at the streetville of flowers

they came with mops, brooms, 
   buckets on streets,
and swept off the beggars,
   homeless, clueless
addicts slumped on my feet-
   cruising between

my arms, spray-painted by  
   electric green
and psychedelic orange-
   my head, turban
of colorful stories-
   erased to white-  

i'm restored melody
   flowing breezy-
i'm saving grace among 
   eyesores & punks-
i flow as flowers do 
   flowering to the sky

shimmering false-blue hues-
   stop!  it's bleached!
the whole city is tangle
  of rotting bones 
coated with fresh garden air
  for VIP guests

so I stand still
  dreaming of sunflowers
buzzing of insects- 
  collecting rain in pockets-
my nose runny 
  with smog by whizzing cars 

  

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Street Art or Culture, Hosted by Lillian ~  This is theme: I’ve posted five examples of street art for folks and ask them to pick one and somehow write about it. Images in public domain at Pixabay.com. Only requirement is that folks post the accompanying image.

The trespasser

When city slips into night beat
And streets are near-empty
of cars 
He comes out
marking back alleys
With his signature 
eccentricity

With pitted cheeks  
He struts
like he owns all street
corners 
yellow-pissed by homeless 
beggars
whores, pimps
drunkards 
gypsies with tarot 
And all the nobodies 

stencil-blued 
by moon
perfectly round
above split-level condominiums  

Graffiti Alley, Toronto City @Grace

Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - 55 Words - Trespasser
and Poets United - Thanks for the visit ~

This poem is a selfie, nest and doughnut

Glazed Doughnuts

I.

This poem is busy
As flock of birds scavenging for food in parking lot
As passengers alighting from subway, clutching their
iphones tightly as if their hands are born with it.
As if ears are sockets, forever plugged with noise.
This poem is a selfie.


II.

This poem is made of twigs
A week ago,  I wanted to play god when a baby robin
fell from the small nest, its wet black feathers broken.
But the woman on the phone said, let the mother robin
decide what to do with her baby.  
This poem allows nature to take its course.
This poem is a nest.  


III.

This poem is hungry
As the people lining up at Tim Horton's take out lane.
Some people are lazy, why can't they just go out of their cars
& get it quickly, someone asked.
Maybe they are looking for comfort, I say.  
Maybe every step is jagged stone.
This poem is a doughnut.


IV.

This poem is a socket for selfies.
This poem is a twiggy nest,  now empty of birds. 
This poem is comforting as a take-out doughnut.   



For Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Boomerang metaphor created by Hannah Gosselin
and Poets United - Thanks for the visit ~

Inked by street artist

Streets whirl from wheels & neon lights

Metallic doors click  
Every second on subway
You close your eyes, basking the sun
You're muse above our electrical poles  

What dreams do you dream? 

Posted for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Taking it to the Streets & Word Count with Mama zen ~  Happy April Day ~

Picture credit:   here 

A street poem

I walk on the street,
the sky is caught between grey &
faint blue pages-

It is mid-April, 
the city stores are selling spring 
colored shoes & clothes,

I imagine would be great
if I am going to Italy or Jamaica
for week of summer fun & escape 

But I am working this summer
and saving money for a college plan-
As I trudge & sit in the red bus 

I start thinking of lines to write - 
-Where the sea meets my toes, like an inkwell- 
-Where a narrow road leads to a Gothic tower-  

But they all end up with this orange,  round & firm 
in my hand.   So, I peel it slowly like a book.  
It tasted sweet, like the sun.      

Toronto City

Picture credit:   here

Posted for:   Imaginary Garden of Real Toads - Inspired by writings of Billy Collins - Accessible Poetry 

Poetry on Keningston pole

                                                   

Art in Public, Toronto City 

String the words 
pinned on the pole - poetry  
on the go -

Sky, storm, airport -   
art is everywhere, inhale, exhale -     
love, an Oxygen -
  

Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - OpenLinkNight - 
Poetry form:   Lune - 3/5/3 words per line