"curb" poems
By the bus stop
By the lake
By the curb beside my leg
In the sun
Or in the rain
In the cold
I'm shivering in
Wait wait wait wait
Waiting for the falling rain
In a drought has never been
I am atoning for my sin
Wait wait wait wait
Waiting for the flowers to bloom
In a winter storm has never been
I am barely holding it in
Wait wait wait wait
For the love of god
My soul to take
I cannot run from my fate
If it is to waste away while I wait
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 11:13 AM UTC
The rain ticks on the curb
Like a chronometer
Held up to a short race
As a man entering the mall
Feels his pocket for his
Wallet,
A grimace cracks his face.
© LazharBouazzi
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 6:24 PM UTC
Born to a body I do not know
formative years spent in ignorance
crashing trucks together, hot wheels
running them off the curb outside
with my best friend
He is distant now
same classes, same neighborhood
lives spent together
running through fields and muddy waters on rainy days
my friend
Familiar friend reaches for my hand
he kisses it, wet lips leaving trails of hope
a life spent apart
running through absent moments, a blissful craze
does he know me?
He holds me close, hands on my cheek
he kisses my lips, leaving a fire inside of me
a life come around
recognition a threat to a blissful moment
he knows me…
…and kisses me again
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 7:32 PM UTC
Pinto?
No, not the wild-spirited, color-splotched mare
with mane streaming like flames-thrown
behind in the wind
Taking desert inclines
with scuffing hooves on rock
catching her balance in mesquite
curbing?
The sage, dust
All
that nature throws in its pathway to knowledge
toward treachery of crosswalks?
“P-l-e-a-s-e don't slow down!
Stop signs--?
”No!
Just keep going!
Don't slow down now!”
“They'll hear us coming
3 blocks away!”
Pinto?
Clogged carburetor--?
No one much-mentioned
rear-end inferno reputation??
A mere twinge in my signature
Woman-without-a-clue
“Hey, it runs, right?
Gets where we're goin'?”
Kids duck in back seat
so as not to be seen
In the cloud of smoke
We make our approach
Hiss Spitter, Belch, Pop
and--
BANG!
--Like a gunshot
Kids take cover
on street, in backseat
duck down
so not to be noticed...
“Oh Ma!
MA!!!
Not right here!
Farther down!”
...so not to be seen
...by friends that matter...
in this ride
from hell!
Backfiring Beast--
“Friends”
skitter away
from what will emerge from the smoke and fumes
of high-risk-situation
Kids spill out through jammed door
to unexpected accolades
onto equality's curb
of laughter
Public school's
wake of exhaust and relief
I drive mercifully away
Start of another school day
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 1:11 PM UTC
Dear Ex-Best Friend,
Remember all the times we spent together,
everyday started with meeting before classes started because that was the only
time we could talk until lunch,
remember all the times we laughed so hard we cried?
Do you remember all the times we had to hold one another in times of the need
because we thought all we had was each other?
Yeah.. Me too.
We spent all the time in the world texting and calling each other.
Things changed a little since I got a boyfriend,
but I never replaced you.
You always had a special place in my heart, and I think you always knew that.
We drifted apart, like two boats at sea.
You switched back to the school you came from,
and it felt like my life had just sunk.
Suddenly I was all alone in the hallways,
Coming in to school was like hell,
Seeing the spot we used to stand in,
Occupied by another set of best friends,
Or maybe two high school sweethearts- Making out like there's no one around.
It was so lonely without you.
You seemed happier where you were though, and at that time, that was all that mattered to me.
I walked the hallways with a sad, sorrowful look.
Teachers frequently asked if I was sick, or if I needed to lay down.
Suddenly I was that one kid that everyone wanted to pick and beat on. (Again.)
I was incredibly lonely at school, I couldn't even sit with anyone at lunch because I was so hated by so many people for reasons I didn't even know.
