Long City life Poems
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I was so looking forward to my trip to Tahiti
this was to be my panacea, a sure cure for all my ails.
For once there I could forget the dregs of big city life
and swim the opal sheen of a chatoyant sea, in tranquil peace.
Arriving in my loudest vacation garb, I felt at ease
in my role of cynosure, strutting like a movie star.
All to soon I was whisked off...to the glamour and opulence
that awaited me at my ineffable, unbelievably posh hotel/palace.
There I was royally greeted, by a true ingénue beauty
the epitome of grace, she exuded a gentle demure and friendly manner.
She was like a gazelle...swift and yet lissome
with an indelible smile that seemed sempiternal, and omnipresent.
And in the sweetest, mellifluous song like voice
she softly whispered...“welcome to paradise.”
Surrounded by the city fuss
where throngs of lonely people live;
each day their lives superfluous
while trying hard as hopes misgive,
and years sift quickly through life’s sieve.
A peaceful pace is what I seek
away from life’s enduring grind
that leaves my weary spirit weak;
tranquility I long to find
and leave this city noise behind.
A walk through quiet forest green
while bathing in tranquility,
enjoying solitude serene
with nature’s calm docility,
and elegant gentility.
The scent of pine that fills the air
invigorating senses well
as quiet thoughts lift up in prayer,
and peaceful dreams within me dwell
while nature’s calm my thoughts compel.
The freshness of the forest breeze,
the calming sound of forest rill,
tranquility these moments seize.
I’ll walk this fern lined path until
my mind is cleared and dreams fulfilled.
December 8, 2019
Cloudburst Aftermath
Humid scent of soured pavement
rises from a city’s steaming streets
accompanied by rippling gutter streams
babbling and choking on floating debris.
I wave as wet winged voyagers
cling to tawdry, fragile craft
shooting the cobblestone rapids
of Boston’s Beacon Hill.
Wafting from the alleys of the rich -
the detritus of wealth - an acrid stench,
waste, mocking the grumbling bellies
waiting on line at the dingy soup kitchen.
I walk alone among Boston’s “Common”
looking for the “cracks” they “fell” through.
11/22/2017
submitted to – Choose A Topic – Heartbreak and Loss
First a quick word on Robert the Devil,
whose turbulent life turned out quite a revel.
He fathered a child on a poor tanner's daughter
then dashed to repent in Jerusalem's quarter,
but on his return, sad to say, he died,
yet he set up his son, his only pride.
Though being dubbed "bastard" earned him rebuke
Son William became a very tough duke,
as shown by the fact he became England's king
on Christmas Day when the church bells did ring.
Poor England he ruled with a grim iron rod.
He harried the North like a merciless god.
To gauge England's wealth great pains he took,
which to prove I name the Doomsday Book.
Once his horse took fright in a fiery melee
and part of his saddle punctured his belly.
After this mishap he did not live long.
When his belly burst, oh what a pong!
The monks in Rouen cut his funeral short,
when incense galore no remedy brought.
Then his son William Rufus ascended the throne.
To wild fits and frenzy this redhead was prone.
He found city life somewhat too narrow.
Out riding one day, he was struck by an arrow.
Many hard battles King Billy fought
ere he fell from his horse at Hampton Court.
No enemy's musket laid him low,
no cannon ball , no swordsman's blow.
A hoof of his horse got caught in a hole,
the work of a lowly burrowing mole.
On the Emerald Isle some raise a toast
to this notable victory of the least o'er the most
William the Fourth died in his bed,
which somehow fitted the life he had led.
He had multiple children but not with his wife.
Exemplary no way was King William's life.
When in time a new William mounts Britain’s throne
may he shun the errors to which others were prone,
avoiding pitfalls and fierce martial strife,
and every enticement to stray from his wife.
When city life morphs
into a cacophony of noises;
splintered sounds levy a toll.
And anxiety overshadows my reality,
till I'm brought to the edge of tears,
and need to get away from it all.
So, I inevitably turn
to Nature's serene stillness,
to recharge my spirit.
I'm a people person,
but, at times,
I want to be left alone
with my thoughts,
listening to the mountains speak
in muted sounds of silence.
Leaving my stress behind,
I seek the isolation of Nature's wilderness,
in an unimaginably peaceful place
of quietude, beauty, and solitude.
And there, at night, the stars light up the sky,
bathing me in celestial light,
making me feel insignificant,
and yet, fundamentally connected, somehow.
We live opposite a huge farm,
I find living here such a charm,
The cows and the sheep,
Abundant, as the farmer does his
His rounds in his Jeep
Makes living where we are,
A dream, but city life is not far.
This farm has horses too,
Though not too many just a few,
And pigs and goats
And pretty small winding roads,
It has a small river that winds its way
Beside a road, it takes all day
To walk along and pick wild flowers,
I adore sudden summery showers.
Mealies and sunflowers are planted
And manure is put down once a year,
Ridding us of sinuses, that’s quite clear.
