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There is a house on Southeast Bank.
It simmers as it has done since the 1900s,
it's been derelict for at least a decade now.
Sometimes, the local teens hangout and drink underage
but mostly it sits
Patiently.

There is a living room in the house.
The house that sits on Southeast Bank.
A leather reclining armchair lays, sprawled across the carpet.
A carpet in which the previous mother of the house would've claimed "costs hundreds" and "came from Egypt".

As daylight stretches toward the bookcase.
The bookcase in the room,
The room in the house,
the house that sits on Southeast Bank.
It's not unexpected to see
all the dust that flitters in the air
dancing to the tune of what was once life
a place for the living.
Reminders that once there may have been a family here.
But who knows.

Who knows what happened to them,
did the kids grow up too fast?
Did the parents split up?
Did someone die before their time was due?
And it's all written in the dust.
The dust that haunts the bookcase
the bookcase in the room,
the room in the house,
the house that sits on Southeast Bank.
Nigdaw Jul 9
From far away they come
hard men all,
mercenaries under a foreign sun

oblivious to its rays they
bare all, turning puce red
or peel, under hard hats,

cut down jeans, working boots,
tool belts, like desert rats
fighting for a new horizon

Scouse, Manc, Paddy
nicknamed and framed
by the mockery of their peers

shouting language across green lawns
not yet laid, that most definitely
won’t be heard in the select circles

that will inhabit these modern homes
castles one and all, individually the same
oh no, they won’t be welcome

lowering the neighbourhood tone,
four wheel drive and pick-up
replaced by Mercedes and BMW

Nature settles in again, to frame
like the scar around a wound
healed but never quite the same

So they move on, soldiers of fortune,
mercenaries under a foreign sun
building new structures to change our futures.
Ylzm Jun 18
Man
Man, tripartite entity,
of earth, water and air,
of body, soul and spirit,
of proteins, cells and organs,
of families, tribes, and cities,
of Kings, Houses and Nations.
Man is a part and One,
A fractal entity of Unity.
Steven Bowman Aug 2018
It was the nightfall of summer,
A man wanted to buy a house.
Just he knew it is a real comer,
Puts it in his own name Straus.

Mr. Straus wanted it to be quick,
He wrote down the rent pricing.
Hope its low, or he won’t buy it,
I want it low, it’s all to my liking.

He needs this to become his own,
What do I need for an experience?
Just I wanted to call this my home,
For a house, needing a cleanliness.

He’s happy to buy his first house,
Just couldn’t wait to check inside.
He lives far away from his spouse,
Living here so if he needs to hide.
Emily Jul 2018
I want to live in a big house
In the middle of a big town
And in my big house
In the middle of a big town
I want to bake biscuits in my big kitchen
And feed them to my friends
Who come to visit my big house
In the middle of a big town
Lily Apr 2018
I change so often,
I hardly know what I truly am.  
One minute I’m a grand mansion on a hill,
Overlooking everyone and everything with
An air of pompous superiority, taking
Everything for granted and appreciating nothing.
The next minute I’m a humble cottage in the woods,
Allowing animals and wanderers to frolic in my midst,
Even welcoming them into my home.
I can also take a form of a modern lakehouse,
Feeling rushed and unused and fake,
Trying to stay with the times,
But never being fully enjoyed.  
From time to time, I’m a
Makeshift shelter that the homeless traveler
Builds in a hurry, that feels unwanted,
Unloved, and temporary, liable to fall at any second.  
Even though I change forms frequently,
No one questions it.  
No one bothers to try and get to know
The true me.  Maybe the real me is a
Cozy family home, comforting and familiar,
Or maybe it’s the slightly cramped apartment space,
Frantically trying to piece itself together.  
No one will ever know.  
Yet all they would have to do is
Just knock.
THE BEST TELEVISION PROGRAM
THAT I'VE EVER SEEN
JUST HAPPENS TO BE
SHOWING ON MY SCREEN

I HEREBY TENDER AN OVERVIEW
OF WHAT THE PARTICIPANTS DO
THEY RENOVATE HOUSES THAT
HAVE BEEN LEFT TO ROT IN MILDEW

RENEWING OLD FLOORS WITH
LOVELY HARD WOOD
AND THEY GIVE IT A COAT
OF SHINNY LACQUER TO LOOK GOOD

BATHROOMS ARE REFITTED OUT
IN TILES AND GRANITE TOPS
THESE KINDS OF IMPROVEMENTS
CAN ENLIVEN THE SAD SOPS

YARDS GET CLEARED OF ANY
WEEDS AND OVERHANGING BRANCHES
WHICH CERTAINLY LIFTS THE DEMEANOR
ON THE OUTSIDE OF THE RANCHES

I ALWAYS MAKE SURE THAT THE TELLY
IS ON BY 8:30 PM SHARP
TO WATCH THE MAKEOVERS
REDEEMING HARP
Belle Sep 2017
I used to always wonder how people lived in New York City.
Where were the homes?
When I was younger I used to picture these rural houses with beautiful green grass and a lovely wrap around pine wood porch adjacent to the Empire State Building. Then I grew up and realized apartments existed, I realized neighborhoods in the Bronx, Brooklyn, and Queens existed and were places where suburban homes and condominiums were.
I realized that not all homes were made with grass and wrap around porches.
Some homes were on the fourth floor of an apartment complex with a musty smell and a view of a graffitied wall in the ghetto.
I realized that sometimes these places felt more like home than any home in a small rural town with a smoke puffing chimney and windmill could ever feel.
Seanathon Aug 2017
Old buildings weather youthful storms
And trees bear more children than we’ll ever know

Humanity is not a curse
But a whisper down an empty hall

No shadow lies without intent
Or climbs beyond a human’s back

And though we bend and break with age
We are born again just to take it back

How needlessly we weave between
The bitter roots, the grass and trees

Sit at the base of life content
And remember all which you’ve seen

Because we leave our better trees
To depart the earth into the soil  

And though we hope to forever stand
No building will ever endure

No, in the end
We all will break and fall again
Crashing down. In due time. Regardless of certain things.
BirdShark Apr 2017
Thatch roofed houses
Of straw and stick
Sitting in the meadow
A village surrounded in serenity
Where the gentlest breeze blows

Wooden built houses
Of trees hacked down
Standing on smooth ground
A small town in the open
Where beauty can still be found

Stone walled houses
Hewn from the earth itself
Placed on paved surface
A town filled with people
Where survival of the trampled grass is hopeless

Brick constructed houses
Fired clay stacked in layers
Onto flattened slabs, heaped into towers
An overcrowded city
Where the air turns putrid and sour

Buildings of glass and steel!
Riveted by looming cranes
On concrete plains that stretch for miles
Diseased with millions of people, scattered like vermin
Where the air is filled with acrid fumes, so vile!

Now the cities have crumbled
They have been reduced to rubble
All that remains are a few humans, no longer masses
But do they remember?
It all started from those few thatch roofed houses...
Please give me feedback, I really need it! Did the stanzas flow well or were they sort of... gluggy..?
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