"burbs" poems
Holy Monday
walking with
my dog in
the burbs
I spied
a palm frond
laying by
the curb
still moist
and pliant
fresh to
touch
what
blasphemer
discarded this
icon beloved
so much?
one day
removed
from
Palm
Sunday
glory
does the
heathen who
disposed of it
know this
precious
leaf’s
story?
it was then
I recalled
its reason
for being
its a carpet
for a King’s
footsteps
its not for
keeping
so there
it lay
where
it should
be
as my
dog and I
resumed
our closer
walk with
Thee
Music Selection: Willie Nelson
Just a Closer Walk With Thee
Oakland
4/2/12
jbm
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 9:21 PM UTC
I took a walk today
and listened to the birds
choking on the smog,
broke my mother's back
with every step
and outran a stray dog.
I picked you a bouquet
of dandelions from the field
because flowers can't grow
when the sun's always concealed.
I put them in a vase
and filled it with water from the tap
they died within an hour,
now I know for sure you won't come back.
I always swore
I'd never own a broken home
but it's hard not to when the only one's who stay
are the garden gnomes —
but someone's been smashing them
in the middle of the night,
or maybe they're blowing out their brains
to escape my company
and the blight.
There's no magic left
in this city, so chronically gray
storms are always passing though
and the rainbows are too scared to stay...
I wanted to run away with you
from the hood and past the burbs
to somewhere where the air is clean
and filled with singing birds.
But instead I'm stuck here on this couch,
microwaving Ramen
while I search for words.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 2:00 PM UTC
She had no desire to be a kept woman in a Tahoe with two point five kids
Give her a car that runs, a man to sing to her, and the open road
She doesn't want a house in the burbs and a gang of desperate housewives
She's rather live in a van or a tent and carry on with a man that can hunt
She doesn't want a wedding day and a white picket fence
Let her run in the wild and make love under the stars
*"Wild man
Where is my wild man
Lets stand at the edge of the world
and conquer it together."*
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 8:46 PM UTC
“Some people are never far away...”
I am thinking this--
bouncing tipsy on pool floaty
at my daughter's new home
in 'burbs of Philly
Sipping wine
on a pool floaty
thinking this--
abstractly
Sipping wine
in odd peace
on a pool floaty
cool and soft, the water
Cicadas scour the air
...Knowing it's not true....
I had watched them from my porch
leaving –
since the day they came
They –
and the robins too, headed south now
tumbling in their groups
that garble time
that sketch horizon
with a maze of staggered lines
Watching
geese--
their backs and wings gleam
in golden V
across the sunset
They are honking as they rise, raucous
from river in their flight
My daughters do the same
Migrating south from Scranton
waving, honking til their cars have turned the corner
out of sight
...on a pool floaty
fully clothed
I watch them
drenched in the darkening sky
tasting salty streams
Intoxicating sounds
their laughter
their voices--
How I love....
cicada droning
in the lush of background green
I will keep this moment clutched
to me
all I have of them
between these moments
I live between moments
of nothing and everything
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 4:55 PM UTC
Im the hardest to Hit
Since Tupac *******
On Killuminati
Somebody pass me the 12 guage shotti
Now feel these slugs hit yo body
Enemies bleed indeed love for greed
Feeds a ***** soul
Since theres no rest for the wickedness
Evilness is an imperative of mankind
Pack a chromed .45 and a black .9
As thoughts began to unravel from my mind
lookin' for adversaries to put
on flat lines
Middle finger to one time
I pull down my pants
so them ******* can **** my ****
NOW WHOS THE REAL TRICK?
im reachin' through souls
Of young boys n girls
They hate me cuz the way i swirl
Money with my two middle fingers to the world
Have no fear cuz the Lord is here
In flesh he puttin' me through a test
For my heart
Battlin' tactics im growin' frantic
Never see me panic
Now you punk *** critics show me yo heart
Puttin' rounds in yo chest
Now ya dearly depart
No sorrow from me on a mission
Hittin' yo number one charts
With this **** ****
my ****** feel this from East to West Coast
Though I'm From the South i still
Love to boast
Makin' a ghetto toast
To the real
Got every heart in the burbs to slums
Packin' steel
No time to back downs soon ill be holdin' the crown
Mild scars from breakin' the slaveryyy
Wither its reason or rhyme to crime and strife
We embracin' that **** life!!!
