Long Skyscraper Poems
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It was quite a surprise to us
when monsters came out of the night,
the beasts and bad guys of legends
who for so long gave us a fright.
We thought they lived on movie screens,
pulpy books, and local folklore,
until they came to prey on us,
and we all learned that they were much more.
The panic, at first, was intense,
folks were dying, it seemed surreal,
vampires, zombies, werewolves, ghosts,
and other such beasties were real.
They were as bad as legend said,
but we soon figured out one truth,
the ways to kill them in legend
really worked—we knew what to do.
The werewolves were the easiest,
you just bought some silver-tip rounds,
given all this country’s hunters
it took two years to gun them down.
As for ghosts, if you do not know,
ectoplasm is diffuse matter,
floating in air, it is easy prey
for the common vacuum cleaner.
Then dump it into a furnace,
and watch the ghostie burn away,
old houses everywhere were safe,
no more hauntings came into play.
Vampires could blend in the best,
of the monsters they killed the most,
UV flashlights or smeared garlic
was all it took to make them toast.
The zombies, good lord, they were slow,
and not all that hard to destroy,
army snipers would take head shots,
and attack choppers were deployed.
They’d shoot down with their miniguns,
guaranteed they’d catch zombie head,
since the undead liked to cluster,
an easy target for sprayed lead.
We even had a kaiju-type
dragged its lumbering form onshore,
just as big as a skyscraper,
a three-hundred foot carnivore.
We fired antiship missiles,
half-dozen of them did the trick,
set up some coastal air patrols
to take care of the beasts right quick.
In retrospect, it all makes sense,
after all, we are humankind,
we’ve been waring since we could walk,
countless weapons came from our mind.
We’ve killed sabertooths and smallpox,
run down real threats without pity,
killed tens of thousands in battle,
even nuked two of our cities.
What’s a werewolf compared to that?
What threat’s a vampire these days?
Those beasts should be afraid of us,
since we always find ways to slay.
Maybe we need better monsters,
a challenge for our evolved state,
something that can inspire fear,
the kind we can appreciate—
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Three, four, or six
Which one will fix
And even the eastern final score
Making sure
New York will advance
In the best of seven dance
No longer the higher seed
Knicks now need
To win away
For anyone to say
Bring on the west
Who they select as the best
Spurs or Thunder
Visitors no longer wonder
Were they going to blunder
Fumble
Turn humble
Tumble
Then crumble
Instead
‘They stole a win,’ skyscraper islanders said
Message sent
Time spent
Giving the impression
A ‘how did they do that’ confession
About simple mistakes messing
Quite a lesson
Playoffs are here
And so is the post-game cheer
Get near
Toast with beer
We are almost here
Champion is going to be crowned
Creating celebration all over their NBA town
Eye witness sees
Pulse of dawn;
Stillness grooms
~~~~~~~~~
Leaking faucet
Drop by drop;
Prayer beat chant
~~~~~~~~~
Noise below
Skyscraper view;
Insects crawling
~~~~~~~~~
Dry evening breeze
Noisy crickets;
March romance
~~~~~~~~~
ATM bank queue
Mötley bunch;
Cash withdrawals
~~~~~~~~~
Home movies
Two in a row;
Siesta beckons
~~~~~~~~~
News from overseas
Message in electrons;
Homesick blues
~~~~~~~~~
Brisk walking jog
Morning meditation;
Lethargy drains
~~~~~~~~~
Chinese bread buns
Savoury fare;
Treat for two
~~~~~~~~~
Diet plan dinner
Fibre fruit blend;
Baby food texture
~~~~~~~~~
Mirror image
Old soul peeping;
Facial recognition
~~~~~~~~~
Face to face
Old friends meet;
Is it 25 years ago?
~~~~~~~~~
Catechism class
Religious politics;
Good versus Evil
~~~~~~~~~
Jesus speaks
Eye witness hears;
Life is hard
~~~~~~~~~
Hungry souls
Instant salvation;
Food court gourmet
~~~~~~~~~
Newspaper highlights
Bad news again;
Catastrophe strikes
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
09 March 2015
Singapore
The snow leopard
A snow leopard is walking down snow covered streets.
