City draped in smog;
Some gasped for breath, prostrate lay
Some inhaled, made hay.
quote by by Mamta Agarwal
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L. A.
In a matter of time,
Therell be a friend of mine
Gonna come to the coast,
Youre gonna see him
Up close for a minute or two
While the ground cracks under you.
By the look in your eyes
Youd think that it was a surprise
But you seem to forget
Something somebody said
About the bubbles in the sea
And an ocean full of trees.
And you now, l.a.
Uptight, city in the smog, city in the smog.
Dont you wish that you could be here too?
Dont you wish that you could be here too?
Dont you wish that you could be here too?
Well, its hard to believe
So you get up to leave
And you laugh at the door
That you heard it all before
Oh its so good to know
That its all just a show for you.
But when the suppers are planned
And the freeways are crammed
And the mountains erupt
And the valley is sucked
Into cracks in the earth
Will I finally be heard by you.
L.a.
Uptight, city in the smog, city in the smog.
Dont you wish that you could be here too?
Dont you wish that you could be here too?
Dont you wish that you could be here too?
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Breath
I huffed and puffed
and saw my breath
flying through the air.
I saw it through the cold of winter
but then it went somewhere.
A part of me was traveling
on a journey all its own.
And as it was inhaled by others
I knew how much I'd grown.
I had made a connection
with othersI don't know
just by huffing and puffing
and letting my breath go.
I wondered whose breath
I just breathed in
and if we'd ever meet?
For it might be the breath
of a genuine soul
or one filled with deceit.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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My City Warriors
A city so old
Made warriors born
Together and enforld
Without them its lorn
Beauty to uphold
A story untold
Made city leaven
Those warriors from heaven
Every new breath
Enlighten their death
Won on battlefield
No count, how many have been killed
Their blood so pure
Made this city cure
Proud of nation
A reason of celebration
That love for victory
A war for victory
Made us for freedom
They were for freedom
A city so old
Made warriors born
poem by Yatin yadvansh
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One By One
One by one we bite the dust.
We leave the wanting.
We leave the lust.
Bigger than life we thought we were.
We just forgot
that we are not.
We breathed the air and drank it in,
inhaled the pure,
inhaled the sin.
One by one we say goodbye.
We leave the craving.
We leave the sigh.
Surely where we go from here
will take us home,
will stop the roam.
One by one we stop the breath.
We find the peace.
We welcome death.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Los Angeles
Skyscrapers
Break the sky,
Smog chokes the air,
Endless buildings go on
Forever-
Los Angeles Times-
LAX,
Traveling down the 10
Towards Santa Monica,
Dirty
Filthy
Ragged city.
Where are the artists?
Poets?
Writers?
Musicians?
All at home creating
The city. Inspiration
For the willing.
Ugly, dirty, ragged,
Beautiful.
This
Filthy
City.
poem by Randy Briggs
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Are we misfits- feel intrigued! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Grey pigeon flutters on ledge of concrete.
Wonder, how it survives on urban streets.
Seen them flock in city squares as folks throw seeds.
Unlike hawks don’t swoop down and snatch with greed.
Dusk falls gets draped in a pall of thick smog.
A few sparks rise as I add some new logs.
Glance at fireplace, feeling somewhat woeful.
Reminisce about my city beautiful.
Childhood, open spaces, song of Bulbul.
Cycling to school in fog, feel bit wistful.
Now cooped up on seventh floor in a high rise.
Eavesdropp at my avian mate and realise
With surprise, we are misfits and loners.
Why it shuns trees and prefers asphalt floors?
Its eyes look sort of haunted, rarely speaks.
Don’t recall lately with anything in its beak.
Lost in thought I pull up my patchwork quilt.
Just then a cloud bursts and rain falls in sheets.
At dawn, wobble to window, feeling groggy.
The ledge is deserted, covered with bird droppings.
Oh, my ally of last night, have a safe flight.
No words, speech: intuitively shared our plight.
Pray you reach home back with your kith and kin
And your life is filled with joy, peace and bliss.
Chandigarh, a city in Northern India is called city beautiful
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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High pollution
Kids wheeze and city coughs-
Mind full of smog
haiku by Mamta Agarwal
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Tale of Three Cities
New York blasted London blasted
Singapore -
Ripped off each other's metaphoric balls,
Crumbling walls.
