perhaps the sky’s hiding things we’ll never know
stars and secrets, small lights that glow
maybe it doesn’t care,
perhaps it’s just stubborn
or maybe its not fair
love hits strange when no one is near
like notes unsent, like whispers you hear
I scribble your name in crooked lines
half rhymes, half guesses, slipping through time
perhaps I’m meant to stumble and tease
to trip on my words but still say what I please
truth don’t stab, it drifts, it delays
shows up late in cold, lonely ways
perhaps you were mine, maybe not at all
a trick memory plays, a shadow on the wall
perhaps is a door that never shuts tight
leaking light, keeping awake in the night
and perhaps…..
that’s where you’ll stay
not gone, not here
just living in the world of maybe
Contest;Perhaps
Sponsor: John Lawless
9/14/25
Hello, calling Sergeant Stedenko,
Stedenko, we all just want to know!
Sarge, we just breezed the "Ghanja Boys" toke,
And then we seized the "Ghanja Boys" smoke!
Hell Sarge, we all found weed by the pound!
And, not one goddamn seed could be found!
It was sticky, stinky, funky, funk!
It was stinkin' funky from their trunk!
So, then we just gagged 'em and racked 'em,
After that, we tagged 'em and stacked 'em!
We need your okay just to proceed,
Meanwhile, we'll watch as those boys just bleed!
Or, we could opt or adopt your church,
And give those boys a cavity search!
If they pass anymore gas or grass,
Guess we'll just have to firebrand their ass!
What the Hell? So what do you say, Sarge?
Cuz...we know that "today" you're in charge!
But, we'd really get a big "charge" if...
We could just take a really big whiff!
white enclaves
gated jails
urban slums
where the sun is pale
two sides of a coin
can’t you see
in the land of the grave
and the home the rich flee
they sit outside the penny candy store,
old men slap dominoes on chipped tables,
smoke curling up like prayers
their wives gave up saying.
i lean on the fire escape,
watch them call me mami
like it’s my birthright —
call me solid, thick like the block,
hips wide enough to hold the gossip
and still swing.
they say ju got that caramel skin,
that soft bite in your mouth
when you try to say sweet —
they say i’m loud, i’m stubborn,
i argue with my hands and my hips,
i got too much to say for a girl
that comes from stoops and window sills.
but this is my gospel —
my curvy body a prayer,
my no’s a sermon,
my laugh breaks their cigar smoke,
my name rides the domino slam —
mira, mami, this girl ain’t leaving
her corner for nobody.
Air Force general office
General document call
Wing general
General wing at hand
Constitutional allowance of print exam
In history we are where in civilization
Urban Structure Inspection
Fail
Instruction to add
The generals attorneys must approach American diction to resign civil unrest.
Attorney General to Forward Admiral
Forward Admiral to General Reserve
General Assembly
Before
Reconvening
Treasury
Obstructing mailbox
Requisition order for reinstitution of mailbox
In the issue of "sermons and titles" in loss
Perhaps draft able language of this nature
Please requests to defer scheduled
Appointment and disjourn justice.
Appointment may not be controlled.
This is again violation of rights. Also
Furthering evidence of consistent
Disregard for equality in attitude and
Unanimity of action in attempt of
Coercion
Wills to turn around discussion, dialogue
To the tuned laws legal availability
Thus document owners are not deprived of "housing" control and ownership of speech and speeches of said document(s) currently committed in clerical error
In buses, on bikes, as passengers in Ubers
Faces blur and deeds collide.
Sprint down streets, stuck behind the slow,
always in passing I see stories unfold.
Quick check behind in case of cars,
None in sight but there's a beep.
Cyclists are invisible to pedestrians with places to be.
Taxi beeps at taxi and beeped at hops out
To harass the beeper with a wagging finger.
Apology, apology, I demand apology!
Delivery driver on a monster truck e-bike;
Near miss with a clueless tourist.
It's all too much for one man to keep.
I try to write them as they happen
but seconds pass and the moment is gone.
Passing, always passing, these moments with people
that we'll never know
but for a second,
laid bare on their face is themselves
whole and complete.
Each day has a second to be remembered.
Gather them, pick them, stuff them in your pockets.
Each day has a second for us all.
This is when the old and the young,
beasts and confraternal drunks
damn the consequences of death
lying porous on crossroads upon
bifurcated paths, fractured junctions
and ceremonial cul-de-sacs...
The time is immaterial,
so long as the traffic lights — the veggie-green,
the claret, and the urine-amber —choose their slow
blinking and rapid-eyelid movement carefully.
And moon might decide not to power its own light.
Tenebrous tracks then fill our eyes with the age of
sea monsters blinded by charcoal waves.
Need I hail the neon signs of bordellos!
And the city’s restless constellations!
They sparkle with rage and with the brio of rioting stars,
thus adding celestial films to our already overloaded eyes....
But that’s another story.
C’mon... we are no Deer or Asahel descendants!
