Dess Ander Apr 10
She strutted on the street
with heels the colour of blood
that came from broken hearts
KM Hanslik Apr 2
City angels are born
wings scrawny and underdeveloped
from alcohol poisoning.
City angels are born
skin gray and pale like the dust
in their mama's ashtray on the nightstand.
City angels are born choking
on fumes consumed in the womb,
lungs soft and weak before
they ever take their first breaths.  

City angels die
under streetlamps and chased down alleyways
by city cops.
City angels die
in a hurry, sipping beer on the freeway on the drive home
or slowly,
throwing up blood on the back porch and downing
more pills to forget their thoughts.

City angels live
somewhere between here and
the death of their dreams,
writing up new fates to include
drinking and smoking and
drowning their fears in a million little exchanges
of bodies and money
in a dark room somewhere.

City angels are just kids
living too fast
chasing too hard
dying too young.
Get the hell out before
you tally up the body count and realize
how many there are buried under all this rubble
we call "home"
We step on their graves every day on
the way to work
the intersection beside the gas station
the corners of abandoned
parking lots and
caved-in buildings.
We walk over their bodies and we never know their names or why
they never came home to
their bug-ridden beds and
the red eyes of their mamas.
Azrapse Nov 2017
I’m having trouble finding sanity
the world is corrupt
and filled with insanity
I feel like I should be locked up
In an asylum
Cause my mind keeps
Pouring thoughts like a leak
In the plumbing
My mind is throbbing
To many thoughts
Go through my brain  
Lost track of what is sane
Thinking is it normal
To feel so out of place
My mind is on a different level
By now I’ve killed several demons
Just yesterday I killed akuma
Brent Kincaid Mar 26
I want to know some things, but
Nobody seems to talk about them,
These things that bother me.
Like what could the matter be
With people that drive by and see
They don’t speak to them and ask.
Why they are lying on the sidewalks.
If there were some, we'd lie on the grass.

Did your family die off and leave
Or will you weave a story of theft
Or madness, or just poverty?
Something has made you bereft.
Is it that you don’t have a home
So you must sleep here outdoors,
In slowly graying pants and coats,
Someone for richer folks to ignore?

Oh, I know. I am the same as you
Nothing much to lay claim to;
No car, no house, no cell phone.
Not even a magazine to thumb through.
I’m beginning to stink a little bit
And, my clothes are getting worse
Every week I live beneath a bridge.
And I know when my life got perverse.

So, maybe you can understand
When I blurt out my deep self-pity.
Is it me that has gotten so bad
Or is it that we survive in a city?
I remember when prices got high
And I could no longer keep up
And now I find myself begging for
A bit of warm coffee in a cup.

Once I was the stranger walking
That passed by here and saw you.
I wanted to help, but I did not.
Then, I didn’t know what to do.
Today it is more or less the same,
I don’t know how to live this way;
Mooching coins from strangers,
Scavenging for food every night
And sleeping like this during day.

Oh, please forgive me, I apologize.
I understand why you are scowling.
When I had a chance to help you
I averted my eyes and kept walking.
But now it is me here on the street
And suddenly I’m asking for sympathy,
To take pity, when I never really did,
When I never really qualified for any.
Poetic T Mar 25
Colonial buildings litter the sidewalk,
derelict and rundown. A past that
is fading into the bustle of the street.
Casts mingle, but prejudice lingers.

Tuk-tuks weave through out streets,
collecting tired feet that need a rest.
collecting lunch off street venders,
who greet with smiles, as aromas linger.

Street children, parentless masses sit
on the steps, hands wondering for rupee's.
The taxi doesn't stop, so they shower the path
with change, and they think of their baby at home.

As the old world fades, heritage still lingers.
but contradictions of what was and is contest.
Old ways grasp at the change, but our streets
will soon be a metropolis of fading faces.

"Is this a good thing? or are we moving to fast.
Poetic T Mar 23
I was richer on the street than
any riche who swung his wrist
like a pendulum swaying like
others owed them respect.

Throwing leaves of wealth at
us thinking we were migrant
gardeners picking, cleaning up
there garden of smirking pity.

But while they slumber in sheets
of old slave mills. I have gratitude
that my sheets are full of my pain.
Full of tears, on cold woeful nights.

I collect myself in dignity of living
below others feet, but my riches are
what I've learnt, that put me higher
than any would be kings or thieves.

Words are that which  empower me
as I slumber on clean sheets of syllables,
weaving into my dreams. Then woken
by a librarian letting me humble my mind.

This place is my castle that never falls,
where I have risen higher than there feet.
But still I gaze from below, as I do not need
a castle, the streets are my pages this I speak.
Summer rain, summer rain;
I’ll come shining through,
They say that every cloud has a silver lining,
But it’s raining down on you.
You’ve forgot your coat and umbrella
and now you’re wet right through!
I’ll come shining through
~ this summer rain.

You can hop from tree to tree;
Use a bag, or a magazine,
Take shelter in a coffee shop
and soak up the caffeine!
The streets are now deserted;
There’s not a soul to be seen,
Summer rain, summer rain,
I’ll come shining through!

There are clouds up in the sky,
Whistling winds are blowing by
There are rain drops big and round
What a sight, oh me oh migh!
Summer rain, summer rain,
I’ll come shining through,
Yes I’ll come shining through
This summer rain.

Summer rain, summer rain,
I’ll come shining through,
They say that every cloud has a silver lining,
But it’s raining down on you.
You’ve forgot your coat and umbrella,
And now you’re wet right through!
I’ll come shining through,
this summer rain.

I’ll come shining through ~ this summer rain.
Summer rain, Summer rain, Summer rain.

Youtube link to song
Raining whilst busking in the street!

Youtube link to song
Tranquil Dawn Mar 10
Pervasive, the din
abrasive impulses
puckering the senses
earthen to exotic
cacophony breathed
clamoring flavors of life
sienna and silk

I trailed those streets
in slippered feet
Saw spiced words
billow, pierce and soar
notes topped with
dashes of tang
seasoned memories
I'd never known
But they did.

And for a moment
my colors matched theirs
my senses fused
I saw images
infused with tamarind
and drowning textiles
blending worlds

so I took off my shoes
and just became.
Prompt: Indian Street
and Sambar
only streetlamps
know the language
of Dusk.
and they flicker.
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