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 7:47 AM UTC
On the playgrounds of the future
Children will laugh and sing
And we’ll cross the bridge to real peace
Where the bells of sanity shall ring
Until then we’ll play the game
Which will all add up to naught
“It’s your fault, no, it’s theirs…”
Why some fail at what is taught.
We’ve been given new books and bosses
Numerous regs to do the job
But money flows to the burbs
Inner-cities fair game to rob
Touching the future may seem easy
From a point too far away
One could assume it’s all just ditto -
Then lunch - then math - then play
If this is your belief
You could not be further from the fact
That success is measured forward
As we have our students’ back
So forward we will plod
Secretly teaching to the mean
We will test, and test and test
From which all congress shall glean
Information in nice neat form
Of bars and charts sublime
Symbolic of teachers and students
Who have been sentenced to hard time
And the monied districts shall rule
Golden in and out
And the bootstraps will appear
Accusing all who doubt
Good will be the words to spread
And many who will eat them
The failures will be shown the straps
But for pity’s sake, don’t beat them
G. Davis-Feldman
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 9:54 AM UTC
I'm too through
**** it
**** all of the ********
That piles on my back and y'all just seem to be so cool with
The world taking shots
Just because I'm not
An aggressive *** ***** id still grab the chrome and pop
***** I'm all about them bodies ***** I **** with no limits
And yeah I'm from the burbs but know y'all can still get it
I don't care bout how you living ***** you deserve to die
So it's time I get that Mac and get to ending lives
Cuz this ********
I swear tho
But I don't even care yo
I'm on that **** the world. It's twisted underneath this hair bro
Plus I don't have a heart, I guess im friends with that scarecrow
From oz, no wiz needed cuz he can't bring back the dead so
I roam a ******* zombie
Who gone stop me who gone stop me ?
And I ain't ducking ****
Who gone pop me who gone pop me ?
I ain't got **** to do but rap and do hobbies
So I'll take over the world by next year probably.
*****
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 10:45 AM UTC
Dax-
God's Eyes
~My Verse~
I've never seen God's eyes, but I've seen the devil's
He walks with men on earth at different levels
He knows the king we serve, so he hates and meddles
And prays that we all burn and turn to rebels
He tried to get my soul, but I'll never settle
I'll walk this lonely road from the 'burbs to ghettos
I'll take the gift bestowed and return a vessel
I am the one they chose, yeah-yeah-yeah
-----------------------------------------
(first yeah of the verse layered over the last yeah of the chorus, slowed and stretched out)
...-yyeeeaaahhh
I've never met god, no, I've never met the devil
Though I've seen 'em in the eyes of broken people
Both shrouded in lies, watch the line glitch between what's good and what's evil
They seem pretty equal, it's the playing field that's not level
An unholy holy war, creation V creator
You swear he hears prayer so it's a choice to never answer
The holy-ish trinity with it's narcissist center, the first broken family ever
Please do me a favor, before you expire, acknowledge the innocent lost to crossfire
-----------------------------------------
("They'll never see god's eyes, but they've seen the devil's" layered over "I've never seen God's eyes, but I've seen the devil's")
"They'll never see god's eyes, but they've seen the devil's"
He walks with men on earth at different levels
He knows the king we serve, so he hates and meddles
And prays that we all burn and turn to rebels
He tried to get my soul, but I'll never settle
I'll walk this lonely road from the 'burbs to ghettos
I'll take the gift bestowed and return a vessel
I am the one they chose, yeah-yeah-yeah
©2023
Oct 12, 2023
Oct 12, 2023 at 5:01 PM UTC
**I burnt out my head
on the asphalt jungle,
doctor recommended
rest and relaxation
and these little blue pills,
now I'm living in the burbs,
on a cul-de-sac of ritalin rainbows
& my neighbors are druggie unicorns**
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 7:39 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
When she bought the house
His mother was smiling
She could finally leave Queens
For the burbs of Long Island
