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mysterie Sep 27
i hear the birds sing
to eachother
from across the street.

why can't we have life
that simple?
date wrote: 25/9
M Sep 16
Les plays classic records on Sunday afternoons real loud
Haven't seen her since her husbands' funeral but I know she's just as devout
In her backyard reading the bible in a plastic lawn chair
I used to think if I was tall enough, I would catch her dancing there
Now there's a gap in the fence where I could see right through
Haven't checked it out yet but I've been meaning to

I was born south of southside in a suburb
The same as all the other suburbs around it
I lost something here once and I still haven't found it

My old friend's uncle took a chainsaw to his kids door
Couldn't tell if he was hunting them down or trying to start a war
I haven't seen her in years, and I didn't know her well then
But I hope she still sees them, and I hope they don't visit him

Terri fell over three times this past week
Had to drag her own body from the bathroom to the balcony
Body bruised black with her face square to the ground
Spent three hours lying there til her son came around

I was born under bridges and the canal with all the trolleys in
I dropped something in there once and I still haven't found it yet
Drove past the field that they built all the houses on
Dreamt of climbing those trees but I never got around to it

The biggest hill I ever drove down wasn't really big at all
But nothing else to this day has made me feel quite so wholly small
Stopped at the roadside graveyard to get a plot in early
Still haven't seen the Lutheran lot look anything but empty

My neighbours' sister died on the table back in 2003
And woke back up on the slab, just in time for her autopsy
She's still alive today, just reached her late eighties
I think if that's how I go then God, don't make me stay

I only speed on roads where they don't fill the potholes in
I lost part of me here once and I still haven't found it yet

Six hundred miles away there's a street named after some guy in my family
And they all still live there, except for my mum and me
Heard her cousin's not allowed to talk to his dad for five more years
Cause he told him he'd **** him, yelling on the stairs
And some small town cop heard it, came back with a warrant
We don't think he'll live that long, wonder if he'll break it

There's a whole lotta love here and a whole lotta sadness
I hid something there once, I still haven't found it.
After the song 'Quarry' by Wednesday - I wrote this poem using an inspired writing exercise to the one Karly used to write the song. Instead of an imagined street, I wrote about my suburb and hometown.

The line "born in [...] a suburb the same as all the other suburbs around it" comes from artist Glenn Brady's biography section on ArtMajeur. Being a Brisbane artist, it felt fitting. If you're going to put any art to this poem, think of his.
Zeno Jul 28
Walking through the fabled night
of ancient skies and gray sidewalks
Stepping into the world
of hot humid June

When metals towered over the sky,
Like match sticks lined up above stones
the luminescent streets blazed
into the night

Those glasses that shimmered
bright lights and yellow fireworks,
Falling with gravity,
relishing in sweet air and downfall

The wind from a distant land
that caressed the trees,
their shadows dancing
on the streets

I saw you there in broad shadows
when I marched amidst silence
I have lost my path
to the night that has fallen

But in your eternal flames, I stood
knowing that I’m still here
Nat Lipstadt Jul 13
Legalize/Sell you a disease
/then,  sell you a cure*

"Venture Capital Bet Big on Gambling.
Now It’s Banking on the Addictions."
Barron's
Ah, capitalism,
ya gotta love it…
Shades of fentanyl
Bardo Aug 9
At my brother's for Christmas dinner
Sitting there for a moment I felt suddenly like I was the turkey
I thought they were all looking at me kinda funny
It was like they were licking their lips
And saying "Doesn't he look delicious, a lovely big juicy looking bird
It was like I thought they were thinking
We're not likely to win the lotto (the lottery) at our age
We've never been very lucky that way
The best chance of us getting a windfall of money would be
If dear old Uncle Bardo was to suddenly kick the bucket
Then we'd get his house and all his money
We could give up our day jobs and go holidaying for the rest of our lives
We'd be sliding down Easy Street singing like a bunch of sailors
Wouldn't it be great ?
I thought I better watch out, better watch what I'm eating, what their
  giving me
Next time I better bring a food tester/taster along with me
You never know, life is strange.

I suppose it works both ways though, my brother's always a bit reluctant to come down to my house
He doesn't think I'm very hygienic, he says he's always afraid he'll get food poisoning.

I guess it's all just...just in the family.
In the family like in the Mafia LoL. "I know it was you Fredo".
Vedo la luce di un lampione,
lì in fondo alla strada.

La vedo dal secondo piano. Dall'alto.

Non la voglio lasciar illuminare la strada da sola.
Non riesce molto bene. Non sembra serena.

La luce non è fioca, ma non è viva.

È gialla, ma uno di quei gialli che non sceglieresti
tra i pastelli colorati.

La strada che illumina è familiare,
ma non è amica.

Non deve esser molto contento quel lampione.

Vorrei potesse andarsene
da quella staticità.

Da quella strada.

Da quel nulla

///

I see the light of a street lamp,
there at the end of the street.

I see it from the second floor. From above.

I don't want to let it light the street by itself.

It doesn't work very well. It doesn't seem peaceful.

The light isn't dim, but it isn't bright.

It's yellow, but one of those yellows that you wouldn't choose
among colored crayons.

The street it lights is familiar,
but it isn't friendly.

That street lamp must not be very happy.

I wish it could go away
from that static.

From that street.

From that nothingness
Written by a kid looking out the window
Vedo la luce di un lampione,
in fondo alla via.

Dall'alto.

Non voglio illumini da sola la strada.
Non riesce bene.
Non è serena.

Lei non è fioca.
Ma non è viva.

È giallina,
ma d'un giallo che non sceglieresti mai
tra i pastelli colorati.

L’asfalto crepato, le erbacce secche, le case vuote,
ciò che illumina è familiare.
Ma non amico.

Non deve esser molto contento,
quel lampione,
come un padre che osserva, immobile,
il figlio morente.

Vorrei potesse andarsene
da quella staticità.

Da quella strada.

Da quel nulla.

///

I see the light of a street lamp,
at the end of the street.

From above.

I don't want it to light up the road by itself.
It doesn't work well.
It's not serene.

It's not dim.
But it's not alive.

It's yellowish,
but a yellow you'd never choose
among colored crayons.

The cracked asphalt, the dry weeds, the empty houses,
what it illuminates is familiar.
But not friendly.

It must not be very happy,
that street lamp,
like a father who watches, motionless,
his dying son.

I wish it could go away
from that staticity.

From that street.

From that nothingness.
Written looking out the window in midnight
If you're lonely,
Start greeting strangers on the street,
A funny thing starts to happen,
When you stop to say 'Hello!'

If you're looking for a real remedy,
So you can feel real happy,
Always remember to smile,
Wherever you find yourself.

I'd bet a five dollar bill,
Strictly on your life filling up,
After you begin to say hey,
Whether it's a passerby, or a new friend.
A smile and a nod goes a long way.
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