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George Krokos Jun 28
Technology and mass production
may be the cause of man's destruction.
From 'Simple Observations' ongoing writings since the early 90's.
neth jones Jun 10
the sky is sopping up
                smears of weather from the city day
filling out darkly
  the portly host of the eve   ushers us into warm dens
nature starts the night shift
it appraises

this night is rat dog    recovering from urban filth
                                       rolling in grass dew and spoil

the tainting of the air     is contributed to from abroad
migration of contraband fumes (forest fires out west)
                                     and the heat raises

too populated   to hold a proper witching hour
the night in shifts
any slumber has its quality watered down 
                                    the constant street activity

weeping sunrise   nights excuses stopper   inebriation rests
arrested blight   morning light and everything about
your crushable body smiles naked things
i roll over to face the uncurtained window
hunch out of bed and stilt my way
to support my self at the sill

overcast with an invasive muffle of smog
members of the bright-time    pooling for occupation
                      do not remember the night
                                it's simply poor sleep
25/06/23 is rough date of forest fires polluting Montréal
Carlo C Gomez May 17
Climbing the chemtrail

But subject to the ladder

Our one hour empire

Stark as a skyscraper

Built to fly then fall

Has bled into a church of

Abandoned factories

And polluted rivers

Do city kids look with familiarity at the umber night sky
Or do they feel the same cruel sting of longing as I
Is this distain my pre-ordained destiny, something primeval and true
Or am I the only one made restless by the poisoning of the blue
Short and sweet I guess
Pinhole sunrise
Sodium lit
Murk and ambiguity sleep together
Down in the seabed

One moment of calm in a chaotic rift

These dark vessels
Of the fourth plateau
Scheme vicious pastimes
That live by night

Orphans of the smog
Attiré par le chaos
Soldiers of false beliefs
Progress the beauty of destruction

Their slogan:
"Making better mistakes with tomorrow"
It has the sound of a long goodbye
It lights the final flare
LadyM Jun 2023
I love the city at night

I like when the waves start rumbling
And the city lights turn on
I like the beautiful sights
Of the twilight sky
And the mountains all dressed in black

I like when it's hidden away

When everything the daylight shows
All the beauty that's destroyed
All that's been taken away is concealed

Because when I look on and on
When my eyes gaze upon...
The darkness

I don't see all the disaster

The city lights, the waves and the sky
Draped in violets and pinks
As the airplanes fly

And I think, what a beauty!
What a city of dreams
When the visible is made to be unseen

I see the cars passing
With their beaming lights
But they all seem somehow much sweeter
And closer to starlight

I see the palm trees standing proud
In a place where they do belong
But there's so few around

And even the people seem much brighter
When the nights come to hide
the effects of human disaster

A comfort blanket

Listen to the waves

And forget the sounds of the traffic
That I can't stand anymore

Found my comfort in the night
Found my solace at this time
Found the beauty of life
In the city
At night
This is another poem that I have written while staying in Las Palmas de Gran Canaria las summer. After 2 months, I couldn't take all the business of the city anymore. I became too overwhelmed during the daylight hours and found peace in the nights. ✨
LadyM Jun 2023
Why are there more buildings than trees
In the city that's promising dreams?
Why are there more cars than
Parking spaces
What's all the rush?

Why are there more boats than fish
On the island of eternal bliss?
Can't even hear my thoughts
From all the noises;
I Feel overwhelmed.

There are pockets of green,
A desert preserved,
Only one single tree where I've ever heard birds
They sing in the morning at 8,
But I'm starting to think it's too late

I see mountains rising
And buildings above them,
I see clouds slowing passing
As cars outrace them,
All the light pollution
Has the sky turned brown;
At night
In the centre of life
I feel drowned
I wrote this song/poem last Summer while living in Las Palmas during a college internship. It was my dream come true to go there, but the reality was completely different than what I had been told and imagined.
I held tight my belongings
afraid of everything and everyone
I had this sense of not knowing
where I'm from and where I should go

everything passed by so quickly
people running and screaming
I just sat quietly staring
at the tiffany blue coloured floor

I smelled the pollution
my nose hurting while breathing
this must be what they mean when they say
"it's hard living in the big city”
i wrote it in like… less than 10 minutes? but it's based on a poem from 2021 left on my drafts that was so poorly written
i talk about the first time i went to a big city all by myself and i was so so scared but everything went fine and i really enjoyed the subway rides
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
The object of an eye
is dire to entrap my love towards,
An orb filled with desire, but as the life too—
of those suffering, and desiring to die. The figure
with his long dark coat, keeps the world in a right pocket.
His eyes red as the blood they curl. The sky is black wherever
he walks. His breath is heavy, and a black cloud of smoke.
One word swallows all, and as so—he destroyed the world.

The Devil, Man, or perhaps both.
Lyrical Dream May 2022
The edge of my eternity begins with you.

My love, I lulled you with lyricless lullabies, sheltered you in a sheet of stars, yet, in your sleep you still speak her name. "Inferno," was it? You always were a pyromaniac.

I furnished you flames to tame winter's teeth, and yet, you still use them to burn me. How can you pour that boiling blackness in my bloodstream and dare to call it love?

You leave coal-like clouds swirling stormily in my lungs and the taste of smoke to scorch my tongue. Still, my throat is raw and red from coughing up ash and blood, still you call this torture love, and, I believed you.

Tell me, do my mulberry scars entice you? Those marks mingling with my skin of moss and morning glory; you put those there. You made a hell of my skin to rid me of the blue-green, beryl-shaded "blemishes" that provide the very breath you waste, only to build a factory to pump more poison into my lungs. I can taste the tar on my tongue.

My love, as you tear at my being with your careless claws you seem to forget the fact that you need me, but to me, you are meaningless.

Where I was once a sanctuary of life and beauty, you have made me a battlefield- a cemetery of living corpses craving to leave behind bombs and bloodshed, to cure their heart wrenching homesickness and to fall asleep in their lover's arms.

Why must their precious rubies mingle with the ashes of detonation? Why do you **** each other when I have provided you with my harmonic grounds as a home? Why do you raise your children to believe that dying is an art and death is an escape?

My love, I cannot understand why your knees are pained and purple from praying to the angels when you dance so divinely with the demons that you have created. You deserve each other.

Don't you see that you are burning me alive? Can't you smell my cooking flesh or see the charcoal clouds smothering the sky? How can your seeing eyes be so blind?

My love, my death is yours, and if I shall burn you shall blaze beside my broiling bones.
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