She wanted to leave Queens
Because in Queens the kids were wildin’
But little did she know
So were her little darlins’
The fast paced life
She thought she left behind
Gave her a comfort level
But only in her mind
Call it accidental
Or simply by design
To the realities of life
She was partially blind
This is a cautionary tale
From which there’s no escape
Like the finish of a close race
It’s a tale of the tape
Lampin’ in the burbs
Things seemed to be fine
He smoked a little herb
Because he was inclined
According to most people
You couldn’t find
A nicer fella anywhere
Most of the time
There was another side to him
Ya need to know
Rumor has it
That he moved a lot of blow
But where he sold it at
Nobody seemed to know
It was in the kinds of places
His people didn’t go
This is a cautionary tale
From which there’s no escape
Like the finish of a close race
It’s a tale of the tape
Life’s a mystery
Because ya never know
How long you’re gonna be here
Or when you’re gonna go
So how come most of us
Act like that isn’t so
Living recklessly
Most of the time but - yo
There were those who thought they knew him
But they really didn’t
So many aspects of his personality
He kept well hidden
He did lots of things
That people thought he didn’t
And if they confronted him
He simply wouldn’t admit it
This is a cautionary tale
From which there’s no escape
Like the finish of a race
It’s a tale of the tape
Swing low sweet chariot
The Lord took him home
Only twenty-one
But sadly now he’s gone
Made a left turn
But that turn was wrong
Now he’s a memory
Talked about in song
The bigger they are
They say the harder they fall
It’s an understatement to relate
That he was tall
A giant of a man
About six-five in all
Tall enough to make
Everyone else look small
While in front of his mother’s house
Minding his own business
A gunman snuck behind him
According to the witness
Pumped two in his head
With certainty and quickness
Knocked him to the ground
Where he was still and listless
This is a cautionary tale
From which there’s no escape
Like the finish of a close race
It’s a tale of the tape
Swing low sweet chariot
The Lord took him home
Only twenty-one
But sadly now he’s gone
Made a left turn
But that turn was wrong
Now he’s a memory
Talked about in song
(c) Copyright 2015, Cedric McClester. All rights reserved.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 8:07 AM UTC
Hot latte, with some chocolate dust sprinkles on top. Man I will be frank, Americans got it to easy, to easy. That's the american way. To many American's now have it to easy, ******* off of government funds away from the one's who really need them. We got a ghetto every 5 or 10 miles. A suburb every few miles, a mansion 1 to every five burbs. We got It easy with groceries, a store we get food from! Dont need to grow food anymore really, everything is manmade poisoned and antibiotic shots in your chicken and beef. We have dudes who wanna buy women, or men that wanna buy men. Even men who wanna buy trannies ( transexuals) or dudes who buy woman who are really men. but what countrys not that way. We got all different creeds breeds all here. Doctor's you can pay 200 bucks for the illegal way to get scripts, prescriptions for the not knower's. We have mad alcoholics here like no tomorrow. And serious ****** and dope addicts, We have jocks, idiots, goths, strippers, musicians, the best actors in the world. Along with the best movies. We have the old western U.S. we have the east coast where oceans you can get from the south to the east to the west. We have hillbillies, rednecks, gangsters, wannabees, liars, thieves, killers, rapists, city boys, country girls, Mercedes Benz, old pickup ford, motorcycle gangs -baddest ever.. We have everything here to get you in jail, hell and heaven. We can make you sin. Or make you want to repent. Come to us. Come to the united states of america. Forgot a big thing! The soilders. We got the best marines army navy all soilders in the world here.we have the most weapons of any country in this weird place. We have soilders who lose their lives for things they think their fighting for when really its rich overshadow government money their fighting for. We got huge graves, big tombstombs. Mostly marked with men who died unrespected from world war 1 , 2 and possibly three sometime in our sunny future. Welcome to America. Heaven and hell in one slice.
