#urbanlife
Grim white string hangs a wheel Rawdon; hangs it dead.
I push empty basket clanking drunk past pop-tarts and puffed-rice, by fruit loops and shredded wheat – weaving, nearly topple a stacked display of men all smiling eat my oats.
In aisle six a young fat woman in yellow stretch pants and white tee-shirt - obviously braless – smiles marshmallows at me.
In aisle seven a withered, man in black trousers and wrinkled black shirt glances nervously up from the contents of cat food and smiles toothless and bewildered.
My basket wobbles as I walk;
somewhere, a loaf of bread? – a peach? Here, only brooms, and plastic pails, – tidy bowl and Sani-flush. At the far end of the aisle a pretty, young nun holding **** & Span smiles hell at me.
In the produce section I am stopped
bagging peaches. A big man in a white suit smiles. “Young man, where is the meat? **** bread and fruit! I feel carnivorous: ready to eat something ****** to gnaw, break bone of lamb, or fowl, or slaughtered steer.”
I answer pointing, “Over there…
See the plump little girl poking
her plump fingers into rump-roasts?”
He eyes her deliciously and winks;
yells, “What’s for dinner, baby?!”
Outside, I squint and grin,
peach juice trickles down my chin,
the sun is hot, and sparrows pick
at break crumbs on the street.
I roll away in my basket on three wheels downhill laughing.
– 1980 Denver
Nov 18, 2021
Nov 18, 2021 at 4:44 AM UTC
A coat, my hat, my shoes,
my feet and my eyes.
That's all I need.
I shall walk, I shall see
wandering through these streets.
Look there!
What is that?
It's a man with a tall hat—
it's a chef cooking pig gut—
it's a tree being chopped down—
that's what that is.
Now, look there!
Those are tourists—
taxi drivers—
ice cream sellers—
or walkers like me.
All of that I shall see
with my coat, hat, and shoes—
with my eyes and my feet.
Mar 10
Mar 10, 2026 at 1:45 PM UTC
Гром грохочет! Дождь — стеной.
В небе молнии сверкают...
Сильный ветер налетает.
Дождь примчался затяжной?
Скоро, скоро всё узнаем.
В городском дворе — аврал!
И машины завывают...
Дружно фарами моргают.
Смотришь — «телесериал».
Но светлеет неба свод —
Снова голуби летают.
И дождя не замечают...
Посмотрел я — дождь прошёл!
Кап-кап-кап — на подоконник.
Посветлело. Дождь прошёл.
Ну а что всё это было?
Полчаса — и всё вдруг смыло!
Дождь покапал и ушёл,
Пошумел он — побеждённый!
Вот и солнышко сияет.
Ну, как не было дождя...
Только лужицы сверкают,
Да асфальт блестит слегка.
Ох! Вороны всполошные —
Всё о чём-то: «кар да кар»...
Кружат танцы вековые —
Всё, как времена былые.
Так кружится белый свет.
Кружат грозы, кружит время,
Ненаглядный белый свет!
Не узнать другое племя.
Время есть?.. Уже и нет!
Annotation:
This poem captures a summer thunderstorm as it happens: the roar of thunder, flashing lightning, the chaos of the city — and then, just as suddenly, silence, light, and reflection. From fleeting raindrops to eternal time, the verse moves from vivid everyday images to timeless meditation on life’s transience.
Aug 19, 2025
Aug 19, 2025 at 5:01 AM UTC
На битбоксе гоняла "Тоску",
Тоска — ваша соска.
Серьёзно? И зачем тебе этот «Оскар»,
Если ты в колхозе присоска?
Сексоваттов тебе не хватает,
И признаюсь я — жопа плоска.
Голый Вася и медный фраер,
Эй, здарова, бичи — всё просто.
👉 Bloch-Bauer & Adele · 2020 · Signature Privée
Aug 1, 2025
Aug 1, 2025 at 7:53 PM UTC
Девушка с шикарным задом
Зашла в покой Сарданапала,
За дверью неприглядно пала:
— А ну, на четвереньки встать!
И в этом кружеве — напалмом —
В упряжку бала запрягал он
Всех тех, что с миленьким ебалом:
— Так ты — ебать или копать?
👉 Bloch-Bauer & Adele · 2020 · Signature Privée
Aug 1, 2025
Aug 1, 2025 at 7:28 PM UTC
ये कमबख्त सन्नाटा कितना शोर करता है,
ऊपर से कितनी गूंजती हैं इसकी आवाज़ें।
जब से ऊपर वाला कमरा दिया है रेंट पे,
बस सारा दिन — छे… छे…
एडवांस नहीं लिया होता,
तो कब का निकाल देता।
अब तो घर की दीवारों के भी रंग
एक से होने लगे हैं…
Jun 14, 2025
Jun 14, 2025 at 2:48 AM UTC
Rollin' through the streets, shadows deep in the night,
City lights flicker, and I feel the fright.
Voices in my mind, they talkin' loud, they gettin' fed,
Can't shake this feelin'—it's all in my head.
Concrete jungle, where dreams get crushed,
Survivin' day by day, tryin’ not to rush.
Hustlin' on the daily, gotta make that bread,
Livin' on the edge—it's all in my head.
Brothers on the corner, eyes on the prize,
But every step forward, someone's cuttin' ties.
Steel bars and sirens, my fate's in threads,
Dodgin' bullets and lies—it's all in my head.
Heart heavy, can't find no peace,
Demons in the dark, they on the release.
Mama's prayers, hopes hangin' by a thread,
Holdin' on to faith—it's all in my head.
Love feels distant, trust is rare,
In a world so cold, who really cares?
But somewhere deep, where my dreams get fed,
Hope still whispers softly—it's all in my head.
Concrete can't crush the spirit we hold,
Through the tears and pain, still bold.
Livin’ and survivin', dreams not dead,
Strivin' for tomorrow—it's all in my head.
Sep 6, 2024
Sep 6, 2024 at 12:58 PM UTC
sometimes you just need to
stop
look around you
a stream of green turns to a stream of red
concrete dreams into reality
(the overpass grows forever greener)
AC power lines tangle into infinity
and you sit here among it all
admiring the miraculous
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 2:03 PM UTC