The (quiet) ornament of Jakarta
What are belongs to a major city?
Besides of any busy interrupting reverie
At each stop along the sidewalk
There are going to say hello but did not
Above the height of the horror
Phobia looked at the cars passing by
Wind perched atop, the penthouse and a flying heart
Your own!
At the wizened, big cities have always wanted to look pretty
The streets are perforated faces but always returned
Tuter sirens and the hum of cars endlessly
'How would budge, when traffic is just a marker, a symbol
of the metro's and loneliness,
of ignorance? '
Is that a convoy of official cars
or is there a fire?
Common people always serve the extraordinary people
Buildings replacing the peaceful forest clusters
At most, I found a
paintings of the forest impresion
Alexandre-Hyacinthe Dunouy in a GKBI suite
Or minimalist forests paintings of Rusli in Cultural House
It's all just be a display
Decoration of loneliness
and again I found the fossil of humankind
in the TIM (Taman Ismail Marzuki)
who now lives empty benches
Since you stay away..
(May, 2010)
poem by Imam Setiaji Ronoatmojo
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Related quotes
Cars Are Cars
Words & music by paul simon 1983
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
Similarly made. similarly sold
In a motorcade. abandoned when theyre old
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
Engine in the front. jack in the back
Wheels take the brunt. pinion and a rack
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
But people are strangers
They change with the curve
From time zone to time zone
As we can observe
They shut down their borders
And think theyre immune
They stand on their differences
And shoot at the moon
But cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
Drive em on the left. drive em on the right
Susceptible to theft in the middle of the night
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
I once had a car
That was more like a home
I lived in it, loved in it
Polished its chrome
If some of my homes
Had been more like my car
I probably wouldnt have
Travelled this far
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
song performed by by Paul Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pretoria
I look at a city,
a city once modern, new
and progressive, the cultural centre
of a nation
but now poverty
and mismanagement
is taking its toll.
Where ten years back
people could live in its apartments
now is a ghetto,
with prostitutes on the street,
primitive men urinating against buildings
and teenagers walking with ghetto-blasters
playing music at full volume.
Where at traffic lights
windows are smashed with bricks
and valuables are stolen,
parked cars are taken,
where cars are hijacked
with the barrel of a gun
and cars are even stripped
at the police grounds.
A capital city in a country
that has thrown its borders
wide open to the rest of Africa
and every criminal
has headed there
and gangsters live in paradise
but in the suburbs
people still are making a living
in fortresses guarded by dogs
and security devices,
with panic buttons
for the nearest rent a cop
and people still pray
and go to work and play
as if crime is the norm
and the inadequacy
of the new government
doesn’t really matter.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There are people
There are people
that claims the street as their own
and stand
at parking places on the sidewalk
and do no work
but to look after cars.
If you park there
and ignore them
and do not
want to use their services
you immediately
become a racist in their eyes
and they will make a scene,
threaten to damage your car,
or make sure that it’s stolen
or so they tell you
since they believe
that you owe them something.
Some spray soapy water
without invitation
on the front window
of your car
when you stop
at a traffic light
and wipe it off
demanding a price.
I wonder why the education
is still lacking
since they have already
got their liberation
and just as odd
these people are ignored
by their compatriots in government
as if they do not exist,
while the country
falls slowly
but surely to pieces.
There are people
that claims the possessions
of others as their own
and at night
prowl around in the streets
shooting, stabbing
and robbing
and estranging people
from their cars.
l’Envoi
Still I wonder where
the problem lies
and would really like
both of my cars back
and I do not know
about white people
that sneak around
in black neighbourhoods at night,
hijack cars,
brake windows
and demand possessions
with loaded guns.
All that they do,
is try to make a living
or hurry away in their leaving.
{Reference: “First liberation, then education.” Political slogan of the ruling party.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Survival By Instinct!
police sirens wail,
echoing off empty buildings,
down empty streets...
streets marked by angry blood.
from mouth to fist,
feet never stop moving...
going nowhere,
determined and furious.
the crush of bones
beneath pipe on pavement...
the taste of flesh,
charred and stale.
cities become graveyards,
marker by marker.
no time for names,
only the strong!
and hunger becomes anger
of the darkest kind.
do it for a couple dollars,
and a gallon of gas.
faces contorted,
demons or worse!
survival by instinct,
so close you can smell it!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Cars
Cars
Almost everybody has one, but what little thought we give them.
We drive our cars to work and school but even then we don't give our cars much thought.
You go from one exteme to the other, one guy might pay about $20,000 for a car, while another may pay $150,000 for a car.
