Due to my battle with headaches, I haven't blogged as much as I've wanted to lately. However, I've been taking a number of strolls through my neighborhood, just to relax my head & lungs a bit, and the following free verse poem essentially wrote itself.
Note: this poem DOES CONTAIN 2 WORDS WHICH MAY BE CONSIDERED AS SWEARING; PARENTAL DISCRETION IS ADVISED.
The Suburbs
Millions of wooden dwellings,
Garnished with brightly manicured green lawns,
Rest along side common gray streets of cement and black tar.
Cars and trucks,
Too numerous to fit within their owners’ pearly driveways,
Permanently hug four inch curbs,
Blocking views of supremely loved shrubs and flowers,
Of multiple colors and varieties.
Within the dwellings’ walls,
Common people; eat, drink, sleep, piss, shit, read, and ponder;
As the attempt to assign meaning to the mundane,
The ordinary.
Lawn mowers break the still silence of a warm Sunday morning,
While a nearby dog bristles at the presence of a stray cat,
And families busily dress to worship a deity of compassion and hope.
Meanwhile, the man next door seeks similar answers,
Within the pages of abstruse books,
Speaking of waves and infinitesimal particles of matter.
Each clings to their cleverly discovered truth,
As the massive ball of dwelling laced streets they ride upon,
Hurries around its fiery ball of erupting gas,
At 67,062 miles per hour.
-
Garnished with brightly manicured green lawns,
Rest along side common gray streets of cement and black tar.
Cars and trucks,
Too numerous to fit within their owners’ pearly driveways,
Permanently hug four inch curbs,
Blocking views of supremely loved shrubs and flowers,
Of multiple colors and varieties.
Within the dwellings’ walls,
Common people; eat, drink, sleep, piss, shit, read, and ponder;
As the attempt to assign meaning to the mundane,
The ordinary.
Lawn mowers break the still silence of a warm Sunday morning,
While a nearby dog bristles at the presence of a stray cat,
And families busily dress to worship a deity of compassion and hope.
Meanwhile, the man next door seeks similar answers,
Within the pages of abstruse books,
Speaking of waves and infinitesimal particles of matter.
Each clings to their cleverly discovered truth,
As the massive ball of dwelling laced streets they ride upon,
Hurries around its fiery ball of erupting gas,
At 67,062 miles per hour.
-
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