Urban Sprawl Poems | Examples

City Shepherd

Through bustling city streets, I fear no harm. 

In twilight's hush, Verses speak, in whispers brush, Guiding souls in daily rush, shepherd's care. 

In life's' complex maze, the staff still sways, In urban sprawl, His love abides, in endless ways.  

"When life's shadows deepen, fear not, I'm near," Echoes through the digital sphere, In every doubt, and in every fear, The Shepherd's voice, crystal clear.  

In valleys low or peaks so high, His steadfast love will never die, Beside still waters, He draws nigh, In modern age, His truth won't lie.  

In skyscrapers grand, His presence felt, across the land, Leading, guiding, with a gentle hand, In every step, His grace unplanned.

That Was Then, This Is Now

In the heart of the city's thrum,
Amidst the rush and hum,
I, a modern-day nomad, roam,
Seeking treasures in concrete's dome.

Once lost in the urban sprawl,
Now found, heeding the city's call,
In alleyways, forgotten and old,
New adventures waiting to unfold.

Past the crowds and towering spires,
Through alleys filled with hidden desires,
I wander, a seeker of the unseen,
In the city's labyrinth, I find my sheen.

In a corner, amidst the decay,
A book lies, forgotten, in disarray,
I brush off dust, reveal its charm,
In its pages, I find my balm.

Words dance, painting worlds anew,
In forgotten tales, I find my view,
Of far-off lands and dreams untold,
In ink and paper, I find my gold.

So here I stand, in the city's glow,
A modern-day explorer, in ebb and flow,
For in the past, I found my spark,
But in the present, I leave my mark.

In the heart of the city's thrum,
Amidst the rush and hum,
That was then, this is now,
In ink and imagination, I find my vow.

Tight Bra Bringing and Started Springing Horn Haiku Sort Of

Trump has been breaking laws
create and cause crime with his claws
prefers premiers and skinny shahs
rile up people with his paws
likes pulling at loose straws
at his hamburger always knaws    
likes women who wear big bras
have heard his oohs and aahs
Trump gives me the blahs
have heard his youthful ye's with horrible hahs
prefers hearing much applause
poor and dimwit crowds Trump draws
putrid picture he draws
sings do ray mes while forgetting his faas
skip so la ti do and away we go
cut great face which was greeted with gauze
found his big mouth in front of jaws
like big bird Trump constantly caws
seen slidding in nude in slick spas
plural of his ta is tas 
would see His lost doll while in shower stall in urban sprawl 
wish Trump would be so kind, get his small hands off of my behind
To see Trump tight bra she was bringing; Out big breasts did start springing

You have to send me some comments, criticism 
and complaining about this collection of lines 
that have been in my Horn Horrible Haiku.
which you may ensue out from a blunt blue.

Urban Ballet: Komorebi's Dance

Beneath the city's concrete awning,
Sunlight pirouettes through the urban sprawl.
A danseuse of shadows on an asphalt stage,
Nature's pulsations thrum through it all.

Skyscrapers, leviathan bellwethers,
Forge an ersatz forest, soaring high-hearted.
Yet, within the interstices, light clandestinely seeps,
A palpitant echo of the limitless sky.

Amidst the urban hustle, a delicate interlude,
Komorebi, a tender kiss on the city's veins.
A pause in the plangent urban resonation,
Nature reclaims what the concrete constrains.

Crystal leaves and chrome branches entwine,
Casting intricate choreography on sidewalks below.
Sunlight gavottes through the narrow openings,
In the eurythmy of ebb and flow.

Candescence alights in hidden sanctuary,
Where sunbeams dance, and freedom finds liberty.
Komorebi, a serene urban ballet,
Nature handwrit in city's clamorous fray.

Urban Reverie: Komorebi in the Cityscape

Beneath the city's concrete canopy,
Sunlight filters through the urban sprawl.
A dance of shadows on an asphalt stage,
Nature latent in the midst of it all.

Pillars of industry made of glass and steel,
Create an artificial forest, towering high.
Still, within the gaps, light seeps through,
A modern echo of the open sky.

Within the hustle, a subtle interlude,
Komorebi dapples through the city's veins.
A moment of calm in the urban pulse,
Nature reclaiming what cement restrains.

