"kerb" poems
.
Seems much smaller than I had imagined.
It only stretches as far as my eyes could
see.
It reeks of the past, with no hints of the
future.
The present is here, the present is me.
My world tonight...
Sees me nestled,
watching silent but with mind
dishevelled...
Unnoticed on this kerb...
Unnamed and unlabelled.
My world tonight...
Is filled with familiar strangers,
ushering their lives along.
I know their faces but not their names.
I'd call this home but I don't belong.
My world tonight...
Is spinning regardless...
It stays on track.
Never waits for me.
Never looks back.
My world tonight...
Has no intention to soothe my thoughts.
It is baring its bite...
It's leaving me far behind...
But I'll catch up at the break of light.
As I always do...
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 9:50 AM UTC
Standing perplexed
Vigorously stabbing button
Scowling at passing traffic
Prodding repeatedly
Slapping neon display like
a defective vending machine
Arms flailing in impatience
Fidgeting on kerb edge.
He's the cross crossing man.
Nov 27, 2010
Nov 27, 2010 at 3:40 AM UTC
The man in galoshes with the world on his back,
strolls along the broken track.
Weather beaten,
Fighting the rain.
It's lashing him.
He's tied to the kerb.
Anchored only by the weighty boots on his feet.
He's out there fair weather or foul.
Desperate to keep his public happy,
With a timely siren,
the arrival of an infants birth.
He is the performer up the garden path.
At least the rain's outside again.
So is he poor sod.
The postman, nearly demi-god,
or nearly dead.
He's tramping through the rain and the snow.
He had to let you know,
you know.
The latest news and hot reviews,
a little bit of useless information.
There's nothing better than a letter,
unless it's from the revenue.
Our fair weather friend he has so many uses.
A warrior, he fights wild dogs.
He's churning up the grass,
his only means of escape.
He's wearing an orange hat,
it's curled up at the edges.
He uses it to fight the rain.
The orange hat so luminous,
he's looking rather fruity.
He's forlorn and in pieces,
because he's getting washed away,
He has one every morning in his place,
each and every day.
Stacks and stacks of bits of paper,
Life and death wrapped up in his sack.
(C) Livvi
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 10:43 AM UTC
Slowly I step away from the gate,
Gait unsteady, I stop and I wait
Weight of the moment sees me in a daze
Days ahead blur into a chilling haze.
She whispers her last from upon the kerb
Curb my fear, this I know I need to hear
Here and now is my only chance at peace
Piece together what happened to make this cease.
She said that I made her my fragile dear,
Deer caught in headlights, my ******
Heroine to be rescued from all mist,
Missed the chance to know this girl I kissed.
She was done being made to feel weak,
Week after week she assembled her fort,
Fought all urge to let this issue slide by.
Bye, she murmured, I am now ready to fly.
So this is the sad end to my tale,
Tail tucked in between my legs I
Eye her walk away into the night
Knight I am no more, fade to white.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 5:52 AM UTC
Closed like confessionals, they thread
Loud noons of cities, giving back
None of the glances they absorb.
Light glossy grey, arms on a plaque,
They come to rest at any kerb:
All streets in time are visited.
Then children strewn on steps or road,
Or women coming from the shops
Past smells of different dinners, see
A wild white face that overtops
Red stretcher-blankets momently
As it is carried in and stowed,
And sense the solving emptiness
That lies just under all we do,
And for a second get it whole,
So permanent and blank and true.
The fastened doors recede. Poor soul,
They whisper at their own distress;
For borne away in deadened air
May go the sudden shut of loss
Round something nearly at an end,
And what cohered in it across
The years, the unique random blend
Of families and fashions, there
At last begin to loosen. Far
From the exchange of love to lie
Unreachable insided a room
The trafic parts to let go by
Brings closer what is left to come,
And dulls to distance all we are.
3.4k
Little Teddy bear
pink and cuddly
lying on the kerb
with the lights
of the cafes
bouncing off you
Oh who’s missing you tonight
crying for her teddy bear?
maybe it’s little Amy asleep
who dropped you
while her mum carried her
into the car?
and maybe now little Amy
cries in her room:
'Where’s my teddy bear?'
And Mom says: 'Oh, sweetheart;
sleep, maybe it’s in the car…
we’ll get it in the morning.'
Little Teddy bear
pink and cuddly
lying on the kerb
with the lights
of the cafes
bouncing off you
Oh who’s missing you tonight
crying for her teddy bear?
maybe it’s little Lin
who came visiting from Shanghai
and exchanged her panda bear
for an Aussie cuddly toy
and she’s in the airport now
and cries: 'I lost my Aussie teddy bear'
and they can’t find one at the airport
and Dad says:
'Don’t worry;
we’ll get you a new one
when we get home…'
Little Teddy bear
pink and cuddly
lying on the kerb
with the lights
of the cafes
bouncing off you
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 9:59 AM UTC
Did you ever hear the tale of the loneliest cigarette?
Bringing short term pleasure to just one man, while simultaneously burning herself away into oblivion, she is selfless.
