Long Suburban Poems
Long Suburban Poems. Below are the most popular long Suburban by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Suburban poems by poem length and keyword.
An unmarked auction house in the cellar
Fat cat millionaires outbid one another
A quiet pissing contest
To be the lowest of low-lifes.
A living corpse up for gropes...I mean grabs.
She’s a virgin, for now.
Chocolate curls over a red silk chemise
Cerulean eyes, swollen.
Fifteen years old with her head in the clouds,
Drug-induced of course.
She wasn’t willing.
The closing bell won’t change that.
What do we suppose the winning bid will be?
A suburban mother sobs and curses god
from a twin-sized bed
drowning in red silk sheets and tears
under a boy-band poster.
Another runaway, the Sherriff had shrugged.
Third one this week.
He was in a hurry.
Working two jobs so he could retire.
I work at an auction, said he.
But no one was listening.
The Senator shared a knowing wink
Jingling coins in his red silk pocket.
I'll start the bidding.
4/7/15
With purpose her steps project pearlescent elegance
Finely cut fabric falls from her waist, embellishes
Weightless momentum, legs timed as ballroom
bustle musical march beside busy suburban thrum
Range Rover overgrown zebras meander, hands free
Inhabit hair salon adjacent spots, to emerge panthers
Claws comb plumb neat pelt on gym angular shoulders
Watched white teeth greet crimped cappuccino domes
From rotting fence, cluttered sunroom mottled streets
Feral hedges blend shed dilapidation with neighbours
Pearl recalls the rural run-down houses, howling low hope
Chimneys emitting messages to status never received
Mauve smoke drifts to city monotonous nonchalance
Eleventh level sky view squares share trove of eventide
Tang in coveted ticket operas from atop lavish lifestyle
High rise residents' glinted sun sets show mirrors only
20th March 2021
Written for Contest : Eight Word Bard
Sponsor : John Hamilton
Words of necessary inclusion are:
pearlescent, thrum, plumb, crimped,
feral, howling, eventide, tang
I’d say it’s been a long time coming
In the mist of the rain running
But I keep a gunning
For it’s been a long time coming
Before dusk, after dawn
Adore trust, past the laughter, we yawn
If all thing matter
Then nothing really matters
When there’s nothing left to dream
Will my nightmares scatter
When the lights and screams become silence
Will I fade into a past time memory
Secom to a single trial dance
As time will pass
For lost thoughts eternity will grasp
The friendship, precious loved ones, and companionships
As a broken student, seems I can only stand on tips
Suburban lies become myths of the wilderness
When will these prophets consider this?
I’d say it’s been a long time coming
In the mist of the rain running
But I keep a gunning
For it’s been a long time coming
Form:
Unsingle, disengaged from others
In that house squared off suburban
On the cul de sac circle dead end street
The one with a picket fence unattended by white
As it had never been painted
Sweetie, a witch with a head full of curlers
Frowns, wearing her green mask makeup
To look pretty for her man, her Mr. Right
Just off a road called Twilight Zone Massacre
A bald person who calls himself husband
Has a head full of twisted thoughts as he is lost
Eyes glare out from windows void of light
A creature called wife stirs up a cauldron
Is it soup or poison tonight
She must look pretty for her man
If he is late there is no saying
Through crisscrossed muntin,
patterns, and panes of clear glass,
the world outside is painting itself gray,
a wet mess of monochrome.
Muted cars speed by,
reflecting a leaden sky.
Their moans and groans wash over
every rooftop, passing by.
Nature's call is heard as rain,
the plate glass her melodic conductor.
The drops, each a source of sound and light,
spruce up this dreary suburban sight.
As an onlooker, I marvel
at the hidden pulchritude of this travel.
The hoariness holds an ambition
of lingering thaumaturgy.
The texture of the windowpane,
the ancient scent of rain,
as a visitor to this scene,
I find magic, dawning, to be divined,
Even when engirt by zones of storm.
This feathered comedian
sits perched on a suburban fence
scanning for what crawls the ground
or pokes a careless head up to break
the surface of a backyard pond,
stropps its beak to clean off
the leftovers from its last kill,
lifts its head and laughs.
But there is no frivolity trumpeting
from its throat, only a triumphant
boast, a warning to all held
in the cross hairs of its sight
that it owns this acre.
A rush of blood lifts a sudden
flare of wings and powers
a plunging terror towards
the unwary.
Then, bloated,
it squats on a high branch
with its blunt head motionless,
eyes locked in a meditative stare.
It cares little for the honour it has
in the hierarchy of native species,
or that its laugh is almost elevated
to the status of the National prayer.
