Suburbia Poems

The Great American Make-Believe

Suburban resident pretense, a bleak uniformity.
I grew up among the repetitious homes,
isolated alienated, I wandered the conformity,
the endless square yards, the dull feckless syndrome.

Repugnant yet intriguing, a redundant singularity,
fabrications of fortified, fraudulent self-deception,  
blocks and blocks of suffocating, vapid vanity,
I endured the bland boredom like an endless inquisition. 

All history, all memory was recklessly

Dad Did Not Quit

Can we talk over dinner?
I’ll be composed,
Salad a middleman
On orange china.
I won’t stare daggers
I’ll only look gently
You won’t upset me
You won’t cry
Tablecloth a barrier
Of polite normalities
No last words.
No hard feeling.
You’ll drift atop
Jello molds,
An angel in suburban hell.
You won’t tell me 
You quit your job,
And our haven
Will remain bubble wrapped.

Anti-Poem - Dry Ice and Cologne

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

Paterson- Sunshine In Suburbia

Paterson- sunshine in suburbia
by americus


Paterson, a poet, he's charming and he knows it
Paterson, a man, he's got a life with a plan
Sunshine in suburbia, searching for euphoria
Paterson drives a bus, and swears a censored cuss

Write me into a poem, sing me a hymn 
Make my life want to begin
Now while Paterson's life may be mundane,

City Self Versus Suburbia Self

when I get to the city
I am on auto pilot
if a murder happened I would be no witness

I do not see people when I leave the suburbs
I walk for blocks in crying tennis shoes
wishing I worked somewhere else

Have you seen this person? A detective could ask
He could put me under a spotlight
It would help me

The Dancing Lights of Suburbia

Lights moving in time with the music
at a mansion in a neighboring town
Vibrations pounding through the stereo bugle
hark you feel it escalate then drown
projectors casting shadows of colorful hew
raindrops falling to the sound
windshield covered in dew
and moistening the ground
wishing to share that moment
with everyone thereof
but business interferes bestowment
and it was aggregated by the one I

Untitled

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

Demons of Suburbia

Lawn furniture flavored ice cream
	served in moxa cups
Candied eyes of freshwater bream
	pickled bushdog pups.

Pig pizzle wrapped around a stick
	grilled upon the deck
Woven rope with cat head and brick
	hung about your neck.

Marzipan violin bowed by a stoat
	badminton played widdershins
A toast of poison without antidote
	barefoot on needles and pins.

Anthem - Suburbia, the Beautiful

Wavy grass carpet,
   Manicured green lawn stretching
            To horizon's end.

Trust Suburbia

Trust is the thought's 
Face to face
We dare not say
For fear to pay the repercussions 
Our relationship's 
Are not up to 
Built on marshmallow foundation's 
We bare no relation
To the people we seek
To cover from the world
In suburbia

Diabolus In Suburbia

We are drawn here for the festivity, to glorify His name.
In our crimson best, presents wrapped gaily, to glorify His name.

Joyous revelers and their dutiful handlers arriving.
Doors open, we are welcomed heartily, to glorify His name.

Presents not expected, but the mistress will not feel neglected.
Material offerings stacked neatly, to glorify His name.

The High Priestess, same

Suburbia

I don't live near the ocean,
But I long to hear the waves.
I don't live near the mountains,
It'd be cool to see the caves.

To far from the city lights,
To be considered hipster.
To far from a working farm,
To get a working blister.

Dwelling in suburbia,
Sounds of mowers fill the air.
The only lights are porches,
No farms or caves anywhere.

Ode

Northern Suburbia

Your love is real 
the love you feel.
Your love is great 
the love you make.
Your records are on fire 
its your desire.
Take me out tonight
and go wild and crazy, 
or be fat and lazy. 
So I played some Doors 
and saw some whores. 
So I said goodbye 
and they all must die, fool. 
So dig

Suburbia Revisisted

Electric Bleeps and bloops
Powerlines buzzing as the

Sunset going behind the roofs

O’lovely neighborhood lost
Facades of families
And degeneration
Of cultural paradigm
No crime
Just a hollow 
husk town
Consuming the lives o’the poor folks
Sigh sigh
but alas
The community 
dies
slowly

highway burning over the hill

and man I’ve got way too much 

time

to kill

Jesus of Suburbia

"Know yourself and you will win all battles" – Sun Tzu

Jesus of Suburbia, He
who hits rock bottom
with timely persistence,
gets HIGH
on the burning cross
of Drunken Hostility..
-THIS IS NOT A RELIGION;
St. Jimmy knows that
Monday's belittling unfolds
into Holsten-Pilsner-Fastbock sippin',
and something like
seven-day drug binges...
----> Still he awakens
in a pool of piss, LISTLESS,
and because the pills
are gone,
Jimmy claims to have

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