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Aquila Oct 15
He preens my feathers,
fans my flames-
he lets me grow, he lets me destroy him.
I am happy.
but you still flip off my street when you pass it.
this has been ******* me off for so long
She took my mind off of what was in front of me
Her hair was flowing with the radiant sun So full of beauty
Her legs strutted down the ave with a gallop no one could tame
Oh hear the seduction in her throaty voice when she told me her name

Her eyes were a warm autumn brown
Her thighs were strong from walking the town
Her neck was long and it came out from her coat
Her arms were thin and long wearing gloves satin soaked

She was my princess for a moment in time
Wonder where she was headed... who could call her mine?
Norman Crane Oct 3
Not all light has a source. Some streets travel
in freight cars city to city to be
extra-urbanistically unravelled,
oppidan rugs unrolled for you and me,
Only upon close inspection we see
that the perspective lines fail to meet,
A top shadow has spilled. Tread carefully,
Although a flag blows, the street is empty,
What lives in all these abandoned buildings?
you may ask but no one will answer. I
wander here searching for who pulls the strings
of this, our cleverly falsified world,
But quick look now how the light breaks the rules,
They already roll up the street—the fools!
Inspired by Chirico's painting of the same name from 1914.
Daniel Sep 8
Here in the dusk while the light falls away,
comes the night in it's wake
I am wrapped in the nothings of a wintery gale

At my neck and my ear rush it's wintery song
I am coldly embraced, although never for long

Here where the roads harbour hardly a soul
Where the bramble and the briars are frozen and blown
Here where the rains move in curtains of silk-
curtains of light, beating and beating at the edges of night

Here where the pines in their thrashing and throes
In their fits and their starts and their sea-sounding odes..
..they are after my heart, they are leaning and thrown
beneath arctic white stars
Norman Crane Sep 2
From the eleventh floor
the world looks small
and possible

The cars
     black and white
     parked perpendicular
          to the curb
          to each other
are keys
     ebony and ivory
I reach out
through the window
and play the street like a piano
Carl Fynn Jun 27
Shrewd enough to pick a purse
To feed a mouth sheltered under a rain of curse.

Empty bottles and opponent as partners
The fruit of a faint love
Now mine to pick.

Sleep and wake to the sour taste of poverty
Cure in the heart of men that walk the street

Too good to smile at the tartered shirt
Too quick to point our direction

Too heavy a baggage to carry
Too light the burden I offload

Ran back to my sheltered nest
Broken bottles and a red eyed woman
From whence I came
To this world of pain

Opponents as partners
The tattered shelter nature spared us

A smile on the little ones
My motivation to attract a pointing finger

My tatttered shelter - Opponents as partners.
There is pain on the street... a smile can save a soul
Steve Page Jun 13
My street was full of aunties
and full of uncles too.
They weren't the same as family,
but grown-ups who we knew
- parents of my mates,
friends of mum and dad,
people I could trust to share
what it was they had.
- winter parties, summer trips
and massive paddling pools,
loads of music, lots of love
and laughter while we grew.
- common homes and gardens,
a street that was open plan,
family in every neighbour,
one big,
reminded of this older poem when thinking of community and what matters to an adult about their childhood - a reminder of what matters right now
Liz Alvarez Jun 7
If you should see me again,
What should I do?
If we should talk again,
What would we say?
If I were to touch you again,
What would you do?
I'd I were to hold you again,
What would you do?
If I should see you again,
What would you do?
William Marr May 25
big eyes
of glass windows

at a sea
of emptiness
William Marr May 25
Vastness belongs to the oceans
emptiness, the sky
chill, the bones
hunger, the stomach

and the bodies
stretched out or bent
face up or face down
belong to the streets
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