Come upon my junior year I got a month and a half into the school year before
I switched to the school that you went to.
I was reunited with my best friend,
Life seemed so good.
I was with my boyfriend, and my bestfriend.
It felt like nothing could stop me from gaining happiness.
You began going through boyfriends,
They would come,
and they would go.
I was put second to all of them.
There were days I was so depressed I didn't function correctly,
and all we would talk about is what you and your boyfriend did the previous night.
I was so happy that you were happy,
but I think I forgot the definition of "Happiness."
Everyday was full of being ignored and having guys' push past me so they could hug you while I sat in the sideline just waiting there, tears filling in my eyes because I realized that I wasn't significant to my best friend any more.
I couldn't help but wonder what I did wrong.
I got tired of feeling this way,
I grew up, and realized that highschool isn't meant for gaining the love and affection of people.
I proceeded to end the friendship because it wasn't making me happy anymore.
I understand that a true friend stays there through everything but in no way, shape, or form did I deserve to be kicked to the curb like a diseased puppy.
It hurt, It hurt like a *****
But ultimately , I'm gonna be okay in the end.
And I hope she ends up okay, too.
But, just be okay without me.
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 8:30 AM UTC
i’ve never had feelings for anyone who could be good for me. i’ve never been interested in someone where a good, healthy relationship could’ve resulted, and maybe that’s why i’m so jaded, because everyone i’ve ever liked has just been a distraction or a house on fire— someone i know i shouldn’t be involved with, but i’ll give myself just a few more days to run around frantically with my hands over my eyes, peaking through the cracks between my fingers, searching for things i know i don’t really need, and then i’ll dash out and run down the driveway and the smog will linger for a little while, and the neighbors will complain, and i’ll sit on the curb with my forehead on my knees, holding nothing but intangible regret. next, i’ll either get over it, or obsessively think about him and the ashes smudged on the inside of my eyelids for longer than my sanity. i’ve never really liked someone and been able to daydream about the real possibility of us turning into something greater; of tire swings and painted mailboxes and overgrown, green lawns. it’s always been pretending and fake hope and melodramatic doom. i think it’s messed up my perception of having feelings for someone, because i can never take it seriously— either i know he’s not right for me, or i know the circumstances prohibit the possibility of us. it makes me never want to give anyone a chance (i can’t even see anyone worth chance-giving) because i know how it ends. i don’t like having this closed off heart so early on; i’m too young to be this bitter.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 10:10 PM UTC
You can't confess your feelings then leave me on the curb,
Then pick me up when you want me, boy you have the nerve,
To treat me like ******* trash, and walk around all high and mighty,
Saying how much you hate me and and that my tears were most likely,
The repercussions of your actions because, oh how much I miss you,
Well bull ******* **** without you I feel new,
And now you're at my door step, begging for me back,
Well I'm sorry there bud, I'm done doing laps around the track,
For one stupid boy, who just couldn't treat me right,
You're really just not worth the ******* constant fight.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 3:24 AM UTC
We perpetuate heartbreak culture,
teaching girls the man who holds her loves her despite the bruises,
or it was her fault; she looked older.
We fetishes shoulders,
prize youth from the young in return for pre-chewed gum,
swallowing down the same tired ideals from those who still wield them like flags,
waving their patriotism on poles of bone before a throne of medieval ********
They chant mantras with beer stained breath about how 'our' country 'bested' the rest,
but what about the brutality?
The blood split on foreign soil in return for prehistoric oil?
Our land is deemed pure so long as the violence on our hands never reaches our shores,
but the ocean is red and staining our sands.
How can you have pride in a country who's sole identity is based off having the worlds largest navy?
Congratulations. You bombed your way through countless continents, collecting cultures to gather dust on pedestals and alters
We sin on Sundays, drink till we're ****** then wave at the seven deadly's (they don't apply to us here).
We teach preschoolers nationalism before they can walk,
indoctrinate our children before they can talk.
