City Poems | Examples of City Poetry

it’s still brick ...

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I moved into Rochdale in 1964 My Grandparents and I moved in together We will not be discussing our ages Just Rochdale and its amazes History with a continued stride As a start off, I who can forget the ROCHDALE MOVIE THEATER On any given Saturday, it would be a sit down and watch movie flicks James Bond 007 and Ten Little...

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Twenty-four days before Christmas in 1958 there was a huge fire at Our Lady of the Angels, a Catholic grade school in Chicago Eighty-seven children and three nuns died in this fire. One of the children who passed was Mary’s little sister, Karen. She was to be a first grader forever. Mary was in the fourth grade at the time. Mary...

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Holy or jolly, you live Big and small demands to live Happy or Sad moments are buried each day to live One or many people close to live King or Servant runs their life to live Huge or less money is used to live Beauty or ugliness still covers thoughts to live One-on-one, we chase the world to live Godly or worldly has...

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Essence of wealth Inheritance health Jealousy divine Life changes Rearrange of financial eyes Hidden and full of surprises Murder on the mind Thought of inheritance Wealthy promise The rage Death will come to one Elegant party Drinks and dancing all around Conversations flow Suddenly a fall then death Pronounced Dead Poison found in the drink That sip Situation now a circumstance Mystery Murderer The outcome will turn into clues The murderer wants to redirect and bring...

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GAZING OUT* ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Gaze out. Skyscrapers rise, Silhouettes in the night. Stars whisper secrets above. City dreams twinkle and sigh, Reflections of hopes in glass. I ponder the lives within, Each light a story. Unfolding. Gaze out. *Note: This poem was written for and published at Haiku Shack/Creative Ramblings Weekly Prompt contest, 8/3/2025 ...

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Your ear has to be tuned to hear the City's rhythms buried below the noise and be able to discern a melody woven through the dissonant chatter as in the rumble and splash of motorcar tyres moving along streets slicked with watery reflections and in the jarring grind of tram wheels, screeching brakes and warning bells and in the cadence of human voices...

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Ravage the taste of this city, that sound of a midnight train ride. Haunt glitz and graffiti collide, vile smoke rolls toxic within me. Some roots crack concrete completely, DNA's script won't be denied. Ravage the taste, every morsel spells DMV. Authentic you do not let slide, nothing ever rattles your pride. The underground rules discreetly, ravage the taste....

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Kensington spreads its legs— lets the city crawl in, dripping Xylazine / fentanyl / tranq, open sore veins moaning dirty dirges. False prophets— all piss and panic— bark half-lies through decaying molars, fingering apathy for spare change. You smell it five blocks before you enter. The stench tests your soul before it reaches your throat. Narcan. burnt spoons. street toilet. Dreams twitch under heat lamps— larval things too stubborn to die. Hope? Hope’s a half-smoked, laced Newport balanced...

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London fog, harshly early with strained warning, Looms all over the image of the hectic city There’s the smell of mists and the taste of Frozen rain gathered before dawn. Pulses brake and start, And lungs are besieged by distilled grime, Industrial tainting. I can’t see well beyond five feet ahead of me As I labour to walk, But headlamps from crawling cars and...

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Run away to find home fingers tracing city streets Concrete above, the Z train beneath my feet found your heartbeat between the city and the sea where the boardwalk meets concrete streets and a smile always greets the city that never sleeps following the streetlights to neon brights Waiting at the bridge for you tonight....

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Mrs. Holloway polishes her poetry dimly, Regaling herself with the accoutrements of Selected poetry, cluttered and less jinxed By way of satanic slamming by famished, Idle critics who read The New York Times Just once in a sugared year. She chooses her stanzas locally. By that I mean her stanzas nurse patience, Drifting from gossips to loose, impotent Talks held when midnights ail. She digresses...

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In the city, there are benches Placed where people might Relax and take a load off, Which is everybody’s right. They’re either made of metal Or old-fashioned painted wood, Found in parks and promenades or where They’d do the utmost good. Most bus stops with a shelter Have a bench for those who wait And in playgrounds, there are benches Where the nannies congregate. My apartment building...

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We love to visit cities; Urban blood runs through my veins And now that we are older, We’ve no tolerance for trains, So instead of checking listings For the local train or bus, We just call an Uber and it comes Real fast, without a fuss. We aren’t on vacation now, But wanted to go out. I read of an exhibit And liked what it was...

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The world in black and blue, no visible outline, the colors blur. Headlights bright red, and the people covered in smoke as I stand in the back- alley surrounded by old graffiti stains and a half eaten tuna fish sandwich. The alley cats devour the carcass leaving the bones and eyes behind. I look at the eyes and I see my...

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