Old wooden houses
In need of a paint
According to the authorities
The red faded roof
The white peeling walls
The veranda worn bare
By the children who lived there
And under the floor, thru manholes and more
They got a fright, One night
When they went in to fix
Whatever was wrong
And found the hut we played in
The blankets and rugs, food
Matches for the stove
Fearing a burning end
Scolding, ashamed
'You must never go ...
Under ... the house again'
Years later
The bulldozer came
But our memories remain
Verandas we played on
The hidden door
We laughed on the veranda
Climbed on the rails
Felt the smooth wood
Of the porch
Our bare feet squealing with excitement
Only now I can see
An old memory
No inkling back then
Of the times that would change
No inkling back then
Of the memories of our games
When they told us their memories
It was like a distant land
We would never go there
The past is the past, unravelling just so ...
Children will usually go ... somewhere ...
When told not to go.
Trees gather closely to the lovely wooden frame
The long hallway beckons,
It's skittles again!
Categories:
manholes, childhood, friendship, growing up,
Form: Free verse
the rain that drowned the sidewalks
dampened down the night-time heat
creating steam through manholes
from the pipes beneath the street
and set against this backdrop
of a vibrant city beat
swarms of taxis stung the air
with horns stuck on repeat
as a writer sipping coffee
staring from a café seat
wrote words for her 'bestseller'
based on when two people cheat..
"..married strangers and a storm..
arranged a covert meet..
..ran towards each other
in a way such lovers greet..
they kissed beneath umbrellas
in a manner so discreet
then stepped inside a restaurant
to flirt, laugh, love and eat
her big blue eyes melted his heart
her smile was wide and sweet
and he was rich, tall, cool and calm
and swept her off her feet..."
...but before the lovers' story
made it to another sheet
the writer came to from her thoughts
with the chapter incomplete
her big blue eyes and sweet wide smile
felt somewhat obsolete
on the poor, tall, cool, calm waiter who
brought change with her receipt.
Categories:
manholes, america, love, new york,
Form: Monorhyme
Sewers possess a beauty all their own
belching gas you can hear them hiss and groan.
A maze that stretches for hundreds of miles
they remove our stench and leave us with smiles.
Such an efficient waste removal tube
if you don’t admire their worth, you're a rube.
They're the bowels of a modern city
not to acknowledge them is a pity.
Interconnected pipes flush-out each house
and provide homes for a rat or a mouse.
A marvel of septic engineering
they spread good health without interfering.
Thanks to manholes and ubiquitous drains
our paved streets are not flooded during rains.
Sewer systems are an essential tool
to remove liquid waste and smelly stool.
Try to imagine life without this web
of underground rivers, that flow and ebb.
They out pace a highly prized thoroughbred
and the trick is, they're gravity fed.
(Couplets)
Oct. 29, 2018
Overlooked Beauty Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Jesse Rowe
Categories:
manholes, 12th grade, analogy, beauty,
Form: Couplet
At first, only a few droplets
fall from heaven to quench the heat.
And like drips of perspiration,
splashes start to freckle the street.
What begins as a light sprinkle
morphs into a raging downpour.
And water pools around manholes,
for flooded drains can take no more.
Lightning splinters fragmented skies,
as thunder makes the windows shake.
And the wind howls like a banshee,
garbage cans toppling in its wake.
Paved roads and concrete sidewalks are
less than useless as a blotter.
And islands begin to appear,
awash in a flood of water.
After the summer storm passes,
raindrops dwindle to just a few.
And as the wind starts to calm down,
parting clouds reveal skies of blue.
Categories:
manholes, imagery, imagination, nature, rain,
Form: Quatrain
The stops signs ‘yield’ to our egos
The traffic lights flash red as we go!
The dust we kicked up as we blast through
The paper waste that drifts on the smoke filled air
The giant potholes swallow our monthly budget
As we gather the cents on the road to market
Overtaken on the life's sharp curve - showing off driving skills
Becoming the senselessness of a road kill - speed kills!
The ambiguous turns when we ought to go straight
The dubious road blocks for a bribe of a ticket!
Fine law enforcement at its best...keeping the roads safe
Avoiding duty in uniform at their finest...to preserve life
The manholes that kidnap our children like satan
On the pavement next to hell, they lie dead overdriven
Why did you let than drunken driver go Mr. Policeman?
He’s now your partner in crime for an innocent soul is taken
Categories:
manholes, anger, community, corruption,
Form: Rhyme