George killed the dragon.
Hood gave to the poor.
we all jumped on the bandwagon before we realised the princess had no choice and the rich still ruled.
There was no voice in the tale for those whose wail could be ignored.
What about those without lines in the script?
Those kicked to the curb, then kicked from it?
Our pavements have no room for nonconformists,
they're tailored to for same mind, same mindless wanderer,
squandering on the lasted polyesters even though that mouth on the street hasn't eaten in over a week.
'God save the Queen' from the vermin;
the homeless have been tossed out of the trash.
Why help them when you could save your cash by turning a blind?
After all, out of sight, out of mind.
Welcome to England, we hope you like what you find
Because we’re not changing it.
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 5:02 PM UTC
--------------
Just bought a new back wheel
For my tall and sturdy bike
And riding back from a party
I got hit by a big white truck
I was cycling by the curb
A truck came zooming up
I had the space of a meter or more
But quickly the space diminished
Suddenly I felt it
A crunching of the wheel
I shouted in anglo-saxon
Wehey! As I leapt from the speeding frame
I fell into a running roll
And stood straight up and turned around
My bike was laying flat
The back wheel sadly spinning.
I wrung my hands and giggled
And looked about in awe.
The people that saw this happen
Came up and shook their heads
Are you alright? I cant believe what happened.
I didn’t catch his number plate
What a ******* crazy driver
Are you sure you are alright?
A gay irish man was there
You uttured a cry he said
And then flew from your bike
Like a… like a… a ballerina
I forced the wheel back into place
So it was was sort of fit to roll
The chain and gears were gnarled
So I couldn’t exactly ride
On the way two foreign drunks
Looked and spoke about my bike
Autobus smash, I said
Ohhhhhh they said
Finally arriving near finsbury
A man who was cycling past
Said do you need some help?
I said yes please I got run over by a truck
What I can do, said thomas from hungary
Or what we can do
Is take a length of chain out
So at least you can get home
Ok yes please I said
And he bent down and used his little tools
And got his hands all oily black
And made me a fixed gear bike
Now your bike is a fixie bike
So im afraid you cant change the gears
Like my fixie bike, he said
Thanks hungarian dude
Mar 20, 2012
Mar 20, 2012 at 8:36 PM UTC
Once it was garbage, refuse, trash.
A jumble of foul-smelling detritus hauled to the curb
And removed by sinewy men
Contributing a harder day's work
Than anyone else in the city.
Our energy now removes its entropy.
Sorted and classified into coloured bins,
We add order to our rejected matter.
Specialized trucks arrive to collect
The date-synchronized bins
Emptying them into functionally compatible mechanisms.
Most desolate is the black box of paper and cardboard.
Brochures and flyers, old magazines and letters.
Annual reports and cereal boxes.
Once these were enameled with crafted sentences,
Painstakingly typed, edited and debated,
On the monitors of copywriters.
Now they are just millions of words printed on flattened fibre substrates,
Jumbled into the bruised and scarred black box,
Entering into the recycling stream.
The nouns and adjectives,
Prepositions and gerunds,
All jumble together.
Fragments of precisely-crafted sentences and paragraphs
Are gradually broken, shredded and pulped.
Incomplete thoughts, broken phrases
Like those of a rejected stranger
In an lonely, unknown country.
Then words without context.
Then just disparate letters
Are all that remain.
Their M ea N inG
G r a Du all y
is re mov
e d
.
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 10:26 AM UTC
Her smile sits
on the curb of a road
between Summer
and Fall.
Sep 22, 2019
Sep 22, 2019 at 12:46 PM UTC
Crafty, they say, He's getting crafty
crafty with my lies and my made-up meals
crafty with my sound-blocking tactics
crafty with hiding the burning lines of white and red.
Baking, they say, He's getting into baking
baking my binges
baking my restriction
baking my omad
baking my sad-looking low-cal low-fat low-sugar low-carb high-protein
'meal'.