Note.
The Kookaburra is a bird belonging
to the Kingfisher family and is endemic
to Australia, particularly the east coast.
It is celebrated for its distinctive
laughing call. In a way the Kookaburra
symbolises the irreverent side to
the National character.
DEAD END STREET --WHY do dead end roads Exist
"Are you my enemy, if you’re not my friend?
Alternative exit without exit should be posted dead end
When “Google” tells you turn right at the bend
Daylight night time Run Johnny Run gets dark at ten
~
Its GPS systems “Google” shows and tells you the road there
Maybe curb site lodging house in front of thee
As connecting when they actually do not trail, where?
I fell off the rugged deep end plummeting free
~
Keeping wheels on the road round, round you go
Rounded end to facilitated to slow, flow on cul-de-sacs
I driving off the freeway, spinning my way to and fo
Up down alleys down yield, slow, stop, dead end signs surface
~
Disconnected streets filled with trash cans, homeless and police
Crimes and gangs’ darkness rends why do dead end roads exist?
Limit through-traffic in residential areas.
Conjure up visions of quiet suburban bliss,
Curb line barrier curbs sidewalks houses meet barriers
Far removed from dangers and noisy high-speed traffic
~
One with low wages and no hope of promotion
No speeders, skate boarder, permitted on the shoulders
Cul-de-sac deadlock stalemate blank wall blind alley
Catch me if you can you can’t I am running blindly
~
Short street with a bulbous end, or even to the end just a portion
Why do neighborhoods have dead ends?
A long road that is a no-through road and terminates abruptly
All those speed bumps, curbs, Cul-de-sac deadlocks not our friends
~
Dead ends are added to road layouts in urban planning
To limit through-traffic in residential areas no one carrying
Is the dead end a road or street, an alley or sidewalk meet
No through road or no exit road,
Is a street with only one inlet or outlet?
When you come upon a dead end"
11/13/23
DEAD END STREET Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Lawless
My brother has a mountain lion
Prowling near his street,
A cat that on a morning walk
You wouldn’t want to meet.
He lives up in the mountains, though,
So people understand
That animals like that will roam
All over on that land.
My son received a police alert
A bobcat has been seen
In his suburban neighborhood
Where bobcats don’t convene.
The warning said to check that your
Garage door’s not ajar
Or you may find a huge surprise
When climbing in your car.
It’s strange my son and brother
In such different habitats
Have been linked by sudden sightings
Of these most unwelcome cats.
Hello Linnie.. Well I dont think I've ever came across your 'problem' before ever do
you really feel bad about this.? Munch munch mmm..gulp Yes I feel so..Well so torn; really..' I'm a cannibal let's face it, and I enjoy the black ones most.' So that makes me a racist as well.' I really need help.' Well I'm willing to talk to you here
Linnie, have you tried professional help? I did try once but there's no catagory for
me so I turned to you in the hope the publicity might, get my situation to a larger audience.' have you always felt like this Linnie? No I just felt it come on as I turned
21..' I think you should really talk to your doctor again Linnie, how long since you last went down there.? Well I never went down Tom, but I thought you said you did not fit any catogory they had.? Well yes but I checked on the computer because I have a fear of going outside, thats acrophobia Lennie, are you aware of that condition? WOW Tom is that a condition..? Yes Lennie.. I'm real glad I called here Tom its easy to talk to you, I'd really like to get out of this fix I'm in..' And there's more.. I don't think I will really be settled in my mind till I go tight rope walking over the grand canyon.' Well Linnie these things seem to be quite incompatible with each other, I think given the graveness of the combined mass of
them you could qualify for state help... How much..? I mean I could..? Yes I tell you what Lennie, if you call back next week I'll get the contact number of a great no win no fee lawyer, and I guarantee He'll get you a low rise suburban res and payment week by week to help with all this stress your under, now how does that sound to you? Gee well that sounds like a real help Tom.' & does it give you more hope Linnie.? Yes a lot..' And do you feel a bit better? Oh yes Tom.. Right I'll wait for your call next week.' bye Tom, bye now Linnie..'
The edge of town arrives quickly, one last suburban tract,
one last inflatable swimming pool then a blue wash of sky
surfs over the blacktop.
There are many left turns ahead, but when you discover
a beat-up clapperboard hanging over cotton brush
you’ll know you have attained warp speed.
Keep left, turn down a hollow crick road where pent-up
pockets of sunlight bud in the thickets, keep on
until you see ahead the land leaking into the Mississippi.
No matter how many times you take this drive
you‘ll feel that you have only just now escaped
a story that will always end right here.