Long Suburbia Poems
Long Suburbia Poems. Below are the most popular long Suburbia by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Suburbia poems by poem length and keyword.
a blue chevy impala basks in a suburban driveway
like a beached whale it oozes gases and black oils
its seeping white walls beg for rubber movements
little boy inside the house sits on a pleated couch
he watches the setting sun through a screen door
fat mother stirs pudding in a wall-papered kitchen
smoking father works a tv guide crossword puzzle
he flicks white hot dust into a crystal glass ashtray
the corner television set transmits black and white
cathode rays of a half-naked wrestler pinned down
the destroyer with mask on lifts his victorious arms
little boy hears calliope music in the green distance
the ice cream man comes with dry ice and cologne
still three blocks away he makes another long stop
fat mother fries bloody meats in a fiery blue skillet
she turns on boss radio to hear elvis sing the blues
little boy goes to the admiral and turns the channel
bishop sheen appears in black cursing the darkness
skipper frank implores the kids to brush after meals
tennessee tuxedo chases tiger tornado to megapolis
smoking father finishes a tv guide crossword puzzle
the ice cream man arrives with dry ice and cologne
Impressive
behemoths
iconic eyefuls
clutter its
cortex that
is of the
manmade
plateau as
it rises from
end to end
sloping in
its outstretched
suburbia that
is hunkered
down as its
supportive
role model
surrounding
the panoramic
scope of its
hub, the
lifeline both as
survivors in their
own respective
appearances,
branching
outwardly made
up of smaller
towns and
villages of
cul-de-sacs,
mom & pop stores,
schools, and
playgrounds
that sorts out
as a piece of
a miniature
Americana
being its
salvation
from a workday
to a night play
a microcosm
of endless
tearing down
and building
up in this
city of lights
a metro-cosmos
that never sleeps
amidst tomorrow
eyes . . .
2020 January 26
Cityscape Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Julia Ward
I have a curious mind
About humans and their life’s
As I correspond with PS poets
I wonder where they reside?
Do you live in a house in suburbia
Or an apartment in a busy city
On a farm or ranch in the country?
With nature so captivating and pretty
Or are you beside the ocean?
In a cottage overgrown with thistle
Perhaps in a huge mansion
With all the bells and whistles!
Maybe you are a nomad
Your home on wheels and mobile
Or live in a boat on the water
Or is off grid more your style?
Do you just have a room?
Maybe a flat or a retirement home
Or high up in the mountains
In a commune or all alone?
Do you reside in a dry hot desert
Or in the alps covered with snow
Or by a babbling brook?
Where fresh water trickles and flows
Maybe you are a free spirit
Living life in a tent
Is your home your sanctuary
Do you feel safe and content?
I live in a house in the suburbs
One street back from the sea
I love my home and where I live
It is “my” sanctuary ….
Yesterday the wind blew hard
branches now litter blacktops and lawns,
twigs crunch underfoot.
Minor damage
but this morning, neat suburbia
is a little ramshackle and shabby
the way infrastructure
turns shabby when chipmunks
gnaw their way through
to another hole,
or carpenter bees’ tunnel
or ants crumble caulking
into small untidy scruff.
It’s a day for a rain-proof slouch hat.
A day for surveying
what and which
fell prey to that blustery toss,
and what dodged (as if it could),
the glancing clout of the gales disorder?
I walk to the end of the avenue.
some walk in the opposite direction,
all of us
seeking small signs of downfall
the wind strewn and note-worthy.
We head home one by one
with our breathless tales,
a little swagger in our steps
very eager to report
not much at all.
terrible two
is a ninja turtle
she spins her
little play broom
like a fighting stick
and charges
grandpa shark
faints and dodges
she reels back
gives him a whack
and he cries like a villain
terrible two
triumphantly giggles
terrible two
won't eat anything
he makes
she demands
yummy bunny pasta
for breakfast
to his surprise
grandpa shark actually
finds them quite tasty
grandpa shark
sits in a lawn chair
under a swing set and pushes
buzz light year's girlfriend
for an hour
higher
terrible two orders
higher she screams
to infinity and beyond
terrible two
still in her ninja pajamas
must get dressed
to go to the park
no
not your green velvet
Christmas dress
grandpa shark
sells her on
pink Minnie Mouse T
and blue denim shorts
(sometimes he wins)
snack packs
two bottles of water
and a fresh pull up
(just in case)
in her chariot
she climbs
and they're off for
a long stroll
through suburbia
saying hi to every dog
it's walker
every bird
and every jogger
until she jumps out
and runs for the swings
(not more swings)
then the jungle gym ganglia
of climby things
all leading to
the gigantic tube slide
where he catches her
until she's tired
she chugs a water bottle
dry
and polishes off
her stuffed pretzels
on the softest grass
under the cool shade
of the biggest tree
they lie
her soft rosy cheek
pressed on his chest
I love you Grandpa
I love YOU
no, I love YOU
she points her
tiny finger
in his face
tickles and giggles
under that big old tree
grandpa shark
reflects in the dark
their time in the park
and feels lucky
to have his terrible two
and sad as the
man in the moon
to leave her
as the road passes
beneath him
he remembers another
terrible two clutching
his fingers from
her car seat behind him
as they drove through
the silent night
he smiles fondly at the
big lunar light
leading him home
that let's him know
wherever he goes
his terrible twos
will always
be with him
Packed like sardines in a subway train
a scream and then the samurai sword swings
no escape it's a scene from some sort of sick film
death came from suburbia today
every single soul prayed he didn't know their name
mad man or martyr if it's you slain its all the same
only the sound of screeching breaks, drowns out the screams
no god, he slipped away to see who had died of starvation today
in the distance sirens sound as salvation makes its way
under strip lights peoples souls have slipped away
make the voices speaking to me go silent now , I'm spent, done.
