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A writer gawps at society,
I went to a bus stop after tea,
Littered with used syringes,
Drugs evolving, slightly unhinges,
Why do we accept this as normalcy?
It's a challenge for the authorities,
Or for changing norms in society..........
Feedback welcome .
colorfulSmoke Sep 19
tires full of anger
feelings so dolorous
spinning here nakedly
hate when people assume things of a flat tire
it isn't like a tire can choose to deflate

tired already
just got here
want to self destruct
retire to my chamber
and play with oblivion

just stare instead
       stare
    just stare
      breathe
      just air
      breathe
     breathing
  just breathing
  air breathing
    just breath
  heart heaving
        lungs
       beating

need to shave off negativity
before skeletons come from me and come for me to comfort me

cctv camera looks up
for heaven dispised
wall says
lie liar
"LIEZ"

dry cut 7.99
wet cut woes
free blood on a dollar
so get ****** toes

meanwhile kids have fun
orange peels and soccer

feels like bone scraped soul
apology
when soul kissed bone

sorrymyfaultgotinthewayagain

laughing noises
that tickles

writing poetry in public
at least there's no shouting
that could get awkward quick
like a hand in a hand-basket
or a foot full of lobster traps
what
orahandandafootinalobstertraphand-basketmadefromhandou­toflobsters
what

this isn't poetic though
this might just be unreadable
disjointed rambling ramble
give me some space at least

you shouldn't take your anger out on poetry
and poetry shouldn't take its anger out on you
so meaningful when you flip a sentence like a coin round it goes
crowd goes ooooo aaaaah

laughing noises
stop tickling me
here's my stop
Side effects may include:
confusion,
sore eyes,
dizziness,
irritation,
ennui,
and vertigo.
Please consult your doctor before reading this ahem "poem".
colorfulSmoke Sep 19
No e-cigarettes on the bus,
not that I vape.

Public transit sees you over the river Styx bridge,
it begins at the funeral home,
skeletons pushing bone to metal.

Her earring shines with pearls,
she treasures the sea,
the tide went out leaving her breathless and alone.

The chicken crossed the road with KFC in a castle,
history an ipod doomed to the repeat then shuffle,
finger lickin chicken wight,
getting chickin lickin finger Sprite.

Her onyx headband gleams with sunlit beams,
keeping bad thoughts out with the tide.

Smart kids,
clever angels,
little monsters,
sparkle if you are beautiful,
blond hair black hair bald,
demographics paint the sky with artificial feelings.

The Celtic Tiger got poached in a skeleton zoo,
chalk hands clap to applause,
tiger pupils glazed like ripe moon berries,
they told us not to feed the animals.

Candy wrapper in the wind like material smoke.
colorfulSmoke Sep 18
bone licks soul
clouds on blue canvas
turquoise beats serenade bus seats
leaves turning autumn
people going nowhere
people going somewhere
2.50 balances on a card
Gaelic streets say hello
postage stamps on butterfly wings
colorful flowers wilt in the sun
hydra peels for subjective beauty
apples oranges peppers
bike skids close to honking
Heineken still local
trees need heroes
heroes need tree's shade
ENES etched in glass

i don't see reasons
maybe i'm hungry
drive by food
and starving people
i don't see reasons
takeaway petals
banks and metals
lots of demand for beans
with so much gourmet coffee
espressodreamsforespressobeans
fair trade
fairish trade
statue bares rippling stone

skeleton bone sock puppets press soles to dry pavement
bone dry hunger on ****** featurettes
space where space is with spacial cigarettes
turquoise beats drop off
crowds rumbles echoes
sugar in blood
it bubbles to surface
blood bubbles with sugar
blood sugar on curtains
whiskey parasites at the height of barrels
wood barely sentient
god is hungry
god lives in Hungary on a crater
the brew docks brew
ufo mailboxes never outta reach
titanic sank to the bottom
of Belfast in a bottle
On a bus home,
My eyes stick on people.
They are lonely, adhesive.
My nose claws onto your scent, passerby.
Finally I sleep, resting on a stranger’s shoulder.
Thought muted, resting in its skull-cradle
My mind is finally independent of the body,
shell discarded in my dreams.
I am grateful for the rest.
Hymn to insomnia...
m h John Aug 28
i stayed until midnight
standing at the bus stop
waiting to go to the airport
to the board the plane
to the moon

because i heard
it doesn’t shine as bright

now that it has you
J J Aug 12
(To Emily)

On the bus
I've only the blank eyes of my
     reflection
to study, and the heat of a bitewound
on my lip
to accompany it.
       Rattling
back and fourth
   in my seat
Your face
Resonates
In my thoughts,
thru my eyes;
You keep me safe.
Written following a bus joruney home after one of the first meeting's with my future wife. She entered my life at a very depressed and lonely stage where I needed someone to cherish and cherish me back. I was gorged in Ezra Pound's early works at the time.
Sketcher Jul 18
I trust the bus to take me home,
I must adjust to how I roam,
From here to there,
With the slowest four wheels,
From stop to stop,
This doesn’t appeal,
To my sense of speed,
I have places to be,
Not only that,
But I have to ***.
Waiting on the bus...
Oscar Jun 16
on the bus ride home, watching houses blur,
you turn to me and say, "it's going to be okay."
i nod, earphones in and hood up. not okay.
the day didn't go as planned, we got lost
and we spent the day finding ourselves.
summer has just started, but my hands are cold
and my complexion pale, i'm skeletal and rigid;
dark eyes and thin, boney arms. i'm decaying.

the sun casts light onto the window, lighting up
the raindrops like stars on a summers day.
they lead the way home, asteroids going down.
the music plays loudly, cutting all ties from outside.
you can't hear, but the music is sad and i'm trying not to cry.
i smile when you turn to me, nodding quietly.
you can't see, but i'm decaying inside.
Waiting for you is like
Being the passenger on a bus next to the window seat.
No matter how crowed it gets.
No matter the amount of stops the driver makes.
Being next to the window is the best seat.
Viewing the world inside out.
The nooks & crannies, a part of you that is rarely seen.
Being the passenger
Lost in thought.
Waiting for you gives a certain sensation.
The sensation that there is something to be had,
building great anticipation.
Giving a chance to sit back & reflect.
Thinking the thought of maybe if not this stop.
Maybe it's the next when the driver finally hits the air brakes.
Being the passenger next to the window.
Viewing the world inside out.
The nooks & crannies, a part of you that is rarely
seen.
But eventually every bus has to make it's last stop.
No matter how long the ride
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