A city block vendor chimes pleasantries prouder
than Muzak or an unseen crow in the background
elevating alarm clock music in the caws
uncredited and angrily growing louder.
A walkway narrows between the vendor
and a building. I teeter between both
as I pass by her grill
parked beside the vape shop. A blistering warmth
whitens piled pink hotdogs and tickles my ribcage.
A parakeet on her shoulder
is flaking off the sun and feathering the moon.
Steamy sundowns moisten her saucer eyes.
One dog pops sausage through its skin. She fans
the minty menthol. I pay the price
for squinting. I've dropped my glasses. Splitting
off-key shattered glass,
the containment of what used to be
bits of me shows up digits-bloodied.
Long after the initial sweep up,
little jagged cuts still happen.
Downtown Dayton cityscape
can be seen clearly (on a clear day)
from the grassy knoll on top
of the Woodlands cemetery.
Most of the more fancy mausoleums
face any other way though,
as if the successfully dead
had prospered and were now
disinterested in local legends.
The bones of great men and women
are restless here however,
they turn over the decades,
pull time over their skulls
like overly stuffed quilts.
They won't look now
at that once prosperous and inventive city
they are done with fame
but on a clear night
the city lights illumine
their sad spirits
as they dream of the degradation
of their once industrious history,
watch the unfolding decay of their works
one dirty, burned-out city block
at a time.
I was a self-admitted misanthrope
unwilling to lose or drop a case.
I often threw a rope-a-dope
just to win; I never lose face.
I worked the dark streets
for dark, and even darker, clients
while the cops walked their beats,
shadows showing giants.
As far as I was concerned,
they were all a bunch of losers.
They were bad; they’d get burned.
The lot were boozers or bruisers.
I had caught a difficult case
The man was stabbed and shot.
He deserved it; he was debase,
but the perp would be caught.
The lawyer was my client,
he was dirty; the worst he could get.
Damn, he was mighty defiant!
Still, I didn’t think he did it.
He had no motive, but also no alibi.
So why were the cops after him?
He was a jerk, but had no reason to lie.
But for him the outlook was grim.
I might have to pummel every john
on the streets to get to the truth.
It wasn’t unpleasing to use my brawn
and I was a hellava good sleuth.
I’d search every city block.
I’d find the filthy little perp.
I’d find the lowlife and knock
the truth out of the twisted twerp!
26 August 2022
Start Sleuthing Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Natasha L Scragg
https://www.rhymezone.com
Fireworks are still popping in my neighborhood
Long after July 4th; I keep thinking they’ll stop,
And hope so soon for the sake of brotherhood!
Celebrations are meaningful on their special day
Noisy and loud merriment are par for the course
But now, I wish the noises would simply go away!
You might suggest I am getting old and crotchety
And I suppose you wouldn’t be far from the truth
Can you imagine a city block blasting ubiquitously?
Written July 10, 2022
Indian Girl
The next train is to India to a big crowded city, Calcutta. I am a Desi girl called Prittima Desmona. I am thirty two and live near a small town called Kajoy.
You may ask who I am. I am a typical Indian girl. I work in a call centre and drive a small car. I don’t own a smart phone or computer. I have a simple mobile with buttons on it and have enough of computers at work.
I’m going to meet my parents in Calcutta by train, a journey that will take a day or so depending on the weather and landslides. I lived with them till I moved to Kajoy five years for my new job. I get to see them every few months due to work. My job is very busy but the pay is good.
Kajoy is a developing town. It’s by the coast and the local government signed a decree not to allow the town to become overcrowded and polluted like Calcutta (now Kolkata but I like the old name or New Delhi). Only so many buildings can be built per city block and there is a height limit and population limit too. Time will tell if this works or not.
NIPPLE PASTE 2020
JIMMY BOOM SEMTEX
The old man could barely walk
Bent over on his cane
And there beside him
Man's Best Friend
It wasn't in him to complain.
One-half a step -sheer agony
For the old man on his cane
But he must walk
His Best Friend's walk,
Each day it was the same.
The labored pace was not a race
It scarcely was a walk
But man's Best Friend
Kept pace with him
Along each city block.
Friends never ever let you down
Devotion! That's the deal
And man's Best Friend
Until the end
Is right there at his heel.
The fact is plain for all to see
They're comrades sun or rain
Man's Best Friend
And Best Friend's man
Are on their walk again.