The sound of the tractor ploughing,
A joy to hear, as it’s furrowing,
The land, planting seeds that grow
And look like soldiers such a show,
They stand up straight and tall,
Never have I seen one fall.
I pray for rain and fear a drought
So happy when dark clouds about,
And love a downpour feel the relief,
The mealies feel, for sun like a thief,
Steals a probable storm, but when rain
Pours and drizzles for days, mealies gain.
Beautiful plants that now must,
Wither and dry, and wait for first frost
Before they are harvested, or it will cost,
The farmer his whole crop, if not done
Just right, they will rot,
And the farmer will reap naught!
I watch this every year,
But now I sadly fear,
Will see my farm no more,
Which gave me joy, galore.
A new era starts on the 1st November,
Moving into a secure complex, so December
And Christmas will be in our new abode,
We have reached a crossroad,
Which I’ve decided to look forward to,
A move which had to happen, we knew!
Footnote:
In S. Africa we refer to corn as "Mealies"
For six years I lived the big city LIFE
If you asked, I would give you ADVICE
Asphalt jungle covers the TURF
Mile after mile of heartache and HURT
Violent crimes are hard to AVERT
Many good people have often FLED
The bad was left and caused DREAD
And the ugly raised their angry HEAD
After a long day at school and WORK,
I should have been much more ALERT
In the dark of night, I headed HOME;
In the dark of night, I walked ALONE
Halfway down the block, I was accosted and ROBBED
Still, life rushes forward with no time to SOB
Some parts of her are overwhelmingly beautiful to BEHOLD
But so many great deeds and inspiring stories go UNTOLD
City life, some bitter things to HATE
City life, some parts to ESCAPE
City life, some areas to VACATE
City life, lots of sweet things to LOVE
City life; there's so much more that is
as harmless as a DOVE
072723PS
The calendar flies off the wall
Spinning in a flurry of craziness
Agitation brings on palpitations
I’m out of breath and out of time
Going nowhere at the speed of light
Rushing through never slowing down
Days quickly slip away out of sight
Not heeding any of the warning signs
I have little time to nurse the pain
Rushing to put out one fire then another
I have no time to podium a stage
There’s no reward that can sate my hunger
I have no time to shelter from the rain
I belong to the wild and not a cage
It is like I boarded a runaway train
My life is either an escape or a hard chase
My ladder is high with countless rundles
I’m on an endless hunt in the concrete jungle
The city beast is sucking the life right out of me
I need to cut the cord and be set free
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on November 2, 2019 for contest INTRODUCTION BY COLLABORATION sponsored by SILENT ONE - RANKED 1ST
Nights of flying dream world,
who might chase a raucous laugh,
or seek indeed mirthful excitement,
the sort that has embroidered twists,
as is generally perceived by intention,
but epic hurdles formed in still frame,
city snores past midnight bell clang,
dare one ever risk a robust venture,
should I have said pursuit instead,
sleep is diversion in that steel crib,
that modern crib pillow we fostered,
an idiom that has it’s silken source,
on foot of rainbow studded home run,
as denizens of driven blissful sprint,
with that palette city life concocts,
waiting to arise from brainwave surge,
but toilers so content at last wonder,
can still find that extra zestful yen,
nocturnal misnamed down tool free time,
energizing hour filler may arouse,
around the ink drape walkways,
quite surrogate and surreptitious,
character one may mold from time,
spent as a regal rhombic chaser,
boundary scuppered plot by strolling fleet,
as creatively imagining might edge,
vast supply has penchant without dent,
zeitgeist flower of a fluorescent flag,
warning mask so deft but visible,
canopy laid beauteous black fringe,
alliance in shade infused etch front,
squeaky noising trickle eardrum muffin,
hear full dose of ripple muttering,
clued on obscurantist thin,
taut code evasive decipher ask,
float of urban mirror pool by pattern,
reflection, mirage, cocoon,
after midnight curtain draws,
to protracted claps evinced from,
squinting imp coterie on foot,
ricochet off Moroccan spice tint,
outside vivid haunt so frequented,
perchance, perforce, pertaining patois,
little seen scatter mice squeak,
analogy horizontal spurt funk,
if only these dart and dash clan,
midgets metaphorical so jubilant,
in sonic meddle near edge encounter,
it would be strictly beyond a dazzling cast,
from other daylight theater staunch queue,
when aiming for parallel experience,
performance nocturne wise deep art,
even rich fantasy has upper boundaries,
some grating gulley flake debris awash
Lawyer Oliver from New York City
Moved to country farm run down then pretty
Wife Liza, a city girl
Name the year-old pet pig Pearl,
Tossing dishes away, was quite bitty
4/4/2022
On A Lim Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joseph May
Green Acres
Named for Oliver Wendell Holmes, he makes the rash decision to leave his successful law practice and pursue his lifelong dream of being a farmer, despite having no real-world knowledge or experience, as evidenced by him doing farm chores while wearing a three-piece suit
Lisa Douglas living with her father, the deposed King of Hungary. Pampered by her wealthy family, her skewed world view and domestic ignorance provide fertile ground for recurring gags.