Closely related to sloths, millipedes and snails,
we drag our feet, which in turn drag the volumes of
stupidity in us, aggravated by drams and midnight parties
held between a flowing weekend and a stagnant Thursday.
My mind drifts loose
into the moving art framed by train window.
Houses in the field glitch by—
brick red roofs and windows
that hold sunset across the champaign.
I wonder what it’s like to live
in that world, where you
wake and rest with the sun.
My gaze drifts to clouds
light as swan feathers.
Their dance—effortless, unrepentant
as the sunset dyes them tangerine and pink.
I wonder what it's like to live
in their world, where you
count days with how the wind blows.
——A sharp whistle stole my attention.
The train slowly comes to a stop.
The city busy flickering
neon signs that can give a girl seizures.
I collect myself back,
just enough to function—
The rest can stay loose
with the clouds and the lovely red roofs.
Hire the Hood 1
I know you want to hire the hood.
To give them work, like you said you would.
To lift them up, and make life good,
To see success spread through the neighborhood.
But hire those with drive and skill,
With passion, purpose, and iron will.
People who can play their part,
With sharp minds and loyal hearts.
They must align with what you do,
Share the vision and see it through.
Because business needs more than love alone,
It takes talent, and smart moves to build your throne.
If you hire the hood, or not, get the best—do it right,
Choose the ones who bring the fight and the light.
Help each other grow, help each other thrive.
That’s how you keep the dream alive.
It’s always good to give people a chance
But, it takes the right people to make your job enhance.
The same time you’re giving people equality
Make sure your getting people who can put out good quality.
“This is a familiar route and one of the most common ones (at least to my seasoned eyes; you may find it beautiful)” — overheard.
______
A day like any other,
but also
a day like no other—
She’s losing the threads again.
No—she’s finally starting to see.
—A day like any other.
The bus hustled over
cracked cement in damp air—
a sight scorched
to the back of my skull.
I sat in my window seat
like it’s a
reflex—
a voice nudges me in the ribs
break something— it said
—anything,
just stopping sitting here.
I switched sides
before my brain can question
if it makes sense.
I let my eyes drink out
the other window—
A smidge of red—a balloon.
Something navy—a child’s backpack.
A birdless branch wobbles—
My gaze drifts up,
the sun reply with dazzles—
For a second,
everything rhymed.
Urban Spaces
The world is getting smaller.
People become dwellers.
A newlife of solo living.
A single life of well-being.
Do weall have anxiety?
Through loneliness especially.
Maybe we have lost trust in each other.
Walk on by, don’t even bother.
Some live in urban spaces.
Pass on by many faces.
Webecome too independent.
Individual living to the limit.
No social life.
Just breathe to get by.
Welost the human touch.
With no one to love.
Wecan’t see in the fog.
A lonely life is now common.
Where did everyone go?
A generation hiding behind their cell phones.
What happened to you and me?
Everything was wonderful in the blue sky.
Maybe, will have a chance through the sunlight?
I would hold you close at night.
I guess we are now all solitude.
Just a lifetime to wake up next to you.
In a deep indigo night, bright
sliver moonlight shines across a barren land.
On a lonely hill, a manor stands…
its windowed eyes to a world blind.
Staring into the void, sublime
wind tumbles desolate sands.
Broken, old, dried skeletal branches sway
the last fleeting remains of a harsh day…
A figure bare in bones n thin pale skin
standing in the pouring rain.
The ancient station grand…
The rusted hulk of a train haunts
this arcane barren land.
Deep in the infinite indigo night, bright
sliver moon rays fall on bleak house
stands in a blind world with broken windows.
As eyes of a shadowy form watch
as windows call for the coming storm
old skeletal branches sway.
In the humid night
in a deep indigo night.
A lonely voice echoes…
On mine tippy-toes
The door would open shut;
The window was raised down;
On my pinky-toes;
Vertigo had me spinning so;
Simultaneously spinning on ceiling and floor;
Up above my head;
I am a urban ballerina
3/27/25
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2024
Once there stood a golden field,
Swaying crops, a farmer's yield.
Morning songs of birds took flight,
Beneath the sky so vast and bright.
The village paths, of dust and stone,
Where children laughed and cattle roamed,
Now paved with tar, so smooth and wide,
Where restless cars and buses glide.
The thatched-roof homes with lantern’s glow,
Replaced by lights in glassy rows.
The banyan tree where elders met,
Now stands alone in cold cement.
The riverbanks where stories flowed,
Now buried deep where buildings grow.
The marketplace of voices loud,
Now lost beneath a concrete crowd.
Yet in the heart of progress’ run,
Echoes of the past still hum.
For roots of earth, though hidden deep,
In memories, they softly keep.
- Phin Jiu
darkness in the mist
light shines down from a streetlamp-
drip. drops from my hood
Specific Types of Urban Poems
Definition | What is Urban in Poetry?
Poems Related to Urban
downtown, civil, metropolitan, civic, central, municipal, popular, public, town, village, burghal, citified, inner city, nonrural, oppidan,