Friends can and will endure the pace
And love ignores the pain
Man's Best Friend
He will wait
For the Old Man on his cane.
Did Discover A Long Huge Dock
We did discover a long huge dock,
Which was big as entire city block;
Here and there,
And everywhere,
That had left us in a state of shock.
Jim Horn
Walking to grade school without a care
Each morning at the same spot
Freshly baked bread scent filled the air
Straight from the oven, savory hot
Aroma so sweet, I never forgot
Laub's Bakery, a city block wide
It looked like a factory instead
I'd peek in the door ajar on the side
Where that lovely smell filled up my head
Etched in my brain, the essence of freshly baked bread
How I now long to sing a song
With "guns" as its only word
A solitary droning tone
Fiercely sung such it need be heard
Higher than half its height
Should our banner fly
As this sorrowful summer simmers on
And slaughtered June becomes corpse of July
Nightclub, traffic stop, city block
Muslim, blue, black, gay
Tiny lives that matter not
To congressmen and NRA
For in America the highest law,
Ready must we always be
With God-given rightful arms bared
To throw off imminent tyranny
July 8, 2016
I tie the perfect noose
Pull tight on the cord
Kick the chair from underneath me
As my feet both touch the floor
I take the electric toaster
Set it on the edge of the tub
Knock it into the water
But forget to plug in the plug
Laid myself down on the train tracks
Waiting for the 9:05
Little did I know my watch had stopped
Right at a quarter till 9:00
I step out into traffic
Sure this is my last deed in life
Not knowing it was a crosswalk
And I was at a red light
I found the tallest building
On my city block
Made my way to the top floor
Where none of the windows unlocked
Never had such a hard time in life
Trying to do myself in
Apparently I need a new tactic
Apparently I need a new plan
Think I'll just go to bed
Catch me some much needed winks
Maybe when I wake up
I'll have died in my sleep
Sandy Springs is a quiet town
Not much really to be found
Except at the end of main street
A Great House you will greet
Gothic height with pointed tower
A skirt of pillars commanding power
Windows long and tightly shutter
Pale white stone in shades of butter
Bluish slate roof with chimneys six
Grand front porch and path of bricks
Trees full and saluting in line
Shading their trail with scent of pine
Balconies inviting but sadly bare
Emptiness bequeath minimum care
Stories of three basement below
Once a rich baron grandly owned
Sits by itself on a whole city block
All gates are chained and locked
Such a shame for waste of space
The Great House stares out of place
Once the very center of town life
Magnificent balls dominated nightlife
Officials were made bribes paid
Everything of importance it swayed
Now stoic silent and fading alone
Stripped of it's riches walls bone
The Great House accepts its fate
Grandly in style it deteriorates.
Spring Paintings by Kinkade
purple sky at eve
a log cottage by a stream
with windows aglow
after vietnam
my old familiar path home
lights and chimney smoke
lilac carnival
decorates each city block
it must be springtime
a splendid stone bridge
arched over a placid flow
june night memory
blue wildwood steeple
with many a wagon track
june morning service
dusk in the city
rain soaked streets thrusting up light,
cars, shops and people
"Samsara!"
Yelled a young prophet
With one eye and a cane.
His eye was made of tightly bundled,
Tall, wet grass.
His cane the smooth, rounded
Pebbles of a Dakota stream.
His voice was the tinsel thunder of God's,
Like yours and mine
Though with this difference:
There was no more of himself.
The yellowing light of Time,
It's pulsing, churchless transubstantiation
had spun a bright and absorbing bloom within.
He was of Earth and Spirit now.
He had achieved the Great Nothing
that we all beg and sob
And clench at our mother's dress over.
He finished: "Samsara!,"
He shouted from a bodily silence
In a forest on a city block,
"Release their hearts!
For even that is not their own!
As they hear the bird's notes soar,
May they realize love's swinging door!"
He left them then, ignored,
For the trees beyond the sprawl.
The Light beyond the Wall.
Walking through these streets
Full of empty names
I pass another city block
But things aren't quite the same
I used to have a purpose
I used to have a place
But today things seem empty
In this busy space
Everything moves
At a faster rate
Gotta stake your claim
Before it's too late
Life will pass you by
If you don't even try
Gotta achieve my goals
Before it's too late and I die