This backwood in the suburbs
Untamed wild, streeted round.
Near but with far sensations
Vulnerably blown through.
Crossing and tracking, lose me
Whom to follow would dare!
Nights, know what the lost feel!
Whom spooked are tree shades by.
Whilst as a fear-rush bats fly
In fox cub hear wolf's clue.
warringal park
“Where the Suburbs Meet the Sea”
I walked again where I began,
past fences worn, where gum trees ran—
but now the tide had kissed the land,
and waves rolled in like time unplanned.
The house was there, but changed in tone,
a quiet shell, yet not alone.
The breeze had salt, the air was still,
the sea had climbed the outer hill.
And there they were—my loyal kin,
tails low, eyes soft, worn thin within.
They didn’t bark, they didn’t run,
just looked at me, like “What’s begun?”
One limped with iron in her paw,
a bolt where nature used to draw.
Not cruel, just… wrong, as if the past
was patched too quick, too hard, too fast.
I knelt and cried—I didn’t speak.
The pain was old, the silence deep.
I whispered love into the air,
and felt the stillness start to care.
No fixing now, no need to mend—
just sit beside what doesn’t bend.
To hold the ache, to stroke the fear,
and say, “I see you. I am here.”
They faded then into the blue,
not lost, but freed—returned, renewed.
And in their place, a softer me,
stood where the suburbs met the sea.
Lev
walking the suburbs
breath takes the smell of gardens
unlike the city center
living on suburbs
the stench of the city's smog
oft spoils the mood of dinner
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.
Blue Suburbs
Like in Saint Denis
Day and night
The zombies cross paths
in Jersey City
Those who slam their dreams in eldorados
cross day and night
Those who have cracked them in the New York blue
They all have one thing in common
the empty look
the lowered head
the determined steps
away from the New York blue
Towards the same illusory goal
Executioners and victims
Of themselves
Drowned by the New York blue
Aby, New York, 21th May 2022
Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version)
Beep, Honk, Crash
The city is in an uproar, but from the outside, it sits in
Silence
A series of quiet calm buildings
Flashing with lights and holding the souls of millions in the palm of its hand
Like you and me
The fear of being a big city, of being ourselves because instead, we sit in
Silence
Living in a world of suburbs
En route to school to get the kids
We had a real surprise.
Two cops and a dog were running
Through the lawns, before our eyes.
“Look, a sweatshirt!” one called out.
“They must have come this way!”
Some police cars came careening by,
A local law display.
The schoolyard parents, on their phones,
Found out what had transpired -
A stolen car, a crash, a chase -
A lockdown was required.
We mulled around the yard and wondered
When they would release
The kids from school, but then we heard
They’re waiting for the police.
Some forty minutes later,
All the bad guys had been caught.
The children filed outside
With not a one of them distraught.
Though I live in the city
Where the crime rates often soar,
The suburbs brought some criminals
Right up to the front door.
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.
An angel fell
somewhere in suburbs
a little angel
blonde,
with blue eyes,
somewhere in suburbs,
in a well guarded site,
nobody working
no one in a rush
obvious too happy
in this paradise...
One day
got bored
got bored to death
surrounded from people
without problems
people who live
other people's lives
people who don't care
for judgement day
and don't give a damn
for heaven
or hell..
He left confused
heartbroken
that day,
and tears
from blue eyes
turned into rain...
A cheap imitation toy
Next a deep colored strewn rose
In a house in the 'burbs
At nighttime under heavy snow.
A faltering streetlamp
Near an unretrieved upturned trash barrel;
A backyard dog looks out to lick the snow.
Then silence for a while.
Days Are Days
Theres No Stoping Them
People Walk And Talk Down
The Streets
They Are Bowned
To Meet One Way Or Another
Some Hide Behind False Cover
Some Like Myself Sit On Thier Roofs
And Act As If They Hover
Most Flant Thier Loot
And Then Give You The Boot
And Then You Think Shoot
What Did I Do?
Thats some ones cue
They play the piety card
And say they are forever scarred
But Every One Gets Up The Same
We're all to blame
But Equally Different
And Ment
For Greater Things
We Are The Same Species
But Arent Classified As So
It makes things flow
Day After Day
It Is All The Same
we were blessed
with the rhythm of laughter and companionship
born into a family that taught us
loyalty and the joy of taking our time
we were mentored
in the school of good and right
to speak our minds, but always with a tempered voice
to question authority but always be polite
to listen carefully before speaking and never lie
my memories are carefree and childlike
peppered with a little danger and just a dash of wild
silly as we could be
with our toes just barely touching the earth's surface
we read and sang and spun ourselves around until we were dizzy with the notion
of an existence that had more than we needed
but less than we wanted
we were children,
of children,
of the depression
living it up in a middle class paradox called the suburbs
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