Pandemonium comp entry 05/08/2016
The Mountain withstands time the Agent Elder who once spewed an earthly inferno
Now rests quietly in peace. I climb higher holding onto tree branches covered in moss In a
rainforest where time is lost I breathe in the early morning dew that smells like cotton
candy and the Evergreens of a sugary Maple. Houdini escaped the chains of monotony, and I
did too. I was a prisoner in the confines of Whitby Plain suburbia nightmare. Cookie
cutter homes and the middle class daily life.
I wouldn’t fit in next to a water looking down on everyone else. I almost lost my edge… a
shadow version of myself. My Light My confidence to shout out and sing had almost gone out
Peering down into the Glacier lake. On top of my mountainous escape into the looking glass
surface I am overjoyed and see the sadness of my trapped heart dissipate
Form:
Symbiosis
Sitting on that rock
Like a suburban mermaid,
You look like a lost girl
With a long sad story to tell.
So honey, why don’t we
Mosey on over to Wide-track Town,
Where the freeways meet in purgatory;
There are singing hipsters there,
Dressed in the regalia of the deranged,
Sniffing salt through straws,
There are ten thousand latex surfers
Returning from the dead,
Returning from their brief sojourn
In the distant backwaters,
The yellowish green sulfur waters,
That seep into your bare flesh,
And send mad biting impulses
Straight into your seething soul.
Ah, yes! So, how long have you had that…
Pardon me honey, but,
Is that a bruise on your neck?
Or maybe it is the love-bite I recently
Gave you, as we rode in the back seat
Of a lavender blue 72’ Land Yacht,
Spread out fine under a blanket,
As Broten, up front, steered us down the long highway,
Through a lit-up suburbia,
Like a chrome dragon spitting smoke from its butt.
Kissing you, honey, is a meal unto itself.
Like eating electric spit
With a dash of salt!
Now is the time,
Now is the moment to touch you.
If you don’t want me to,
I won’t…
Sitting on that rock,
Just like a seducing mermaid.
So, honey, what exactly is your story?
Why don’t we mosey on over to Wide-track Town?
We can talk incessantly until the stars appear,
We can watch the latex surfers find nirvana,
And I can give your daring thigh,
My thirty-minute love bite.
It's impossible to hum with your nose blocked
Don't try it you'll give yourself a hernia
About two hundred babies are born every minute
Guess there's not much doing in suburbia
Dust under your bed is your own dead skin
Unbelievable but that's what they say
There are more nerve cells in the human brain
Than there's stars in the Milky Way
The water you drink has already been drunk
By others, what a charming thought
Donkeys kill more people than plane crashes
That's not something I think of a lot
A million dollars in one hundred dollar bills
Weighs only about twenty-two pounds
A disposable diaper holds seven pounds of pee
That's too much information I've found
97% of money contains a trace of cocaine
Have you sniffed your dollar bills of late
The glue on Israeli stamps is certified kosher
This leaves me in an overwrought state
10 million bricks are in the Empire State Building
Masons surely had a heavy load
That's it for now but there'll be more to follow
Keep an eye out for them down the road
Through the mire, lie rows of houses,
in fact there all around,
This is suburbia the sprawl,
Spreading in all directions,
Concrete and steel surge upwards,
Indigenous trees bulldozed down,
Roads dark alleyways fester,
Behold this was once my town.
Weaving through leaky tunnels,
Stench permeates foul air,
Organization of the multitude,
Rats in a Rubik’s cube maze,
Where else can we go,
peasants of urban growth,
Incognito behind our masks,
Eyes burning, smog chokes,
A caveman of bricks and mortar,
Blind man who doesn’t need light,
Awoken from my life of slumber,
Searching for the high ground,
Find a weird monstrosity,
Towering above my head,
A ski slope, shopping mall,
I only seek, milk and bread,
Never seen the future coming,
Perhaps looked, the other way,
I helped create this Frankenstein,
To call it civilized would be a mistake,
Once reaped what was sewn,
Now concrete over everything we see,
Where in hell, has the sky gone,
Dystopia now, Can this really be?
COMPLETELY YOUR CHOICE (43)
Sponsored by Brian Strand 18/02/2021