Crochet, they say, He's getting into crochet
crocheting ankle warmers to make my legs look skinny
half-finger gloves in an attempt to curb the permafrost that has begun to
knit itself around my bones.
Healthy, they say, He's getting healthy
as i workout until i faint
and do sit-ups until i have bruises on my spine.
fruit and veg and vitamins take priority
and suddenly i have taken an interest in running.
Sep 18, 2022
Sep 18, 2022 at 12:40 PM UTC
At first you are ecstatic
Look what you found in the attic
A toy!
& you are just a boy.
So you play,
With me all day,
A month & a year goes by.
But I'm out of your mind's eye,
Collecting dust on the shelf
See he got a new toy for himself.
All shiny & red
I knew I would dread
The day he didn't want me
It hurt but it had to be.
He threw me on the curb
Not to be disturbed
Until one day
Another boy will go out of his way
To play...
Because I am just a toy.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 12:54 AM UTC
Don't deflect my insecurities
Acknowledge them for they are real
Don't brush aside my inadequacies
I can't help the way I feel
Hugging myself close, searching for reassurance
Through tear-stained glass I grief strickenly see
Seemingly I've lost my tight-rope balance
Clambering up ever so desperately
May think I'm wilful
Because I often get consumed
Don't judge me unstable
Just dormant emotions exhumed
Place a palm against my chest
Between sobs, my heart beats strong
Laying my turbid mind to rest
As I whisper me the comfort that I long
Don't be afraid of me
I know I tend to get lost
Alone in my storm swept dinghy
Susceptible to the chills of frost
I can't control, I get carried away
With the dream I'm set to pursue
I can't curb or hold myself at bay
I'm weak because I haven't got a clue...
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 4:13 AM UTC
I don’t know
What ails the angels
Maybe they are tired
Of trying to guard me
And save me
From my demons
I picture them exhausted,
On a street curb
Smoking a Marlboro
Menthol
Begging for rest.
Maybe that’s what ails
The angels.
-L. Frost
Dec 13, 2020
Dec 13, 2020 at 7:01 AM UTC
I am trying so hard to please
Those I care to make at ease
But since you’ve gone, I truly tried
To smile and laugh, but yet I cried
For moments that I shared with you
The only one that loved me true
Do not be sad, as you look upon
The girl who misses you since you’ve gone
Two steps forward, and one step back
I try with might, but strength I lack
Forever you said, that we will be
How can I bear life without thee?
I know that you have sought to guide
From up above, the other side
So if I must wait till I die
To heal this pain, and curb my cry
I promise you, I’ll do my best
To find my way, and pass this test
Forgive me, love, that I am weak
The past too often, I do seek
To see your smile that made mine too
The love we shared that almost grew
To heights I’ve never thought would be
And now I know will never see
Soon, I say, that I will find
My way and leave my past behind
Till then have patience, my dearest one
I wait the day when shine the sun
In time, I dare to hope and see
What life, the future meant to be
For now, please keep your eyes on me
Until the time again I’ll see
Your truthful gaze that shone with love
When I reach heaven up above
As I write these words of woe
Your love will guide me until I know
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 1:30 PM UTC
Nov 2016 - The Fall Line
~
*all the lines of man-made yellows,
so tempting threatening...inviting,
the subway platform, the street curb,
the highway divide
the double parallel equal sign that has no solution,
remaining hopelessly empty,
defining the watery soluble
inequality of null*
~~
The Fall Line
first heard the phrase months ago in Argentina,
standing before the c-shaped Iguazu Falls
the fall line
where the crystalline basement rock
erodes away the oncoming soft sedimentary,
there, where,
a waterfall is nature-gifted
so intuitive, so obvious,
what else to call the water's owned edge,
line of demarcation,
where we grow captivated,
mesmerized, knee weak,
traumatized and tantalized
knew that instant when spoken,
The Fall Line,
saw inarguable symmetry to so many lives,