Crystal leaves and chrome branches intertwine,
Casting patterns on sidewalks below.
A concert of sunlight and structures behold,
A harmonious blend of ebb and flow.

In these quiet pockets, a sanctuary found,
Where sunlight dances and leaves unbound,
Komorebi, a tranquil urban hymn,
Nature's language beneath city's din.

Aeriforms - Supernatural Scifi

sometimes 
misconstrued
in a fluorescent grove
where malachite petals
marry emerald blades
verbose biting chews 
too close to the cheek
among a confetti of bees
amid undulating bumps 
of raw superfluous air

interdimensional entities 
of spectral occurrence
wave with graphic-less suave
to gurgles, to coos, to hehs 
seek noodle communication
to a bouncing mistaken few
using the eyebrow medium 
of coincidence
a babbling infrasonic tool 
of curious happening

sometimes
misunderstood
exhume, with heed
supressed benevolence
they fly shapelessly 
in quartered skies
aloof in mocking flight
frilly, frothy entities
divebombing ghettos
exacting urban sprawl
chance upon neonates 
and families out picnicking
feeding babies whose
knowing smiles to air 
see, or do they?
 – beware
Aeriforms

The City

The river 
still finds its brown way
through the city's glass 
and concrete canyons
until finally reaching 
the bay. Its tidal breath
has become my own. 
I live near its mouth.

I was not born here
but have spent more 
than half my life
a citizen of its urban sprawl. 
The roots I've sunk 
hang off a sense of home. 
There is an ease
in living here where the old
and the new, the familiar
and strange exist 
in counterpoint and house
the needs of the gregarious 
and the chafed nerves
of the recluse. Cafes
serve good coffee. 

In the shadows
of apartment towers,
old men can shuffle easily
down the gentle slope 
of asphalt paths,
carrying words or a rod
and sit quietly 
at the water's edge
with their thoughts,
fishing for bream or God.

Parks Places People

Illustration Caption: Frederick Law Olmsted,
father of American Landscape Architecture,
at "El Capitan" iconic summit, Yosemite, CA,
in 1865.


Olmsted saw verdant paths of our core.
Urban sprawl separated at a cost
that let us know nature and adore.
Those who wander find awe is not lost.

Wilderness lands surely shape our view,
songs of soil, stone 'n star, none too far.
See what we, as humankind, dare do -
conquer the inner self where we are.

Landscape concerts to which all can go
futures for youth lie beyond the grids;
where one can become their own maestro,
raise up nature's promise for the kids.

Parks and places for all of our people
spaces for worship without a steeple.



14 Lines  Sonnet  99 Words
Pen Illustration by G. Gaul
10/1/2022

Boat Ride II

Boat Ride II

      Upon the crowded deck, boaters go their way
      Drifting silently among sunken glades
      Where sun kissed ripples on sparkling waters play.

      'Tween quiet banks the elegant Heron wades,    
      In meadows long grasses horses forage
      Where passing willows cast their shifting shades.

      Open farmland, factory cut, under bridge,
      Boats glide, driven by the river’s silent force
      Motorway, urban sprawl and forested ridge.

      Flowing steadily from its far flung source
      Boaters not knowing how the fragile river thrives,
      Unaware of the world within the river’s course

      Then at its mooring the pleasure boat arrives,
      The river passing on beyond their distant lives.

      Barry Stebbings
      Sept 2022

Why I Loved Cd's Poem Colour of My Heart

Just one of my favourite Carolyn poems.

All of CD’s poems spoke to me, in some way or other.
She was someone extra special, so much did she give in her
Heartfelt poetry, and so specific in right from wrong.
If anyone here on soup, deserve their poetry to be archived
In a form of a book, it is Carolyn.

Colour Of My Heart

Now brown, the once-blue brook meanders down 
To dams where sludge has chased beavers away 
As species die, our Mother casts a frown
For Nature can’t control man or his way 

From fracking, tapping minerals, she groans 
She coughs, red lava spews from Mother’s pores 
With waste-clogged arteries, she weeps and moans 
The very sight of man she now abhors 

As Nature inhales toxins, man’s forewarned 
Her colors change from purity to rage 
Depleting ozone, Earth has now been warmed 
Tsunamis, hurricanes take center stage 

We shed our tears, entrapped by urban sprawl 
But Mother turns her head and lets them fall

© Carolyn Devonshire 2018

Entered Andrea Dietrich ‘Celebrating Carolyn’s
Uncontest poetry contest.  7/9/2021

The World-Wide Christmas Ball

Don Christmas socks and ugly sweaters, All.
‘Tis not the season for your being shy.
Come jingling to the Worldwide Christmas Ball.