Priapic city monoliths -
Blue-sky scraping bastards -
Shout about their height (but really length) .
V8 arseholes didn't care -
Pumping shit into the air,
So long as they were always there to
Fart aloud a smoggy cloud,
Laughing at the weak asthmatic,
Humoured that it seems traumatic.
Watch the greedy cities oozing
Chair-bound fat committees, though they
Look a bunch of titties as they
Waffle on about the pound.
Ever thought to look around and see
That they were dead?
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
city city city city city city
city city city city city city
city city city city city city
city city city city city city
city city city city city city
city city city city city city
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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My City
You are my city
The gaudy glow of neon light
that dispels the darkness of the night
Enhaling the smell of dust makes it feel like home
The cloudy weather, the dim trees, you look like an open book.
with nature bringing a colourful beauty to ones' heart
Alone i lay on a wooden raft
My breath is void of oxygen
My heart is scrambled without rythm
to the beautiful change made by ur smiling culture
The shimmers of the moon made the rest of the city glimmer
Now its clear why ure a symbol of pride
The lullaby tunes of the mocking bird awakens moments of passion
My head speaks and so does my heart
am lost in this beautiful city and for ever i want 2 b
Here, laughter is a pleasant sound
It spreads joy all around
flushing out every despair of the heart
Just for this city
i will open my eyes and ask the creator for one more day
one more day to discover the city in you and you in the city
let this be my praise of you, my beautiful city
Morning Message From Love
woke up in a tired body
after an endless night it did precede
exhausted by all homework and books
all the subjects, all the materials I took
nothing was left, but me
laying and so much in weary
i tried to sit on bedside hardly
though it could be done effortlessly
dark was this room indeed
here there was none but me
alone, but there were two friends
the cellphone and the nightstand
still half conscious i sighed
a deep breath inhaled i
from the window a flicker of light
and was inhaled by my eyes
the cellphone alarmed noisily
that a message was sent to me
i opened the inbox and see
what this day would bring to me
i looked and smiled at the screen
the message was displayed in
i stood opening the window
letting the sunshine flowed
a new day came to see me
why wouldn't i greet it warmly?
sun was there, love was there
with all they had to share
with me..
poem by Kite Remedy
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My Beautiful City
You are my city
the gaudy glow of neon light
that dispels the darkness of the night
Enhailing this dust flying smells ands feels like home
the cloudy weather, the dim trees, the city looked like and open book.
with nature bringing a colourful beauty to ones heart
Alone i lay on a wooden raft
my breath is void of oxygen
my heart is scribbled without rythm
to the beautiful change made by ur smiling culture
The shimmers of the moon made the rest of the city glimmer
now its clear why ure a symbol of pride
The lullaby tunes of the mocking bird awakenes momments of passion
My head speaks and so does my heart
am lost in the beautiful city and for ever i want to be
Here, laughter is a pleasant sound
it spreads joy all around
flushing out every despairs of the heart
Just for this city
i will open my eyes and ask the creator for one more day
this are my praises 4 the city in u.
Highly Skilled AND Quite the Professional
When she squeezed my 'noogies'
I indeed had a fit.
I wanted her to immediately produce,
Her 'learning' certificate.
'Look at the wall to your right and cough.
No need to look at me,
As if you are pissed off.'
She insisted she was a doctor.
Dressed in black and not a white smock.
She told me to dropp my pants to examine...
My prostrate and other things I've got.
'Bend over. Spread those cheeks for me.'
~Do you understand how uncomfortable I am? ~
'I'm only here to do your prostrate examine.
Your primary doctor made this request.
And I'm a 'specialized physician'!
Mister Pertillar?
Get over it!
You can 'now' pull up your pants.'
I was hot!
Not for her.
Just hot.
And I was more shocked that she was beautiful.
That part of my prostrate appointment...
I came to hate.
But it was too late.
She was highly skilled AND quite the professional.
With a big diamond 'rock' on her left hand.
Out of my league.