would be a someday poem
selective service phrases stored and
someday up recalled,
a thousand, maybe more,
waiting for the confluence of
time and place,
to be a mother
letting my fluid sac burst,
giving birth to a concoction symphonic,
the emotions waterfalling, cascading,
the precision, vision seconds,
when words
pour, gush, surge, spill,
stream, flow, issue, spurt
~~~
silently crafted in the weeks and months prior,
the unconscious drowning in ache and pain
of suffocating drudge sludge of everyday living
*all the lines of man made yellows,
so tempting threatening...inviting
the subway platform, the street curb,
the highway divide
the double parallel equal sign that has no solution remaining empty, defining the inequality of null*
the vision infection of the majestic fall line,
so accessible in an instance of overwhelm,
cornea implanted, the sounding call of sweet blissful
whatever
one more additional addiction unshakeable,
jumping from fall line to fall line,
it's the game I am played,
but the controller
is not in my possess
**for the joy stick that drives my actions,
toys with me,
the human fool jumping
from fall line to fall line,
unsure of what he desires,**
salvation or saving
11/26/16
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 9:41 PM UTC
Chasing the high; need it to get by.
Hopes and Dreams just seem to pass, why?
Looking down on myself, like, look at this guy!
Smothering my face with the pillowcase’
Same **** different day, still trying to plan my escape.
In this unfair a rat race; come to find out; the cheese is laced.
Moving forward; being held in place, bright future. Such a disgrace.
What we get isn’t always a reflection of what we deserve,
Sometimes even karma gets thrown a curb.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 8:33 PM UTC
Hey Sweetheart remember me?
The girl you said you 'loved' for almost a century?
I see you take your "new" friends wherever you go.
Are you with them cause we broke up or is it for their hoes?
So you said we should be 'friends' and you're really sorry,
but what about these rumors you've been telling everybody?
I never left the boundaries of being faithful,
that was your dumb *** cause you're so ******* disdainful.
Now even though I'm ecstatic I kicked you to the curb,
we need to go over some things cause I'm pretty disturbed.
For one keep my name out of your mouth,
you must not understand baby I'm from the south.
I'm not scared to punk you in front of your friends,
if I hear another thing about me from you this will transcend.
Oh by the way I un-friended your ***** ***
You're a piece of **** and you've been outclassed.
I hope the next **** you **** carries stds,
that's exactly the kind of wake up call you need.
Thank God I dumped you when I did,
you were so ******* annoying since you act like a kid.
I hate you so much and I will never miss you again,
Lets not talk anymore and you can just have a ****** life then!
-Alicia Hubert
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 3:59 AM UTC
So I'm just sitting down
Beside a stranger
Playing his guitar beautifully,
Meditating on the idea of how we
As human beings can only go so far.
As far as you can go
Exceeds as far as you can see.
I'm physically near-sighted.
I'm not sure if it's because of that long ago accident
When a tsunami of gasoline soaked my eyes,
But everything far is a water color blur to me,
Is it in fact the same for you?
There are addicts on the curb,
Abandoned dogs without a home.
How did they get there?
I can guess and assume,
Without the slightest clue.
I'm as anxious as an alcoholic
In a state of withdrawal.
Did I fall from Heaven like Lucifer?
Slightly overweight
Then slightly anorexic.
I've thought of less lately,
Less of fate.
Struggled with labels,
"That kid is anti-social."
As soon as
Words *** like fertile *****
You regret the consequence's backlash.
Why am I even bringing up **** from the past?
Don't get me wrong,
My story is not a complete sob story.
Anything I hold back,
I will admit and confess and address,
Always.
Originally written 2/4/11
Revised 10/15/14
(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 12:35 PM UTC
So what?
She'd rather not dance the night away?