Cars are an earthly object, yet we all see people that go overboard with their cars.
poem by Sean Bitikofer
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The Staples Of Life
The food bowl
for the world
becomes the bowser
for its cars
the staples of life
have to be kept
for its cars
the cars run over the poor
they'll make ideal
fossil fuel
for the milleniums
ahead.
poem by Vince Gullaci
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Church Street, Pretoria
Right down the street the traffic lights are green
and a couple of homeless men stand around a fire
in a half drum and ambulances and police cars scream
while they past rows and rows of flats for hire
and a couple of kids stand smoking at the stream
and this is reality, the heart of the city.
On the sidewalk pedestrians walk in crowds of men,
women and some children, some booted up to the knee
others with mini skirts short enough to condemn them
and my city stays lovely to me.
People queue for fried chicken, fish
and chips at shops and cafés and the smells fill my nose
and tomatoes and onions, lamb and steak are fried with a hiss
and in the traffic an angry speed-cop tries to retain his pose
when a minibus taxi almost runs him over, gives him a fright
at a flickering traffic light
and cars stream by into the coming night.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Used Car Sales People
With the gift of the gab they would talk their way out of hell
These used car sales people they know how to sell
On their selling ability their jobs are at stake
The more cars they do sell the more commission they do make
On any deals they clinch they have never lost
And your trust on such people can come at a cost
The more cars they sell the more money they get paid
A hard job to succeed in the used car trade,
Shy and sensitive used car sales people one might say are rare
To sell one a car no effort they do spare
They have to sell cars or their boss them will fire
And other used car yard owners as car sales people them will not hire
The more cars they sell the greater is their pay
So to sell you a car they try every which way.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Saturday Night Streets
Saturday Night Streets
Cars driving back and forth
People of different colors walking down the streets
laughing
talking
drinking
enj oying the night
The streets are talking to me
These streets have stories
different cars, different colors
I Love these streets
I love the night
I love Saturdays
l think I'm in love with these streets
I'm in love with Saturday night streets
Mon, Tues, Wed, Thurs, Fri, Sun belongs to workers and the sun
Saturday belongs to the night, people and these streets
Saturday Night Streets
poem by Rebecca Succes
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The Fat Man And His Origami
the fat man one day gets fed up with so much noise.
he goes out and faces the traffic
and with his strong determined hands he folds cars into deers
demented streets into stairways
high rise buildings into cliffs and mountains
traffic signs into sunflowers and electric poles into poplar trees
the smog into some breeze from the sea
the crazy world into the hum of an old Chinese village
somewhere in Shanghai he lives there
as Lao Tzu
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Loneliness
Roy orbison/joe melson
Loneliness is the worst thing in the world
To be alone all the day long
No ring on the phone, yeah this is wrong
Low down loneliness
This loneliness, I must confess
Yes its a mess of this loneliness
Low down loneliness, loneliness all around
Loneliness, you have found me loneliness
Oh loneliness, all of the time
Such loneliness, youre so unkind
Low down loneliness
Loneliness everywhere
Loneliness, Ive got more that my share
Oh loneliness, my destiny
Yeah loneliness, was I born to be
In low down loneliness? loneliness
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Plenty
memories pour out like
the rains of july
you are drenched
fully wet
you stay put and feel the cold
you do not run away for shelter
cars are blowing their horns
you are in the middle of the traffic
people look at you
with horror
do not expect pity
or concern
there is no sympathy available in the middle
of a very busy road in the city
there is nothing that stays focused on you
on a heavy downpour
memories keep falling
and you are carried away
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Black Night In The City
Darkness in the city is just an indistinct side effect
Protecting what is scary in day light and wrecked
Abandoned buildings become castles during the night
Busy graffiti artists express what is usually out of sight
Billboards illuminate in bright colorful fluorescents
And creatures of the night shuffle on antidepressants
Red lights invite the late traveler to stay for a while
Loneliness and despair develops rapidly being fertile
The sirens of ambulances whisper tales of our mortality
And a lonesome speaker sells questionable spirituality
In the dark there is not just love for sale in the streets
One may purchase modern chemistry without a receipt
The beaming lights of cars blind the searchers outside
While in adult theaters dejected clients trying to hide
Screeching sounds of the metro are disturbing the dark
And only the adventurous and brave walk in the park
At night the tears of the fallen color the river black
And screams drown on the sidewalks holding back
When blood turns to red liquid velvet like altar wine
I own the shadows in my city and the black night is mine
© 2011
poem by Kristina Louisa Carr
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Cars
Cars
Here in my car
I feel safest of all
I can lock all my doors
Its the only way to live
In cars
Here in my car
I can only receive
I can listen to you
It keeps me stable for ( nights )
- this is the only wrong word you put days
In cars
Here in my car
Where the image breaks down
Will you visit me please?