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 7:12 PM UTC
I love life, I love life, I love her
She stays omnipresent even when the love hurts
And sure I could end her but that would hurt me most
Cause I'll end her for me and myself alone
So even if I wanted I couldn't cause her pain
Even though she ***** me over to the point I feel insane
Turns out she's bipolar and she's always bound to change
And I never understood, that's why it always had me saying
I hate life, I hate life, I hate you
I hate the world where we reside, and the things it tends to do
Seems like life and planet earth was a duo we all knew
And they worked to assure that joy and smiles were all through
By 13
All I knew was hurting
But I kept a smile worn so the people kept from learning
Of my depression, but the demons kept on lurking
But the days stayed the same, it seemed liked I was surfing
On a sea of my emotions
**** the sea, I made an ocean
Of tears and everything beneath my surface moistured by lotion
And potions didn't work
You know those things I was too young for
Like alcohol and pills that I stole from out the drug drawer
So i just roamed the city where the drugs dealt and guns drawn
Milwaukee was hella crazy but I said **** it, I was so torn
Plus i got friends that got me incase some **** blew
But when them shots started racing, hell my friends did too
And I was in a situation that really seemed hella new
Cuz I was from the burbs and violence is what I always knew
But I never saw it alone, I was always chillin with the crew
So **** I was running for the life I thought I hated
And I was crying, cuz I thought that we wasn't gone make it
But I looked back, and stopped cuz to my amazement
We wasn't the targets, and I sat on the block steady saying
I love life, I love life, I love her
Cuz she teach me all the things that need to be learned
When your city is the farthest thing from balanced
Plus she has much in store when you have dreams and a talent
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 3:36 AM UTC
As you ride the train out of Chicago and the car
sways sways sways sways
sways sways sways sways
sways sways sways sways
as you roll on toward your destination
and you look outside and you see the sun beams
swirling in the circles of the train car windows
and you see them reflecting in bends off of the raaaaaaaaails of the train
track tracks
track tracks
track tracks
track tracks
the lids of your eyes slowly begin to fall
and you think
what a beautiful day it has been.
Then the train passes an abandoned building with
bro-ken win-dows
and you ask
what lives were lived there that are now long…
forgotten?
And then the train passes the Chicago burbs with apartment buildings
and white pick pick pick pick picket fences
and boys playing street soccer
and a girl crying because they won’t let her play
and mothers telling the boys to be fair
and then a boy crying because the girl just scored the winning goal
and then everyone yelling
CAR!
and running to the sidewalks to run to start playing the next round as the car passes
and you think
What a beautiful day it has been.
And then the train passes another with
grafffffffffit-t-t-t-t-ti all along it
and you ask why is the best art with the strong stories behind it called vandalism
wile the worst art is worth millions because it’s called abstract?
And then the train passes woodlands and a wave of nostalgia floods your mind
as you remember the times when your brothers and friends built forts
and played war in the overgrown gully behind your yard
and you think
what a beautiful day it has been.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 5:47 PM UTC
the cicada's have begun to emerge
after seventeen long years as a dormant miner
they arise, pushing through seveteen years of dust
and compounded muclch, breaking out into a brave new world
and for seventy two hours, if they are lucky
they seek to mate, to consumate to extend their species
some become garish decorations on truck windscreens
some become exhibits in a small boys jam jar zoo
some become waylaid and sing their cacophonial opus
on barren concrete patio's
some become Sunday dinners to peckish nestlings
some succeed gloriously, then die happy
some don't...succeed...and die wondering
but apparently seventeen years ago...
a lot succeded...
if the booming base opera being performed
is a gauge of the primeval drive of the cicada
it is summer eve in the burbs
and the living is..... noisy....