You're asking for less time than it took for the last guy to run away with her faith
So give her some space
Let love find it's own way
take that energy and find someone who will handle with care
Cause you're fragile too
This whole relationship isn't your average pack up job, you can't put fragile with fragile and just shut the box
Call me what you will, but I don't care for superficial friendships with people who want way too much more
So take what you will, because she wants to want you this isn't something you can conjure from thin air
Trust me if there was a potion she would drink it
She want's to want you, and when it comes to this It's seriously 50-50 on who hurts the most don't pretend it isn't
So realize what you're doing and curb your frustration
She's having the same sensation
So next time you want to play pity me and say you lost an opportunity
Think about what you're saying
She's lost something far worse
Think of what you could be for her if you stayed as less than you thought you paid for
Isn't that the kind of person YOU would fall in love with?
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC
probly a few minutes
and i was done
writing wasn't feeling the same
i stood on top like
bricks around disaster
i was looking up
i took my shoes off
threw them aside still laced
i wasn't being funny
i know where this is going
where i write
where i see cracks in perfect paths
where blood taste like metals of purity
with every year burning
where these flowers like to live
die on vines from inside
allowing ivy to climb my back
i am a length of fence
in a yard with no dog
on a gate without reason
sitting on a post during live events
i am a fool for giving into seasons
romancing everything like a poet
following every inch of broken glass
nodding to my friends that i'm willing to mend
but waiting for them to laugh
outlined with chalk on the sidewalk
where blood stains concrete my convictions
flowing from the curb to the overpass
in the night like candles floating water
under tree branches ready to crack
formatting clouds to sky write, come with me
a man in the park on his back
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 5:24 AM UTC
THEY were calling certain styles of whiskers by the name of "lilacs."
And another manner of beard assumed in their chatter a verbal guise
Of "mutton chops," "galways," "feather dusters."
Metaphors such as these sprang from their lips while other street cries
Sprang from sparrows finding scattered oats among interstices of the curb.
Ah-hah these metaphors-and Ah-hah these boys-among the police they were known
As the ***** Dozen and their names took the front pages of newspapers
And two of them croaked on the same day at a "necktie party" ... if we employ the metaphors of their lips.
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Lily Kesha Gump
Sittin' on the curb of Bronx and Main Street
How I wish I could wrap my arms around you
Sweet little lady, lookin’ grown with a picture of her mama’s stare frozen on her face
Wrists slung through the spaces of her thighs, waiting for a daydream
And she sees me as I’m twirling by in my ruby reds and thigh high leather grace
There you go darlin,
She says to me
Scoring on my indigo smile
She bites men to sleep
With the crevices of her curves
As her voice weakens wicked
she pulls me out of my gloom
There you go darlin,
She says to me
With a time bomb ticking
On my pain pain pain
And the pen is in my hand
Before she even leaves my sight
I love this city
I love these women
I love their shoes
I love their smiles
Cheeky little laughs
Someone once recommended
When I was dancing under the shades of a neon lamp
From Homeless to Harvard
by a woman named Liz or Marie
Or maybe I read the title off of a screen
when I walking with Maryanne on north Peachtree street
And I remember
Lily Kesha Gump
How I wish I could wrap my arms around you
And give you the life some white woman
who doesn’t even know you
Thinks you desire.
Dec 17, 2020
Dec 17, 2020 at 12:15 PM UTC
(the phonograph’s voice like a keen spider skipping
quickly over patriotic swill.
The,negress,in the,rocker by the,curb,tipping
and tipping,the flocks of pigeons. And the skil-
ful loneliness,and the rather fat
man in bluishsuspenders half-reading the
Evening Something
in the normal window. and a cat.
A cat waiting for god knows makes me
wonder if i’m alive(eye pries,
not open. Tail stirs.) And the. fire-escapes—
the night. makes me wonder if,if i am
the face of a baby smeared with beautiful jam
or
my invincible Nearness rapes
laughter from your preferable,eyes
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