Let not your woes cast over you a pall.
Be like the brightest star that lights night’s sky.
Don Christmas socks and ugly sweaters, All.

From sunny Sydney to cold Montreal;
I call to every single soul I spy:
Come jingling to the Worldwide Christmas Ball.

This party goes beyond your urban sprawl.
It’s time to laugh. That is the reason why!
Don Christmas socks and ugly sweaters, All!

Pretend the world’s a dance floor wall to wall.
On peace and harmony we’re getting high.
Come jingling to the Worldwide Christmas Ball.

So decorate yourself, not just the hall!
Come on, fine lads and lassies; just say AYE!
Don Christmas socks and ugly sweaters, ALL.
Come jingling to the Worldwide Christmas Ball.

Dec. 16, 2020 for Joseph May's 'Deck The Halls' Poetry Contest
For those who don't know: Ugly sweaters is the term to refer to decorated Christmas sweaters. I kind of enjoy them!!

Once Upon a Countryside

Once were badgers in leafy dale, 
once were rabbits and foxes too,
once were pheasants in shining copse where cuckoopint and coltsfoot grew.

Once were songbirds in privet hedges, 
once were bluebells for mile upon mile,
once were dark woods cool and shading hiding squirrels and foxes guile.

Once were home fed pigs and poultry, 
once were food with proper taste,
once were marls with mirrored water, but now they only hold our waste.

Once were farmers in umber meadow, 
once were colliers in village pit,
once were taverns for quenching thirst where now the townie and tourist sit.

Once were fens and fields and down-lands, 
once were moorhen and curlews call, 
once were stewards of Gods own country, where now there is but urban sprawl.

Once were leaders of Albion's masses, 
once were statesmen of unbending word,
once was a land that was fit for heroes, where now only spin and deceit are heard.

Dreaming of Colorado

A reached out hand, was the whisper of a breeze 
A firm clench across the smooth skin of my old Nebraska girl
A ruthless pressure digging at my sedimentary soul, holding it draped upon her heartland plains 
Devils of dust spew upward with blinding grit 
Eternities of prairie bend at the claw of her breath
A soaring ghost through an urban sprawl of Omaha along the vehement river, where I have forever remained 
Never able to unhinge the bind of her tiresome, loving grip 
Unknowing of all past her motherly land 
Until I hear a maidenly echo crawl through that vice of a wind, mountainous and sincere 
Tempt me, enchant me westward, do the sirens of tranquility from a girl named Colorado 
Her beautifully rugged imperfections that rise from her colorful skin beseech my eyes of hazel to be laid upon them
She’s the medicine I crave, the miracle I need to loosen the iron hold of my old Nebraska girl 
To explore beyond my horizons
Colorado, I’m bound for you

Titles

For those left behind
feeling the pace,
urban sprawl
remnants of the human race.
Revisited, looking in
cosmetic world
the haze removed
the urban battlefield.

© Harry J Horsman 2020

Urban Sprawl

Ancient Jurassic stone
casts out the grime
long gone the fog
of industrial crime.
Main thoroughfare
now left in peace
no local blues to sing
in the old coachman’s Fleece*.

When moonlight bathes
within the silver stream
and moor lane glistens
invoking its crystal beam.
The low moor awakes
shadows cast aside
the morning new
lays waste the genocide.

Yet productive time lords
stake out progression
cloudless valley
unfolds the beast.
Quaint radiant faces
cry out for comfort
summer solace
bequest the east.

The strangers come
in flight from fear
a different way
their actions to sway.
Dialect gives away
its tradition
rustic voice
forever gone astray.

Salacious stiletto
the thorn of the city
each atrocity fuels
the seeds of pity.
Country roses
nurtured in rural delight
wafting delirious
amidst the argillite.

*pub, ale house.

 © Harry J Horsman 1993

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