And clearly not 'dating' material.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Love in sale
I just wanted to go in
Deep and to be inhaled
But you thought
I am the air full of poison
When I wanted to exchange
The feel of fragrance
And the taste of smell
You thought
I am the flower, stale
I inhaled deep the whole bottle
Full of that poison air
Tasted the flavour of rejection
Exchanged the smell with that of cliff stones
Suddenly I see princes and merchants
Surround your flower in the seller market
Though I need that to offer to the alter of goddess
But for her still I can not purchase it
As She made me the real poor of the street
poem by Abdul Wahab
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The Builders Of The City
You never will find their names on a memorial wall
And any memories of them historians never do recall
The builders of the City who lay with the unsung
Many of them came from distant shores and spoke in a foreign tongue
They more than earned every penny that they were ever paid
The builders of the City yet little of their achievements made
Devoted to the family and devoted to the wife
They worked hard so their children could enjoy a better life,
The builders of the City so much to them we owe
Though nothing written about them and of them little we do know
They built the housing estates, City buildings and City Mall
Though nothing of their life achievements is ever made at all
They lay the rail tracks to the City and made the Roadways through the Countryside
Yet in the builders of the City we never do take pride.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Heart of a City
The heart of a city
is sick and blue.
Its streets are stricken
with arrythmia too.
The beats are uneven
from lack of grass.
Its grates on cement walks
seep out gas.
The high rise scrapers
hide the sun
and its bleeding heart
is on the run.
But it can't escape.
The smog's too thick.
It's falling apart
brick by brick.
The heart of a city
is being squeezed
and it cries aloud
for it can't be eased.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Whenever I'm In Swanston Street
So many different peoples of every different race
Whenever I'm in Swanston street I long for a quieter place
Far from the World of bustle and the noisy city street
Out there in the quiet countryside where the rill and river meet.
Whenever I'm is Swanston street I cannot feel at ease
I smell smog and pollution in the foul city breeze
The sidewalks crowded with people as they bustle to and fro
But each to their own as some might say and it happens to be so.
I am not a city type of person that sort of lifestyle would not suit me
I love the coastal countryside and the cliffs that overlook the sea
To watch the fishing gannets plunge down from a great height
With folded wings into saltwater a most amazing sight.
The city scene or city ways I never could embrace
And whenever I'm in Swanston street I feel so out of place
Many people love the city life each to their own rings true
But I'd prefer the quieter place the home of the wild roo.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Big City Type
I woke up in a big city apartment
Rode to a big city job
On a big city subway
With hip, big city people
Worked at a big city job
In a big city skyscraper
Stood in a big city line
For lunch, heard big city jazz
On a big city radio station
It was like a big city scene
In a big budget movie
When I realized I had become
The big city type
I always wanted to be
Yet I was still me
poem by Adam Artois
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Lahore
The city
Where I lived the pinnacle of my life
Wandered through the notorious streets
Inhaled smoke of petrol and hashish
Wrote my poems on its walls and gates
Loved the western charm of eastern beauties
Saw misery dancing on weak faces day and night
Witnessed pious bodies at sale on roads each midnight
Laughed at my helplessness when called overqualified
Cried with saints and poets every Thursday night
The city
Where a man committed suicide
Because he couldn’t feed his child
I lived here and survived
The bomb blasts, wars and disasters
But I died the moment
When one of my city fellows said
“You are not one of us as you were migrated here”
poem by Dr Kamran Haider Bukhari
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No Looking Back
You sighed and gasped, and held your breath,
as you turned the pages of your book.
You lived each chapter as you lived your life
and never once back tracked for a second look.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Gasp
Yesterday, i gasped at the sunset
in a newness of awe
i never before experienced;
that which seemingly occurred
the day before, the yesterday,
reiterated the today in such a special way
i gasped
Moved in a fresh new feeling
thrilled in an awesome new way
as if the yesterdays and days before that
never even happened
And maybe they did,
or did not;
but each
carrying it very own sunset;
not like the same window
closed and then reopened,
not like wave washed to shore
and returning
No, like a new wave formed
from the record of waves before
which embedded their rhymes
on an unsuspecting shore
Vibrations fossiled in the unseemliness
of repeating patterns, yet
each one hiding additions and deletions
introductions and curios
nuances and semblances
That's the sunset of yesterday
the sunset of yesterday not the sunset of
days gone or days stll to become
that sunset of yesterday, when
i gasped
2010
poem by Gillena Cox
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