statues I passed.
But then I was drawn to a strumming guitar
And a crowd by a video screen,
Transfixed by a slow-motion film of New York,
The ultimate urbanites’ scene.
The footage was shot from inside of a car,
On the move while on various streets.
The people, oblivious, strutted and strolled
To their private internalized beats.
The movie, called “Street,” took some moments in time
And transformed the familiar to strange,
For by slowing things down to a snail-crawling pace,
What was humdrum did magically change.
From most Met* displays, this one surely did seem
Like a separate world, quite apart;
Yet it did what it should, for it helped us transcend
And to me, that’s the purpose of art.
*Metropolitan Museum of Art
Yesterday was gray and bleak
And raw, as some days go,
But that was all forgotten at
The Garden’s Orchid Show.
It nearly knocked my socks off –
All the colors, patterns, shapes;
It has to rank with all the greatest
Urbanites’ escapes.
The visitors all snapped away,
With camera or with phone,
To try to capture just a bit
Of beauty Nature’s grown.
Though photos don’t do justice
To that magical display,
I’ll look at them and I am sure
They’ll brighten up my day.
It is 5:00 PM as we rush home
to Brooklyn to our townhouse
near Flatbush Avenue running to
catch the 5:30 PM subway with
many others who have made
plans to enjoy a three-day weekend
and get the needed rest from the hustle
and bustle of city life as if living in a
crowded ant colony with needless
movements going in all directions
adding to the helter-shelter of frenzied
lives which over-populated cities provide
for those who do not know any better
until they have an opportunity to visit a
farm for the special holiday weekend within
a bucolic setting and realize there is
a life of slow motion which insists
urbanites stop to smell the roses along
a country lane and take in the fresh
country air and the panoramic view of green
hillsides dotted with Jersey cows munching
and herding together without a care in the world
as a John Deere tractor rolls along with
Farmer Jones working his fields as birds
dig greedily to catch worms among the
the freshly plowed acreage with a harmonizing
song which is heard as a thank you for their
delectable meal all in the name for leaving
the big city behind as a brief window of
opportunity to escape to sanity to slow down
and feel utopia underneath our bare feet
Sweltering day
In the urban afternoon
I rush towards my
air - conditioned room
Check messages - call up friends
Tonight I will do some yoga
Got to keep up with one's health!
Now I take some time
out to write verse
This city has been - and still is -
an inspiration to many poets
Millions of urbanites
brave the heat
My hat is off to them!
One can find joy in this
congested city
One only has to
look around for it
It is available to urban men and women
Poetry can lift the spirits
of city dwellers
In New York there are
poems posted in the buses
and subway
"Poetry in Motion" was designed
for the spiritual health
of the urban masses
Who are seeking relief
on this hot summer afternoon
A simple one life,
is contrast to the urbanites,
less emphasis on punishments.
Wealthy and powerful people,
create new beliefs and holy books.
Government capitals,
and corporate stocks,
rent heaven and hell.
Pilgrimage of silicon valley,
depicts religious chants.
Clergious environmentalist,
chews street food.
From my window
I see lights
in small apartments
How are the inhabitants lives going,
I wonder
Perhaps they have found love
Here in the metoroplis
Urban dwellers
need love to survive
In the asphalt jungle
Hundreds, thousands of lights shine
in the metropolitan darkness
Lives are being lived
by my fellow citizens
on this third planet from the sun
Personally, I hope all
goes well for my fellow urbanites
Live rumbles on beneath and above the
sidewalks of Gotham - the home of a million stories
For far shires beyond the western red sun
I’m leaving the Land of the Long White Cloud -
to journey across the red and blue horizon
where cockatoos in bloodwoods sing aloud.
Tainui, that great waka in the sky -
the flight of the Koru carrying me
into the far orbits seven miles high
at altitude above the Tasman Sea.
Trading in my black singlet and swanndri
for a swag and a croc tooth akubra,
so hoo-roo Long Bay and gidday Bondi
where blokes drink Bundy Rum, not Coruba!
Thus here I am a skyrider who flew
on the wings of Tainui back to you.