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 8:22 AM UTC
My mom told me to look both ways when I cross the street
Now my puppies pushing daisies underneath my feet
On the day of Halloween back when I was 6
I was careful and quiet, in the burbs and near the sticks
Today was different, but I didn’t know how
A day supposedly saved for the devil would ever be allowed
I knew how to be scared, and I’m sure I felt fear
Being acquaintances with Lucifer every time I looked in the mirror
I noticed I was whiter becoming the shade of a lamp
And I could tell that my eyes were progressively turning black
And so I left
My own reflection
I knew that I was morphing only in the wrong direction
Every ounce of good inside me was getting digested in my stomach
And when I ran onto my family I pretended I was dumbstruck
Never before had the thought of being the black sheep become so vivid
Now I knew I didn’t belong and it was something I had to live with
Bouncing a ball to the floor off a wall and back in my hand
Seemed to be the only thing left in the world that I could understand
Then a voice in my head reverberated like the voice of God
But this was an opposing force and it sounded quite odd
I couldn’t make out a langue but the message was unmasked
He said I was his servant and blood was what he had asked
My mind was spinning and my palms were to the ground
My memory erased and my soul was lost and found
I hungered for death knowing the honor that I bestowed
And so I pushed my puppy into the middle of the road
My mom told me to look both ways when I cross the street
Now my puppies pushing daisies underneath my feet
Jun 28, 2012
Jun 28, 2012 at 12:22 PM UTC
supposedly
birds fly
In rhythm to
***
drop
drips
of sea,
for a kind of tastebud
damnation
Only a
drama contortionist could
believe in.
Ultimatums cause heavy weight
champions
to stop for champagne in the burbs,
expensive gas at a blank station
base plantation.
Come froth at the mouth at us for freedom.
Jun 20, 2023
Jun 20, 2023 at 3:37 AM UTC
Your eyes are the ocean switching colors
Trapped inside this lazy eyed summer
Driving through the streets of small town rumors
And they had the nerve to call us the late bloomers
So we may have fell behind
But we never were lost we just like taking our time
But drinking doesn't do enough to unwind
Screaming vengeance in the burbs of a broken mind
So when you're sick of the city and the neon seems too bright
We'll head down to the country run away into the night
But I always thought that stars looked more like
Cigarette burns on the skin of the sky
Than sleeping satellites
They say you're the kind of girl to treat like an exit wound
******* all the sugar off your silver spoon
Let me show you I'm a black sheep, let me show you to my room
So when you're sick of the city and the neon seems too bright
We'll head down to the country run away into the night
But I always thought that stars looked more like
Cigarette burns on the skin of the sky
Than guiding fatalistic lights
Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 10:13 AM UTC
High SAT scores: √
Academic scholarship to
an ivy league school: √
Top-of-the-class graduation: √
Job: √
Wife: √ √
Dog: √
Tasteful Victorian in the 'burbs: √
Kids: √
Adventure, sense of purpose, happiness: . . .
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 10:57 AM UTC
So you like to drink in the bars,
Or swill moonshine from old pickle jars;
You could be far worse off than you are,
You know you coulda been a dork.
A dork's a mammalian who digs in his nose,
His *** passes gas as he goes;
He has greasy hair and picks at his wart,
He plays with his ***** burbs and snorts.
So if you like to spit, pick and hork,
You're on your way to be a dork.
Or would you rather drink in the bars,
And swill moonshine from old pickle jars;
You could be far worse off than you are,
You know you coulda been a nerd.
Nerds are mammalians in Bermuda shorts,
Sandals with knee-high socks;
He's awkward and clumsy and out of step,
If we turn East, the nerd turns West.
If you don't want treatment like a ****
Then stop acting like a nerd.
Or would you rather drink in the bars,
Swilling moonshine from old pickle jars;
You could be far worse off than you are,
You don't wanna be a goof.
A goof's a mammalian kiddie diddler,
A rat, a punk, a toothless skinner;
He's in jail to keep us safe,
But in protective custody for his own sake.
So if you don't heed the law and you're a ****
You'll do well when you're a goof.
Some solid guys aren't behind bars,
We play ukes, guitars and cards;
We're on stools in our local bars,
Seeing ourselves as Avatars,
While getting pickled in our jars.
Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 1:11 PM UTC
You *******
How dare you lie awake
And feel short-changed.
There are children in Africa-
No listen,
There are children in Africa
Did you know,
Eating dirt and drinking ****
And yet you lie there,
You *******
And lament the broken socket in the wall;
All those sorry women you didn’t lay.
What now?