In these empty streets, she walks alone, a vision to be seen.
With skyscraper buildings on either side,
All the cars are silent,
The apartments only have a few lights on,
As she walks outside in the night-time.
With every stride the snow leopard creeps along,
These empty streets with her eyes fixed upon,
Her destination; the local fountain has become an ice rink.
She needs a place where she can sit and think
And the frozen water is calling.
The scratches on the surface from skaters earlier in the eve,
Are sliced crisscross by fur-covered shoes;
Her claws dig in deep.
With perfect balance she moves along;
Tail flat, she is relaxed, no pressure is on.
No need to flee, no-one to be seen.
The snow leopard lies down to relax; her cub inside is heavy.
Before dawn has arisen, the snow leopard has awoken.
Her ears pointed skyward to listen to distant sirens.
From early risers, phone calls have been made;
The zoo keeper is on his way…
But with a flash of her silhouette, the snow leopard is gone;
She was only seen close up for a second,
Before she disappeared into the thick winter’s fog.
Never to be seen again, but the lights in the skyscrapers remember.
The snow leopard stood here, on this cold night mid-December.
From where she came, nobody ever truly knew;
Some people say she was here simply looking for food.
She had been hiding a long time in a snow cave;
Her footprints were filled by the snow and her tracks began to fade.
She never was found and never again did she return.
The snow leopard was just passing through, her image just a blur.
Like a wind through a narrow street,
A piece of ice falling through a cloud;
A memory of a snowflake that disappears as soon as it is found.
There was no sign that the snow leopard had ever been around
And there was no way to know why,
The snow leopard ever came walking through this town.
(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
Have you ever lived in a tall building? Dawn strikes suddenly and irradiates these glass-walled, high-rise rooms. Lisa showed me how quickly the thick windows - if you press your face against them - go from cold to warm in the morning's stark glare.
On the streets below, beneath the horizon, darkness remains
as if there were, briefly, two worlds separate but side by side -
one, a night place and the other bleached in fierce sunbeams.
The rooms have no curtains, just motorized shades that go up and down as needed - but in reality, they’re always up. Central Park is the only thing across the street and we’re so high up (50th floor) no one can see in. It’s odd, dressing in uncurtained, glass lined rooms or bathing in curtain-less bathrooms - there’s a titillating freedom to it.
I find myself imagining that we’re angels floating in the clouds,
looking down upon man and his creations - but then I’m reminded,
by vertigo or by digging a charger out of my luggage, that I’m just
a mortal, sporting a temporary visa to this high-rise heaven.
.
.
ps
In proofing this before posting it, I had to smirk at how,
of all the qualities of high-rise life, I wrote about the
curtain-less feature and I wonder if that paints me either
a p3rv or a prude. I even debated deleting it, but *shrug*
The limestone cracked, and the timber turned to ghost,
Leaving only the St. James Tower behind—
A juggernaut monolith, a stone-ribbed host,
To the singular fire that the poets refined.
I watched from the rubble, a broken face,
While the bells within turned to cooling lead;
I was the witness to the city's ruined grace,
The heavy silence of the unhoused dead.
Then came the pulleys, the steam, and the rope,
The frantic rhythm of the Great Rebuild;
They hoisted me up on a ladder of hope,
To a height that the soot and the ashes had filled.
I am perched once more on a frame of new steel,
Watching the grid rise in brick and in glass,
But I know the heat that the stones can feel,
And the "cleansing" hours that the poets let pass.
I look down on streets that are paved with the past,
Where the Laureate walks with his polished refrain;
He thinks that the beauty is destined to last,
That the "rising" has washed out the blood and the stain.
But from my new seat on the skyscraper’s brow,
I see the serrated edge of the sky;
I was the gargoyle then, I am the gargoyle now—
The only one left who refuses to lie.
My fellows are cold and of unfeeling bone,
Rigid steel beams that ignore the wind's cry;
They do not breathe like the mortar and stone,
But pierce through the clouds with a silver-gray eye.
The city has hardened, its heartbeat is fast,
Wrapped in a skeleton, hollow and bright;
The companions of old were too fragile to last,
But these new giants thrive in the electric night.
