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‪Skyline erupts
‪Into a city landscape‬
‪Buildings peak through‬
‪Clouds and fog‬
‪As if they are taking a break‬
‪From their own‬
‪Rigorous work schedule‬
‪To simply say hello‬
‪Reaching heights unknown‬
‪And looking down upon us‬
‪Jealous of our freedom to roam‬
Faith 5d
my house resides
next to a busy road
the sound of traffic
is muffled
by its soundproof windows
and so are my screams
if you go out over the moor
and around the back of the hill
there's a church standing behind it
silent and still

the church is home to no creature
no bat or bird
makes its nest there
no sound to be heard

but despite the eerie silence
the ceiling that goes up and up and up
it's a restful place
with glass faces watching from above

i like to sit there on the skeleton pews
alone and unafraid
lady mary watches me
sings me lullabies shes made

and i hum them back to her
even when she leaves
sometimes i watch her baby
as i sweep out the in blown leaves

saint peter tells me stories
from his place upon the wall
and sometimes he weaves intricate tales
together with saint paul

once i thought i saw a priest here
and he patted me on the head
told me i was a good child
to be caring for the long dead

the graveyard out the back
is often in disrepair
so sometimes i bring flowers
to those who lie there

and sometimes i like to lean
against this one mossed over gravestone
so that i can whisper to the ghosts
and listen to them complaining that their church is overgrown

and often i like to sit at the entrance
it makes me feel oddly bereft
i feel like sitting here forever
its been a while since i left
"they say some kid collapsed just outside those ruins a few days ago, yknow the ones out on the moor? they think the mite was tryin to take shelter, poor kid never made it"
J Oaks Sep 11
The red boar sits on the shelf
Can your only window be secure?
The red boar only hates itself
Can your only window be secure?
Robert Ronnow Sep 10
The April morning's quiet
and so is the November.
Wherever people outnumber trees
or the dominant cover type
is unquiet. Nothing wrong with that.
Walt got it right, and Jane Jacobs:
the city is an experienced,
used beauty. Her toes are long,
nails thick and hair thin. Yet
her kisses can be sweet; or
smell of shit. All my life I've tried to point my window toward
some narrow wedge of nature.
On Seaman Ave., over the roof
beyond the chimney to the park
where every dog was walked.
Could I survive soot and an air shaft now, pigeons and cats,
or even a desk in the legislature for my lot in life. How about
prison like Etheridge Knight,
Nazim Hikmet?
I've gotten soft.
When he builds that house in the pocket
wetland my window now looks out on,
the developer will have given me what I need.
Amphibian mortality,
gravel, fill,
oak, ash and maples felled. Good
to the last drop is our bitterness, our love.
M Solav Sep 7
Hear the asynchronous pulsation,
Clicks of eyelids, toggling,
And the beating of a heart:
A Life, in thick layers of rhythms,
Coating a stubborn core.

See the white curtain of the mansion,
Behind windows, dancing,
And the fire in the hearth:
A Life, in thick layers of stones,
Glowing it out with warmth.
- Written in August 2017.
It doesn't really change anything,
regularly I would despise the work of this poem,
the sight of blank paper is easy to fill,
but it's such a pain when at a pointless window sill.

I vaguely recall when I lived in joy,
Now people see me I'm lost in my thoughts,
Everyone thinks that I don't want to listen,
But the truth is that money has always been my problem.
I know this is not a fun poem, but I may one day find reason to express  my happy time feelings sometime soon
Shadow Dragon Aug 30
The vintage doll in the window
staring into thin air.
Fake tears in a pipet
drip down her face.
Born into original sin
and the urge for it to wash away.
Slow soapy circles
on the porcelain skin.

A made up story
to clear the sky
that otherwise
down water
watering her eyes.
Maxim Keyfman Aug 26
the days are flying and here is september
on the calendar is
and here is the gold outside the window
rather, definitely not
but gold is
from memories
from anguish and sorrow

they fly flying days
all slip away imperceptibly
where am i now where am i now
but I am in a life in the world
in eternal existence
days fly and days fly
and now september is almost
and the calendar is new or not

but I'm not old
can distinguish
all new now and old
all old now and new
all the lights are now dark
all mourning is now a joy
nothing I can now discern
where am i now where am i now
in life eternal in life

Crystal eyes
Fall for them
And over
Drown in oceans stormy grey
Lost in forests emerald green
To get drunk inside and snap away to sober

An underground lake cavern
A still, silver cargo ship docked by the bay
A sky and sea beyond the windows
2pm on a shady spring day

Catching a glint in the light
I find my teeth biting my thumb
Oh god how I love to gaze
In what you use to gaze apon
Targeted towards absolutely anyone with eyes, at all
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