Short Backyards Poems

seeing the
backyards of America
AMTRAK...

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if it rome or here at home
they love the sight
of country day light
there day 
as they play
it started 
its
KIDS AND BACKYARDS...

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I'll make you rich
Marry me and shame them
The boo boys in our
Rural backyards who call me
A schomane for life

Schomane: a derogatory term for a man whose heart and mind are ruled by a fear of women...

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The night feels surreal,
in flight in my dressing gown
Swooping through backyards,
I reach to save them from loss,
but find myself falling down.

Written for the contest 'Tanka me a Dream"

tara jennings...

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Silver edges lands 
as dawn widens and dewdrops 
sprinkle backyards where tulips 
 
are sunk deep. Sunsets 
cup with their red yellow skies 
as stars burst through night 
 
black as her eyes, closing 
like petals so soft, easy 
to gently kill....

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Baby feet smell like powders, lotions, and sweet, sweet, newness
	They grow so fast, we harness the growth with shoes, to slow them
	Yet they dance free of restraints, in the soft grassy backyards of spring 
	    
	Sandra Hudson  1/27/2012
	On your feet contest
	by: nette oncloud...

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Hot Tubs
Tin bathtubs were hung in backyards, it’s true
They were brought in on bath night, right on cue
Good old ma would fill the tub
Then give us a soapy scrub
Hot tubs ain’t new, had 'em in old days too.
3rd May 2021...

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Bodies all dusted.
Choices all busted.
Voices all gusted.
Rights all rusted.
The schools like barracks.
The play fields like Graveyards.
Buried all freedom lied in the backyards.
Speaking a word here  brings you thousand hazards.
Calling themselves doves are all Jeopard's.
with due regards to all nationalistic retards.
I want to say that Free Kashmir is on the cards....

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A Victoria long weekend
Is a long weekend
In the month of May
A gathering allowed
The rue was announced
Only small gatherings
Allowed to be held
Parks of any kind not
allowed
Just held in backyards

Waiting for darkness
then fireworks begin
Sleep interrupted
To wake from sound sleep
Loud pops noises heared
Loudly for hours
Until all is quiet 
Once again to sleep 
soundly...

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Passion torn without remorse
Screamed in rage but now I’m hoarse
Frustration hidden, turned to pain
Posters flimsy, fiercely waved

Causes spend our youthful
For faithless men you dare not trust
Watched our leaders backroom trade
Saw our numbers flux and fade

Saw two children, both my own
Saw my rage as time on loan
In backyards saw transcendent me
Love suburban-born reality....

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I have graves in all backyards 
I have blood flowing in all miles and yards
I am discussed and debated for awards 
I see the killers getting all praises and rewards
I see all Jingoists calling themselves Pope afterwards 
I am caged 
I am razed 
I am tired
I am wired 
I am fired 
I am oppresed 
I am occupied 
I am Kashmir 
I am Palestine 
Come and hear the Echoes from my graves....

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It's such a thrill to hear the trill
Of birds up in the trees.
The notes just spill from every bill
In melodies to please.

With every frill the backyards fill,
A concert most delightful.
Their innate skill means hearers will
Perk up at every biteful.

We know the drill - they'll sing until
They stop; it isn't for us.
Then all is still and we would kill
To hear just one more chorus....

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From the very first time I set foot in this place,
I determined to prosper,
Ekpoma,
like a work bench,
and a technician's manual on instrumentation,
reaches for instruments,
of vitality,
with market gestures,
and a gesticulating culture,
in the land of the living,
under a plastic cloud of mood swings,
hanging partly by a vegetable spine,
of subsistence backyards,
and Friendswillpower Enterprise...

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The summer was always so much fun
-- When we were young --
We'd jump fences and run through backyards 
 -- when we were young --
Boys were icky and really gross too
 -- when we were young --
Best friends were forever and ever
 -- when we were young --
A pinky promise was sacred
 -- when we were young --
and now in my 60s I want to go back to
 -- when we were young --


Epistrophe form ©SamHarty...

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Take me to the hill
from which the rainbow rises
to pay ancestors’ tribute.
Share the memories
handed down by mighty chiefs,
warriors who loved the land.

Harmony once reigned
between their tribes and nature
until white men invaded.
Interstates now run
through our backyards -- urban sprawl.
Endangered is our future.



*Entry for Chris's contest, but originally written for Rick's "Ancient Songs" contest....

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A loving place where I did once dwell
but will never be allowed to return
You are the spring that feeds the stories I tell
the keeper of the things that I have learned

Each step I take is filled with memories
from a life that I once knew
Every smell from flower and tree
pulls my thoughts back to you

There in those backyards of my memories
I recall my pledge from so long ago
That I will remain open and free
and cling to youth and never let go...

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Scraped walls
with graffiti all over them
Old house 
with cardboard for its base
Abandoned backyards
devoid of flowers grace
Honey lit doors 
with their damaged face
Shattered windows
without any breathing trace
Evacuated homes 
all around this place
This dry ground
has seen bloodsheds
Those big rocks 
have been someone's escape
This whole scene
is made 'cause of disdain
 this horrid event
screams humans shouldn't hate.

-Aayushi Passi...

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Fading Memories

for just a moment 
our love existed
then like a mist
it was gone

the sight of red roses growing
in backyards
remind me of the time
we spent together
and seared petals 
that bloomed to early
withered in the light

herbs thriving in drooping baskets 
from rooftops 
makes me think of you

prosperous veggies 
in the backyard
make me smile

the thing I missed the most
is your strong shoulders
taking me in your arms
carrying my weaken body 
into your palace...

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I travel hither and beyond with the feet of a goose
Clumsy I be, falling over my own tail feathers;
Okay by me. I spill Kool-Aide too
making no apologies
as I barely notice.

I am called back to listen to complaints
They bother me not; I am busy trying to untangle myself.
Things are happening in backyards and in closets
I am not privy to them, and I feel relief.

Are you aware?
No, I say blissfully.
Not wanting to be bothered.
Wanting to be free from the ideas of others....

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