And on its metallic longrider wing
I gazed the moon and stars, the setting sun.
No man has seen a more glorious thing
and for me no greater journey begun!
Leaving a world where reality bites
for the Dreamtime People’s great southern land -
among outback bushies and cork hat urbanites
in the convict Land of the Long White Sand.
Trading in my black singlet and swanndri
for a swag and a croc tooth akubra,
so hoo-roo Long Bay and gidday Bondi
where blokes drink Bundy Rum, not Coruba!
Thus here I am a skyrider who flew
on the wings of Tainui back to you.
There I was lost to love's outcast curse,
to my fits of rage and ravage of woe -
to God in Heaven and demons on Earth
till the last flight from desolation row.
Now the Sunshine Coast is the life for me
in palisades and canals by the sea.
Written: July 1997
wild flowers jubilate
along country roads
that they prettify;
yellow radiance here,
red exuberance there
pleasantly petrify
bleary, blood-shot eyes
of smog-dazed urbanites
needing to purify
thoughts and dreams
that city life and strife
addle and putrefy.
Written: April 21, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Ink Empress
Quote: "We chase the light, but darkness stays, memories twist in mysterious ways." By Poet
*****************
A wispy witchery in my spirit
broad, towering lanes,
this leads to dust-draped merit,
Cobwebbed corners are hidden
In nooks without candles
of a precious memory.
Portraits of the past
perfectly polished.
Glistening and lavishly framed,
winding whimsically
against the staircase wall,
exquisite expressions
of family elders,
glistening girls
and dazzling smiles.
Effulgent daylight,
memories from childhood
are enveloped in the
petrichor of rain.
Peripheral souvenirs,
framed by foreign beams,
perched at a level,
beyond human vision,
above the floor
of urbanites,
a breathtaking perch
where everyone is?
fascinated and ubiquitous,
a place our planet wishes to be.
A memory smog
has purloined my secrets
metaverse of memory,
a brilliant dual meaning
feigned an inkling,
diffuse and interlaced
estranged from the truth
a benign propensity,
whispered from the sky.
Content has been shaken
from the future
aligned for amplification.
Each phase of life is intrinsic
feelings vibrate loudly
memories of bitter passions
once typical of daily life
linking sight and sound
We all leave daily marks
wrapped in time web
Will I ever be free?
dust covers my mind
ghosts of love whisper
Artwork veils my secrets
Time brutally faded hues
as lost streams, memories flow,
Each drop contains memories.
Your silent laughter engulfs me.
as a spooky dawn embrace,
I wake up alone in this world
wandering dark stories for fun,
nervous memories inspire hope
Raw paint goes on the dusty art.
He couldn’t fit his shopping cart
And suitcase through the door
And screamed at the conductor
(Quite a challenge to ignore).
Once seated, he spread out and then
Removed his socks and shoes.
Assessing just how nuts he was,
This added to the clues.
I glanced his way and sorrily,
I somehow caught his eye.
He then began describing
That the air was awful. Why?
The radiation on the train
Was there to make us sick,
But only some could feel it –
Those intelligent and slick.
I transferred cars while he still raved
And finished out my ride
In uneventful fashion
‘Til the trip home did provide
Another whacko, eating fries
And blaring on her phone
A news report in which
A screeching baby had been shown.
Incessantly, that baby wailed;
She played it on a loop.
I hoped that some brave soul
Would to the rescue somehow swoop.
But no – I had to listen
For we urbanites pretend
That it’s normal on the subway
For the crazies to offend.
One’s idea of Heaven
Is another’s view of Hell.
That explains why many lives
Stay strictly parallel.
Rural folks may shudder
At the city’s crowds and noise,
While urbanites rank bustle
As among their daily joys.
Some plan for vacations
Which, to them, suggests a cruise;
Others needing culture
Might find such a trip a snooze.
Many go to dinner
And enjoy a juicy steak.
Vegetarians prefer
Their “meat’ when it is fake.
Sometimes choices intersect
And differences converge,
Providing just a little taste
Of someone else’s splurge.
It’s good to be receptive
To another’s choice or style,
Though in terms of what you like,
It might be off by, like, a mile.