You, alone, can be my remedy of relief
You, alone, can be the cure to my grief
Because of you, my temporary highs don't easily wear off
Because if you are here, life would be less tough and I build skin that's rough
I'm strong
Cuz I belong
I long
To be on your tongue
And on your mind, swinging along
All alone, all along or maybe I'm the one in the wrong
Oooooh oooooh ooooh
Mmmm mmmmm mmmm
Champagne of shame is what I consume
Shadows of you leave me with no room for gloom or upcoming doom
Because You, alone, are on my mind day and night
Not everything in your eyes are plain black and white
If it was, what's the point of living this life?
What's the point of living this lie of abominable strife?
All my life, I was struck by tragedy's knife
It kills me to say this, but I want this sadness, this ache, this hideous me to end because I'll never find my true love, my dear dove, my wowmazing wife
Did you listen to the tune from the young lover?
The complete stranger of glistening gladness is whispering in my ear, saying it's not over
The volcano of vibrancy glows as you and I collide into each other
Did you get my drift? Did you lift me higher than the skyscraper?
Our past, present and future isn't a mighty blur,
But a rather vital, priceless wisdom, greater than words can describe that's for sure!
More touching and comforting than a feline's purr
You, alone, are my darling devil
You, alone, are good and evil
I made you angeled eggs to bring you light from above
But instead you shed your innocent, yet unconditional love...
Unchanging love...
Unpredictable love...
Because I want you with or without me
I crave your elegant glee and are my lovely tree
Unbearable thoughts barreling through my head
Giving me loads of dread and I'm a book left unread
I am the hardened bread in the trash instead
You, alone, can puff me up with passionate joy
You, alone, have made me a worthless toy...
Now, what am I to do now that I'm a heartbroken boy?
You, alone, can be my remedy of relief
I wonder about a skyscraper.
I imagine if it could caper.
Around town.
Making skyscraper sounds.
As if a building could smile.
Windows lit up to be seen for miles.
I write about a skyscraper that’s meek.
My poetry is a bit unique.
It’s a bit of an illness but not a curse.
It’s just a harmless, silly verse.
That’s all I do with my powers.
Is write nonsense for hours.
It’s just a bit odd.
To write about a skyscraper’s nod.
I can only write about thoughts within me.
So I write about a skyscraper on a swing set with a tree.
My poetry makes them wonder.
And then I write another.
A poem that’s different, but just as unsound.
So they forget about the skyscraper that runs around.
My country people
join still in political meaningless processions
just for one plate fried rice
My country people
strike roads and highways still
just for a piece of cloths
My country people
do riot still with indigenous
just for whitening the black money
My country people
gather in processions
addicted for an unknown destiny
My country people
don’t know own fundamental rights of life;
they consider all political parties as their own;
skyscraper buildings and flyover roads on hungry bellies
they consider these are the name of developed life!
Groaning through the Joy Bangla slogans of my country people
Native politicians consider this as the fun of their happiest soul
Foolish in political tricks
My country people pitch
©Mahtab Bangalee
Chattogram
05/12/2022
In this hurried, crowded, chaotic world
Many broken and lonely people are hurled
Silent thoughts invade their mind
Loveless, Unwanted they trail behind.
Can you hear the silence in this crowded place,
Do you even slow down, to look at his face.
Stop a little, lessen your haste,
He is solely dependent on our bit of waste
Don’t be a coward arrest your hesitation
He has no where to go this is his destination.
Reach in your pockets, take out some dime
He has nothing of Value just loads of spare time.
I used to be a businessman, worked in a skyscraper.
Here is my bed, cardboard and newspaper
I once was proud, clean and rich
But then life left me broken the heartless
She wiped out my children, my wife
I just gave up living wanting no life
So here I sit in tatters on this crowded street
Surrounded by silence, begging for a bite to eat.
Can You hear the silence of his broken heart?
or is it easier judging him, taking him apart?
Why does he drink, not find a job
he is useless ain’t he? Just an old yob...
Drink keeps him warm, and dulls his senses
He has built many walls and put up his fences.
On this crowded London pavement this chilly night
A complete stranger, broke silence and shared his plight.