Short Suburban Poems
Short Suburban Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Suburban by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Suburban by length and keyword.
Suburban farmers till the ground
With rotor-blades that spin around
Slicing clods in two.
Suburban Eden, lost—then found
Every Spring, anew.
An ancient hitching-post survives
Too strong and stable to tear down;
The horse-drawn cart no more arrives,
For Time has altered Man and town.
An ancient hitching-post survives
Too strong and stable to tear down;
The horse-drawn cart no more arrives,
For Time has altered Man and town.
A tree bends over
not to smell the sweet grasses
but to pick up leaves.
Copyright © Cynthia Jones
Sept.17/2005
Just having fun with words.
Chickadee flies low
looking for food he buried
runs into a tree.
Copyright © Cynthia Jones
Jan.28/2013
I haven't penned one of these in a while.
We won't ever be anybody's red
caped tin horned hero.
We seem local and suburban.
All pleased.
Published in Poetry Almanac - Summer 1974
Written April 20, 2016
Here he comes
To the red brick mailbox
Down the solar powered sidewalk
Newspaper in hand
A suburban professional
However antisocial
cruising down the interstate
cool cat behind the wheel
chick magnet in his prime
now another suburban feline
AP: Honorable Mention 2021
Posted on September 15, 2021
I am a
white
male
suburban-raised
ivy-league-educated
coddled
spoiled
baby boomer
who
wasn't tough
enough
to make it
in the
business
world
You
now
know me
inside
and out...
snow
stampede
suburban
ghosts of factories
shotguns checked shirts, red necks,
rust the vultures waiting for
memorial alabaster
6/22/19
written by James Edward Lee Sr.
Clarity Pyramid/Form
Christmas lights are starting to bloom,
showering multicolored holiday grace
across increasingly bare, late fall suburban landscapes.
I love, I need, the perfectly placed, perfectly timed, whimsy.
Curbing Drinking Suburban Bourbon
What we could be doing is probably curbing,
Things that are disturbing and also suburban;
Before drinkers die,
A tariff do apply;
Never drinking or have been serving bourbon.
Jim Horn
~oak trees forest
in urban suburban lands
mimic cats meow
vocals a bluebird sings chirps
song singing bluebird
5/13/20
Brian's Choice C Any form, Any theme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Through careful conversation
We were strangers then
Fantasy in our eyes
Hiding in our coffee cups
Sweet suspended afternoons
Letting our music talk to each other
message, and their medium
--- all-in-one ---
--- things-in-themselves ---
restless glinting fish
thrash this way, that,
only thinking that they're trapped
behind four glass walls,
inside their glass suburban house.
Halloween Haiku
(9.7.10)
Suburban parade:
A night to transform yourself,
and beg without shame.
Subsequent morning:
Pillowcases wear make up-
Wrappers and trinkets.
The Thanksgiving porch:
Mouth with one neglected tooth-
The jack-o-lantern.
tooth of a lion
bearing a yellow floret...
harbinger of spring
an invasive plant
the curse of suburban lawns...
the dandelion
(Haiku)
02/16/2023
Spring Flower, Bird or Butterfly Haiku
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
In the grass, I lay my head,
a pillow soft, a verdant bed,
blades of fingers gently wrap
around my limbs, a loving trap.
Leaves rustle up their lullaby
as buzzing bees go buzzing by
a symphony of sight and sound
out of the grass life lives unbound—
See the girls on the corner
In tight tanks
And micro minis
Popping gum
Locking eyes
Driving boys wild
See the sunlight
Outline their curls in gold
Memories of youth
In the Suburban wastes
Walking the streets at night
Running with the summer moon
"28:06:42:12" OR "the red death"
hookah's pookha
hocus pocus
an opium dream
or backyard rabbit
sincerely Sinclair
habitate but not quite
suburban but a matter
of fact so i ask:
red rover red rover
come over to eat
some crimson
clover and
relax
a filtered light strained and old
that hangs over us man crawlers
we are loaded with slow blood
we jaw-jaw under evening circles
empty as a watering can in august
up and up the garden, down down
we hammer the green into squares
as we think we may, foolish with dust
by his mother's side
a famine child cries
while a suburban family sits down
to eat more then they need
in a land so rich with wealth
grain stocked piled
in silos so high
so much more than the little consumed
a blind eye is turned
to the horrors of the third world
Summer; its refreshing voice of
Up-splashed gaiety.
Afar; yet in hearing, clearer
Finds one drawn nearer!
Suburban windows everywhere
Let all they can in
Of what afloat, with orange scent
Gives a boost to this;
That which , couched, lure for drowsy bliss
Heats; deeper within!
While gold-laced suburban skies shine, it is wasted on the child.
As he pouts behind a picket fence, vanilla ice cream melts.
Watching the manicured lawns grow, I long to loosen the green.
Written 5/25/20 for Jenish Somadas’
Let the Pens Flow Sijo Contest
last month a thousand
green parachutes opened
colonizing the deepest woods
may apples
you called them
although it was april then
now under every leafy eave
the white globe hangs
suburban as any pourch lamp
lighting,
what little wilderness
is left.