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#neighbourhood
A village with pines. They grew up here, back then it -- was still a forest.
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Apr 17
Apr 17, 2026 at 4:09 AM UTC
A village with pines
I jump among the serious people in front of the church, the café still closed and I think even further back in time In a late spring there was a ditch side here yonder a mill, the ramparts and the crown of the old Western As if it were a thickly painted canvas I wipe off layers of history I expose peat diggers, see the wind in the flowering swamp over many seasons, everything flies back into existence Long hair of the mammoths from the west, up to the ridge on which human species ***** It can be seen with a distant look in the middle of the city here where I stand
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Feb 2
Feb 2, 2026 at 3:27 AM UTC
Here where I stand
They say it doesn't mean a thing Because we are just mirrors who kindly greet in return But still, the baker knows my name and the postman is happy that I'm home for the parcels for the neighbours 'Happy New Year' Looking forward, we keep heart with good tidings, even though they say it doesn't mean a thing that in the rest of the year calamities will smoke again crimes and fear, what is normal will get out of sight even though you witness it every day and that we will amuse ourselves again with the ambulant judge to reinforce peace with the right, and that is all it means, they say
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Jan 8, 2023
Jan 8, 2023 at 3:41 AM UTC
They say it
I had a cat's scream symphony by the night, 'Till the neighbour's dog got tired and barked away, scaring em ***** cats, Then the clock hit 4 a.m and Jennie's baby started to cry, She yelled, loud as if she had a tail between her legs and two cat ears over her head, My ears, gladly super powered by the earlier ***** would also catch moans, from downstairs And a soft, wet rain that would fall upstairs, Hangover would meet me later, but 'till then, I'd hear all this and giggle as if life was better than it really was;
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Feb 17, 2021
Feb 17, 2021 at 2:20 AM UTC
Someone turn the loud fan on
It is a warm summer day with a clear blue sky and white fluffy clouds floating by; I am walking down my home street and enjoying the cool summer breeze blowing over my body cooling me down; I am enjoying the sight of front-yards with tall trees and shrubs of many varieties, the sight of two storey mansions with designer architecture, the sight of neatly mown lush-green front lawns; I am enjoying the auditory experience of a quiet peaceful neighbourhood, with a gentle breeze rustling leaves on trees and birds tweeting around my quiet home street; I feel Nice-Neighbourhood-Happy.
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Feb 10, 2021
Feb 10, 2021 at 12:14 AM UTC
Nice Neighbourhood Happy
I'm dying by hunger he said and I remembered about all these ruined places and its children and their mothers no you're not dying you just still don't have enough capacity to realize that you don't need a new jacket and shoes you own muddy ones in the hallway and the others you don't like ******* give me a better reason and try to swallow your dreams and keep them in a digestive tract to the last second of not giving a **** as the ones who are trying to fall asleep now on the pillow of tomorrow's death
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May 12, 2020
May 12, 2020 at 12:12 PM UTC
Dying By Hunger
I was the king with no throne,              I only sat upon the curb.. My crown was my neighbourhood,    and all that did surround... I'll never disrespect my brethren,              for they stand by my side, behind me, in front to protect we, us            all from the idioms of who think that this land is free verse,      never this is a rhyme of colours            that'll write that this is our street and others neither may stand                               or bellowing there right to stand on land sacred to our                                                   families. we don't fight with swords,            but our metal will pierce like cut from a far we are the knights of                                 our neighbourhood. I don't sit on a thrown, on a kerb I gaze               around I wear no crown... But everyone knows I'm king and ill            bury metal in you like a sword pieced the stone. Like that you'll be cold, metal not pulled but                           rather calved out..
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Feb 15, 2020
Feb 15, 2020 at 5:41 PM UTC
Metal Calved Out
Neighbourhood bash In a flash We dashed We splashed Garbage thrashed and cached We conquered trash To earn our sash See you at the rehash
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Oct 7, 2019
Oct 7, 2019 at 10:49 AM UTC
Trash Dash
Glowing Windows embedded into mouldy brick walls Ivy climbing the gutters of neighbourhood roofs Skies becoming burnt out like charred blackened fields Tall spiny trees project shadows onto the road below Leaves curl up to receive some weakening light from above A formation of sputtering cars cling to each turn they decide to make Cloudy milky light bounces off faulty windows that exhale the aroma of somebodies impending supper A heavy truck manoeuvres itself into the blistered bitumen horizon Dry deflated branches make obscene gestures towards passers-by Gardeners rummage through their bags as they near the end of their working day Their faces filled with an expired enthusiasm for breathing Parked hunks of metal pelted with dead itchy leaves Windscreen wipers hold fragile twigs down against grotty neglected glass Chain-link fences link disparate housing and the sleeping people within Some dispirited unsatisfied psychos gaze up as they catch a moving bus Smoky Incense billows down from some apartment balcony The air becomes cold and sharply fills these ordinary streets Engine sounds try to supress the divine quietness They only merge into it Now the stars are out and about Bright specks waddling in an aerial pool of dark blue You turn the key and walk through the front door
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Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 11:24 AM UTC
The Corner Near a Bus Stop
My new neighbour depression, lives in a house rotting in the ground, scarred wood torn away and roof tiles scattered, with garden flowers withering away, trees cracking at the slightest move of the wind. Ever since he moved in a storm cloud hangs low over the neighbourhood, soaking my lawn and treading on my grass. My neighbour depression throws heavy stones to crack my windows, leaves untidily scrawled messages of hatred in my letterbox, leaving a trail of black paint up to his backgate. My neighbour depression takes advantage of my protection of thin walls, and each day attempts to crash through them like a wrecking ball, slowly dimming my lights and making shadows in my room appear darker and bigger. My neighbour depression walks down the street like a black hole, ******* out all the sound around him. And my neighbour depression is starting to make me forget what my voice sounded like.
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Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 11:05 PM UTC
my neighbour depression.
It wasn't the heartbreak, no. It wasn't the anxiety or lack of motivation. It wasn't the drugs that killed him. I think that he simply got tired Of all those lined up houses In his neighbourhood. F.Z.N
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Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 2:23 PM UTC
Lined Up Houses