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neth jones Jul 12
no damning good
cramming the skies      with medals and detail
best of our history    we began a weak century
17/06/25 & 21/06/25
1st line borrowed from altered graffiti that said 'NO **** GOOD'
but had been altered to say 'NO DAMNing GOOD'
silvervi Jul 9
This wisdom should be on the streets
My wisdom should be on the streets
My wisdom should be on the walls
These words deserve to be seen
This knowledge should not be ignored.
These skies aren't just falling
They're spreading wide apart
To let us all inside
Into the universe's heart
The ocean is the place
To be and sea is paradise
Whenever hearts are aching
The water calms the mind

Where the sun sets brighten the landscape
New ideas take a different shape
And as the moon smiles down on us
We're simply here on our soul vacation
The wind is howling-helping us
To sail across the ocean-atmosphere
Where far is close
And the horizon's near
We eat and drink
We dream, we film
We sing in silence to ourselves
We're one with beautiful sun rays

As I am letting go,
Floating, finding words,
Coming from the heart
Of this country's evening ride
We're simply carrying on
In waves of love
It has so many faces
As well as phases
Always enough
For all of us
If we look closer
And we trust.
This piece emerged on an evening ride through Portugal where I was on holiday this May.
The platform smells like skunked beer and rain,
a combination that feels almost romantic
if you tilt your head the right way.

I’m here because I missed the earlier one,
but maybe that’s the point.
Maybe everything worth waiting for
comes late, sticky, and half-empty.

I lean against the pillar,
fingers tracing someone’s graffiti confession—
MARIA, COME BACK.

I wonder if Maria stood here once,
tracing her own name in the dark,
wondering if it was enough to stay.

I hope she didn’t.
I hope Maria found something better
than this station,
this boy with a Sharpie
and a bad sense of timing.

I decide Maria is smarter than me,
that she’s already figured out
how to leave for good.

The train squeals like someone giving up
mid-argument, its voice cracking
just before the silence. I step inside
like a swallowed comeback.

The train jerks forward, pulling me with it,
an accomplice to leaving,
taut between the tension of wanting to stay
and disappearing into every local stop we make.

I press my forehead to the window
and watch the city unravel backwards—
neon signs blinking like eyelids,
lights flickering like answers
to questions I’ve stopped asking.

For a moment, I’m so full of joy
it feels reckless—
like daring a wave to pull me under,
knowing it probably will,
like I’ve stolen something precious
and can’t bear to give it back.

For a moment, I’m so full of hope
it feels wild—
like I’ve caught a glimpse of something
I’ve spent my whole life trying not to lose,
like maybe this train is taking me somewhere
I’ve been running from my whole life.

And then the lights flicker,
and I laugh—
because of course they do.
Because nothing this weird and beautiful
could ever come without a catch.

The train jerks,
a man drops a tallboy,
its amber spray spreading like a secret—
a casualty of motion,
spraying my boots,
reaching me before I can move,
because some things always do.

The rain streaks the windows,
the world pressing its palms
against the glass,
trying to remind me it’s still there.

And me? I’m here—
alive, for better or worse,
in this strange, messy moment,
with a Sharpie in my bag
and an urge to go back and write my name
like a flare next to Maria’s,
just in case she’s still out there
and she’d like to know I’m out here too.

This is what we do:
leave traces in places
we’ve long since abandoned,
hoping someone sees them
before they’re painted over.
Jack Groundhog Oct 2024
Graffiti artist
sprays to say that “I was here” —
Ozymandias
With a spray-tagged nod to Shelley
MetaVerse Jul 2024
Here I sit unbroken-hearted:
I tried to ****, and did, and farted.
Here I sit by fate or chance:
For *******, sitting's the proper stance.


neth jones Feb 2023
two barks don't make a bite
but
it takes two dogs
to make a dogfight
Nigdaw Oct 2021
underpass gallery
where urban Picasso's
tag the walls as their own
having never paid a penny
in tax to offer compensation
for their spray paint intrusion
or maybe a **** and *****
or just *******
freedom of expression
being let out from under
the thumb of authority
mum and dad
school teachers
social workers
this is their voice
crying out into the darkness
of the unknown hereafter
that scares the **** out of them
perhaps we should listen
they are the future
perhaps we should be down there
with them
some of us could do
with a bit of freedom of expression
let some hair down
while there is still some left
to let
sitting in a bathroom stall
writing graffiti on the wall
this little poet
is leaving an imprint
on a cafe bathroom
in the middle of perth city
i hope you read my words
i hope you understand my meaning
i wish you all the best
on your adventures
in the city
sitting in a bathroom stall
SophiaAtlas Mar 2021
Some people: That's vandalism!
Other people: That's art!
Me: How the hell did they get up there?
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