through little roads tired car pokes
on the track to Ordinary Joe's
gatecrasher, purple shuttered, fort
between two white picket fence houses
tucked up half-pint box out of line on the line
in cold, squeezed, lemonade
sweet spring ambrosia to the lip
of deep green blanket children sit on, play on
running around shoes and socks
thrown on sidewalk hot as frying pan
crack an egg/hear it sizzle
dotted trees all the same side to side
rooms hide in cramped spaces like cubbies
slips of lip like butter roll off snake tongues
daggers pointed
circus act on display or an animal in the zoo
that doesn't fit in this topsy-turvy slide-show
called life
hackneyed stares glued in place on childish faces
like a match of heads or tails
cupped hands carry quarters for crank candy jars
at mall, or pick-up sticks snatched from floor
Wake up to find it’s gone
It’s gone for good
The old way is gone
It’s a new neighborhood

Nothing’s quite the same
Same old rules
New twisted game
No feelings save for hate
No love to contemplate

I’m blind without what I need
Without it I’m all alone
I don’t feel safe
Can I learn to call you home?
Can I learn to call you home?
sunprincess May 31
There's a brick wall in a neighborhood not far
Though if I were an ant
might be like the distance of here to our star

Sometimes I transform into a fluttering butterfly
and over the grand impenetrable wall
I fly

Just to see what's on the other side
Brick walls dividing neighborhoods
julianna Feb 23
A middle-aged couple
Stares out their front window
Happily watching the workers
Busy on their front lawn, digging a hole.

They had lived in this neighborhood
For three years
With their three precious daughters,
The family dog, and only two trees.

The mother would often complain
Because the houses looked bare
The father was sad,
Said the air was stale.

But they know well that each day that brings a trial
Brings a blessing, too.
Today, the dog is barking
And there's plenty of work to do.

Still, they smile.
Because today they get a brand new tree.
ev Jun 2017
Raj
Raj was so conservative
She always wore
so many layers
Even on the hottest days
in summer
in summer I rarely saw her
wearing skin
even when my friends from the barrio opened up the hydrant and we played in the street in our bathing suits
Raj they asked me for one day
I think back and
cower over what has
become of my poor friend
Raj
She was always covered up
that I rarely saw her
but to think now
I'll never
see her
again
Another old poem
Yen Apr 2017
Manila,
Manila,
Your bustling streets vibrate with the rumbling of the jeepneys
and the hollers of the drivers as they say,
“Pasahero diyan, kasya pa, kasya pa!”; (Any passenger there, some seats are still free!)
Your nights twinkle with the Christmas lights
that surround every tree around the Meralco building
when September begins;
Your endless traffic jams keep McDonald’s and KFC alive
twenty-four by seven
where traffic enforcers dodge cars
and vans
trucks and tricycles
and jeepneys and bicycles
while dancing to the rhythm beating in their own ears
with a smile and a salute to all the drivers
from dawn to dusk;

The noise awakens the outskirts of your city
filled with people who never fails to smile
even when the storm pirouettes like a tempestuous ballerina,
where children watch the roads
transform into this ocean of black water
and small wooden boats become the means of transportation;
paddling in between houses
as the adults try to go to work;
where chickens waddling upon roofs
and cats chasing rats
become the best forms of entertainment

but Manila,
your lingering smell of cancer
comes with the dark blue starless sky
telling people to grip their bags until it merges with their bodies.
Manila, say good night
while they hold it tight
protecting it from the dark humid air
where thieves come out to
thumb down unscrutinised objects
from shallow pockets
by the flickering lamps
across the blazing red and emerald green lights


you see less
and less
and less
faces
as the Sun sinks and says good bye.

Stop
and try to tranquilise yourself.

Your city is now lead
by a blood-thirsty leader.
Apologies from gunshots overpower the cries of help from your people.
Manila,
ignore them
and sleep well.
Let the truth decay
while lives burn and vanish.
Prayers cannot save your mutinous ignominy.

Halcyon days are over
but

Manila,
you are still a beautiful city.
Your resilient people
overflows with hospitable hearts.
Their faces plastered with big smiles
as they welcome us for you
and say, “Mabuhay!” (Long live!)
proud and mighty.
Offering their minds on banana leaf plates to everyone who visits,
Giving away their hearts in small loot bags to everyone who leaves,

The Pearl of the Orient Seas
was my hood.

Manila,
despite your lack of snow
and intense weather swings,
You are
and will always be
my home.
Breeze-Mist Apr 2017
Spring has many calling signs
Like flowers and birds and sun
Or getting home to find
Thirty cars at your neighbor's for fun

For every spring and summer
The family across the street
Plays mariachi louder than a speaker
With their entire extended family to greet
The car problem is not helped by the house being in a cul de sac...
George Krokos Mar 2017
You have been barking too much
and you seem to have lost touch
with what is acceptable behavior
ignoring the example of any Savior.
The community is also sick and tired
of the noise you make that’s inspired
by the standards you wish to impose
on other people to follow your nose.
You think that when barking you don’t drivel
expecting those whom you bark at to shrivel
by the magnitude of the noise that you make
so as to impress all others for your own sake.
You’re really nothing but a mongrel after all
and don’t give a damn about others who call
often out to you to shut up and stop barking
but continue with a selfish clamor marking.
Could it be those whom you bark at are being
a threat to your own position you’re seeing?
Or is it perhaps due to the diminishing customer base
as the neighborhood is now aware of your sad case?
The time’s coming when you’ll get a kick up the arse
so the incessant dreary noise you now make will pass.
______
Written in 2016. Inspired by the barking of the neighborhood dogs and some experience on another website.
Randy Johnson Feb 2017
When my family and I moved into this house in 1977, Dad was our patriarch.
For four decades I have lived in a subdivision that is called Crosby Park.
Today I've lived in this subdivision for forty years.
I was only five years old when I moved here.
When a person lives at a place for that many years, it fits like a glove.
This is where I'll live for the rest of my life and it's a place that I love.
I'll tell you why my place means more to me than it did just ten years ago.
It's because this place is now mine and there's no place like home.
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