A tantrum again, you *******
Your friends wont hit the town tonight,
And your woman wont let that depression bite,
So now your book will never get written
You ******* you ******* you *******
Your mother loved you
But it was the wrong kind of love.
And your father,
Your father left after you were born:
A peaceful death but a tasteless funeral.
He left before you could recall
A slamming of the door.
He left no trace for you to search
The corners of the Earth for his return.
There is a privation within you but you cannot create something out of nothing.
No, you needed a slam of a door,
And the ache of tension in your gut.
You needed the punch on your heartstrings,
To create the music and the art
That would finally validate your lack of colour.
Oh, you poor *******
Too unstable to hold down a job
And get a house in the burbs.
Too contented to set fire to the lot.
But I know you I do,
And you will pick up that guitar in a week or so
When I have set myself all tranquil-like
In the corner.
And you will try again,
Fruitlessly, may I add…
To concoct another potion of chords
To save another anonymous soul
That never needed saving.
And you hold out your hand
For just another ******* like yourself.
But I see you’re running late,
You must get to work.
You have small talk to be getting on with,
Yes, that dryness in your throat,
That heavy tongue
And those sentences you play out
In your head on your way into the office,
You know they will fall apart
Into useless, uninteresting stutters.
And the sweat under your armpits
Will cling to your ironed shirt
In your day-to-day panic attack
Of routine.
Yes, I’ll let you get on now,
And I will be waiting for you again
The next time you walk past a car window,
Or wash your hands in front of a mirror.
See you soon,
You *******
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 9:02 PM UTC
Watching old Anthony Bourdain
and I hope the uneaten food gets donated to his staff
like how the great feasts of young King Henry VIII
got thrown to poor, after He had a bite or two
of foie gras done 12 ways
Never mind
After all that's happened
Tony should be beatified
I remember laying on the floor of my parent's room
when I couldn't get to sleep in middle school
and we'd watch a back to back block of No Reservations
on a 13 inch box TV on their nightstand
The next thing we knew, people grew more open for a time
Wegmans' got sushi, and Dad loves it
The parents weren't so ashamed of the city they fled to the 'burbs from, just for a second
Took them to a bespoke restaurant during pride month
and they thought it was a gay bar
just because they flew a rainbow flag out front
They grew to welcome it
for a few years at least
Thanks Tony
Wish you were here
and I had more to say about that
than a ******* postcard script
Your voice is still echoed in my house
on an endless nightmare streaming channel
kept on mostly for my chiweenie
You'd be horrified, but
still I know your take
could help reinvigorate our hope in a connected world today
Jul 10, 2025
Jul 10, 2025 at 4:35 PM UTC
Here is total nonsense in a verse,
It's about the scourge of the burbs,
A silly tale of Lady Bonkerley,
A femme always dressed in Regency,
Draping clothes her poseur finery,
And her boyfriend, a bossy bully,
They pranced around so merrily,
But wait, they were mere fictionaries,
I guess that's why we're writers, you and me,
It's all in our heads, you see,
Lady Bonkerley was only imaginary!
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 3:06 AM UTC
the boy,
trails a piece
of brown twine,
with paper tied loosely,
to one end, around the dry green brown lawn.
it is for the little
grey, blue cat, to chase
and pounce upon,
a game, they never tire of.
the father,
tends to the flowerbeds,
with copious trips of
the watering can.
the water restrictions
forbid the use of the hose, and the plants must drink
to survive.
whilst to-ing, back and forth, from tap to plant,
he keeps an eye
on the boy as he plays.
the mother,
sits on the front steps
and watches all,
with cool drink in hand.
she has just finished, preparing the night's repast and has left it
simmering, gently
on the stove.
she takes this moment,
to escape the kitchens heat and sits in the cool sea breeze.
taking immense joy, in watching the afternoon, wind down in such a restful way.
the cat,
pounces on the string
pulling it gently from the boys grasp.
the family
laughs at his rolling,
pawing antics, as he, truimphs in his catch.
before picking up
the cat and boy
and walking inside,
to the smell of chicken curry, green but mild.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 6:03 AM UTC