cities
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concrete jungle heatsuffocating cityscape~ bare feet loving grass......Mark Toney © 2021.5/13/2021 - Poetry form: Haiku (for you)
Buildings of blue
Reflecting the sunlight,
Like brothers and sisters
Competing in height.
Indian, Chinese, Mediterranean,
A variety of cuisines.
The CN Tower and Rogers Centre stadium.
I forget them in the day time, all the little lights
At me they wave and blink and do their damndest to get my attention, but I pay them no mind
My dreams are so big
It’s hurt small minded people
They can’t wrap their minds are my big dreams
So instead
We, the new generation, are the dream.
We, dentist smiles and thin, diet bodies.
Fluorescent lights, hope for a star to deem
Dear twenty-seventeen
there's a lot of things you showed me
like how time can move so slowly
then get faster than you'd like
there's a lot of things that happened
like my highschool days at home
We’re rich, and posh, really fancy
We can afford to blow all our money
On things that were never necessary.
And then other things that we see.
Buzzing with your rainbow dreams
All those diamond cities scream
Is everything just what it seems?
Golden people planning schemes
And I seem to be stuck
I cannot seem to move
The atmosphere of this place surrounds me
The people, they don’t seem to care
In the city, coffee-toting zombies of the morning
pass along the avenue, a rich soup of smog and
haze. Skyscrapers stretch to block the sun, weeds
growing in the cracks of neglected sidewalks. The
Kerülök egyet városomban, gyalog, mint balog.
A terjengő füstszag üdvözöl, mint régi ismerős, én is kalapomat emelem, s' továbbmegyek.
Sétálóutcára keveredek, embertömeg szerte szét.
When you pass down the streets in Chicago, Cleveland, and Atlantic City, you see it in their eyes.
They’re not yet sixteen, acting eighteen,
Driving their moms up a wall when they don’t come home for supper.
Do you know who you are?
Tell the truth since the truth is a heavy matter
Are you as chill and sleek as your car?
Or do you see yourself as scattered and splattered
Looking up into the sky,
Seeing towers that offer dreams.
The American Dream within your hand.
Comfort, luxury, could it be a dream?
What seems like a dream is nothing,
Nothing but slavery in disguise!
"Seven years," was my mantra
when I first moved.
I don't belong here, and now
it's too late to belong there
and I find these havens, in
sanctuaries and trees and basement rooms
one more turn and it's
the Mission District. i'm taking pictures
of strangers.
these are my people, and
