Urban portraits 3: City lights

Life, Poetry, Uncategorized

 

In every street my feet tread

the neon bulbs of urban life

does arrest —

my weak eyes used to evening

darkness

my mind waiting for rest.

I hear them hiss like hypnotic snakes

with sundry colored eyes

fighting one another to bend me to their

commercial will.

These lights are the veins of the city

they do not sleep nor do they rest

and even in the sun’s jealous glare

they do still shine as a million

fireflies in a noisy, dirty jar.

 

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Urban Portraits 2: Skyscrapers

Life, Poetry, Uncategorized

CAM00015

Skyscrapers

Like famished fingers

grasping for food,

they tough the sky.

Rigidly erect, they stand as

monuments to human energy

and ingenuity.

By day they are giant mothers,

holding the workforce within

their steel and concrete wombs,

only to become barren again as

the night falls.

Watching, wide-seeing,

these towers gaze down at the

minuscule streets below

as life walks by them

and time screams past.

Urban portraits 1: the trash collector

Life, Poetry

trashCollector

Today I begin a new series of poetry that I call, ‘‘Urban portraits’’. Even though I have spent all of my life in urban areas, I personally have a slight aversion to living in the city though and would prefer living in the country or a town within the country. I have written the poems that you will read over the next few weeks as a testimony of the life that I have spent in the city, describing all the images that I’ve seen. Enjoy and if possible, tell me what you think.

City portrait I: the trash collector

By his hand,

 

visions of filthy, cluttered streets and homes

 

are left unfulfilled.

 

Yesterdays meal, excavated dust, shredded paper, plastic, –

 

fruits of our wasteful nature –

 

confront him.

 

Without bitterness or reluctance

 

he hauls it away, like a modern slave

 

to this material empire, far beyond our hygienic, polished lids.

 

And in his high-rise domicile

 

with hourly pay deposited,

 

does he yearn for a better future?

 

Or is he cheerful and content at the trade

 

he considers his magnum opus,

 

his badge of honor,

 

which prosperous men mock as a standard of failure

 

and to which even ambition-less beings dare not aspire?

 

Regardless,

 

Cleansing our blemished streets

 

is his forte.

 

And in a world in want of perfection,

 

a humble, proud distinction.

 

Three huikus

Life, Poetry, Uncategorized

V

Wear life as a hat

               when it rains pull in closer

                       when it pours, pull it off, dance

VI

Be the difference.

Be as salt in the ocean;

and sun in the storm

Brief words for late Autumn

There are swaying trees

whose dying leaves age golden

when old May greets June