If I open my door
In cars
Here in my car
I know Ive started to think
About leaving tonight
Although nothing seems right
In cars
song performed by by Gary Numan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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City Of Beggars
The sky is always blue in the city of beggars
There is not much green in the city of beggars
There are buildings being built so fast in the city of beggars
In every corner that you encounter
The city of beggars are growing so fast
And in the city of beggars lives 30 million people
The air is not that good in the city of beggars
Because of the factories and the cars
The city of beggars never sleep
The noise goes on 24 hours a day
It is not safe to walk in the street of beggars
Because you can get robbed and killed at any time of the night or day
The traffic is chaotic in the city of beggars
Thanks God there is no snow in the city of beggars
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Blank Decency
Blank Decency
The capital of Norway, Oslo, has well lit
clean streets swept clear of humanity;
you’ll see clusters of people here and there
sat inside plastic tents- pavement cafes-
smoking tobacco. And now that it’s illegal
to buy sex too, streets will be cleaner then
before. If a consumer of bought of sex
thinks he can go abroad and buy it he will,
if found out, be prosecuted.
There are still cars driving around these
empty streets, to get rid of them it might
be an idea to ban the purchase of petrol;
a car free city, something to boast about,
tourists come and puff virtuous Oslo air.
Those who miss driving can when in, say,
Bangkok on vacation, rent a coupé for
the duration, but remember credit card
purchases can be traced.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Heat In The City
Bumper to bumper traffic in the heat of the city
The air is thick and dusty full of smog and gritty
Dirty Yellow Cabs contributing to noisy confusion
While a hot dog stand on the corner sells profusion
The pavement is sticky reflecting the heat in waves
Throughout cars are swallowed by hot asphalt graves
Overcrowded busses spit out passengers one by one
While temperatures are rising with an unforgiving sun
Vegetables and fruits for sale covered in dirt and grime
On the sidewalks of the city bait flies in the mean time
People rushing downstairs to the Metro escaping the heat
Only realizing that it is just as bad and by far no retreat
A broken fire hydrant provides the illusion of cool relieve
But only street children bathe in the grey water taking leave
A lonely traffic cop damp with perspiration looks atrocious
Hot sweaty faces wait for his signal resentful and ferocious
Curriers on bikes with sunburns between cars are speeding
Steaming masses waiting for the light before proceeding
The smells of the hot city are overpowering and very strong
Torturing its inhabitants without sense of right and wrong
poem by Kristina Louisa Carr
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Before Christmas Day
you ask someone to be with you
you make a call
on that busy and lighted street
despite the traffic
and the honking sounds and the
people walking fast
you feel so alone
no one is available
and you understand
you have no choice but to
dance loneliness away
you cross the street
not minding whether you will
be hit by one of those sane cars
and the finger of the driver
gives you the f sign
and then you smile in return
it is a happy world you
have there
and they begin to think too
otherwise
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The problem with the auto industry is layered upon the lack of consumer confidence. People are not buying cars. I don't care whether they're or American cars, or international cars.
quote by Jennifer M. Granholm
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To me you are
To me you are the woman
that walks up and down
at the traffic light
and smiles almost shy,
when I look up
and still give a view
of her breasts
To me you are
the hunger and pain,
that I hear in the voices
of children in back streets
where they loose all courage.
To me you are
the crippled gum sniffing children,
that swing walk
with eyes without hope.
To me you are the vagrant,
that struggles along shuffling
and worries about the next
sleeping place and food
and smile without teeth
when he gets a few coins.
To me you are the beggar
who stands unobserved
at a busy traffic light,
while cars are streaming past
where nobody knows or comprehends
his despair.
To me you are the drug dealers
who hangs out in clubs
and look whom they can still catch,
with their contaminating
deadly poison.
To me you are the street thug,
that brakes car windows with bricks
and steal the valuables of people
and sell it at only a Rand or two.
To me you are the criminal
that steals cars in the streets
and are happy
with the despair,
that he is dealing out unscrupulous.
In reality you are the big city
that gives and takes,
where people live like termites
past each other
and rowed in,
as if others do not exist
To rather stay far away from it all
and to get rest and peace there
at times wants to take predominance,
but I love you
like a husband does his wife.
In you is where
some people still build dreams
and wish and live
and have an own place.
In you I see children
giving bread to birds
and people,
giving money to car guards.
In you are places
where people are making a living
and really help each other
and still I believe,
that in places in you
there are more good than evil.
poem by Gert Strydom
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