He'll soon kick her to the kerb and stamp out her embers which she offered to him because it's what she thought he wanted.
When she is gone, he will take another.
And she will be useless. Lifeless. Unwanted. Replaceable.
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 4:59 PM UTC
He was known as the local Mycophagist
In the dales, the woods and the hills,
What happened was sad, for he wasn’t so bad
Just a tad underdone, Toby Gills,
They say that the cord was around his neck,
He was born with a carroty mop,
And a pale white head, he was almost dead
When the doctor had called out ‘Stop!’
They cut the cord and they let him breathe,
The damage was already done,
The blood had been stopped to his carroty top
So they said that he’d always be dumb.
But he found a niche where the fungi creeps
And went out collecting the spore,
In a year or two he knew more than you
And the college Professor next door.
He studied his mushrooms with loving intent,
He knew about hen of the woods,
He knew about bracket and shaggy manes, magic
And paddy straw, they were the goods;
He fostered his lobster and hedgehog and oyster
And coral fungi and stinkhorns,
But didn’t discern between fly agarics
And toadstools that grew in the lawn.
He grew his spore in a deep, dark cellar
And sold to the folk who came by,
And never would judge between Widow Weller
And the ordinary witches of Rye,
He’d sell death caps, and pigskin puffballs
Not thinking to question them why,
Or who would be eating his laughing Jim’s
And whether they knew they would die.
The air was thick and the air was damp
And he fell in the dark one day,
Scattering toadstools into the air
And their spores had floated away,
He breathed the spores right into his lungs
For he hadn’t been wearing a mask,
But ****** them in right over his tongue
And they came to his lungs, at last.
I happened to see him out in the street
He was finding it hard to breathe,
He could only take a couple of steps
Then sit on the kerb, to heave,
I tried to help but he waved me away
And his eyes were yellow and cruel,
Then I saw what he’d thrown up on the kerb
Some yellow and red toadstools.
The man was a walking toadstool spore
They were popping up out of his hair,
Pushing their way though his carroty top
In a bid to get to the air,
And his skin was blotched like a puffball, he
Looked up at me, and he cried,
As a giant toadstool grew from his throat
And he lay on his side, and died.
David Lewis Paget
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 5:22 AM UTC
*walking along
tormented path*
1.
daisies hum hymns in flutter-eyes
weeping willow leans down to whistle
a medley of fifteen-odd tunes you used to know
but never quite did grasp
the axis merry-tilts just a bit and
you try to grab hold of a patch of sullen-sky
but the clouds shift once more
and you're unexpectedly holding rain in your joints
running steady-rivulets in the morrow's wrinkles
2.
you step onto the pavement
avoiding the lines
a knack acquired over years of practice
on the sidelines of others' lives
kerb jumps up like a ***** with no chapeau
its inordinate-syllogism bites your ankle
like a swarm of ants in dread-ire
in disorderly tornado-twirls
step.. step.. step..
walk on.....
(piece-a-cake....right?)
S T - 4 decked / on / double
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 3:27 PM UTC
*to be
or
not to be*...
he stands at the lamppost, screened from view
evening light slopes across the street
and cuts an oblong square of light
from the Hotel de Ville lobby-entrance.
she wonders who he is, standing there so
almost melding into post, his nondescript shadow sidling alongside
while early eve strolls through Le Parc des Céléstins
steady presence, half but not quite menacing.
he gazes down at his silhouette, Gauloise alit
and it, in turn, looks into the kerb...or up at him...
he turns his head up slowly, hazy wisps
as bewilderment draws reredos.
she hears footsteps clack across the parquet floor
as someone leaves the rez-de-chaussée
she wonders what he wants; why he stands there
who he waits for; and why so long.....
she can never see his face, ponders much on this
she longs to understand, yet feels afraid
as if she's seen that shade before, across the road
moving slowly, as the hours steal away...
visible from her second floor, she eyes
daddy-long legged limbs and dangly shapes
he has merely wandered into his past
seeking only the one he hopes to find.
traveled so far and sought so wide
crossed oceans, traversed treacherous terrain
perseverance the clutch word of the day
only to linger long to recover dashed prize.
later, as she peers into the heavy night
from windows shut, all her eyes can pierce
are nought but empty shadows 'neath that solitary lamp post
seems the mist carried off her spectral fear.... as well.
*or...
did it?*
S T, 28 June 2013 (Fry-day:)
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 8:00 AM UTC
My Grandad,
I know nothing about you,
I never really did,
You died long before I was born,
never even a sparkle in your eye,
I have no idea what you looked like,
I know not how you died,
nor when.
I know once that you were a saddler,
a maker of fine leather,
In deepest Dorset, laid a paving slab with our family name on.
I saw it once or twice,
It was positioned smartly on the pathway, outside a shabby looking shop, that shop it wasn't yours, you had long since gone,
The shop, well it's probably a convenience store now,
haven't been there for a good many years,
That kerb stone may have stayed in place,
One day, I may go take a look,
a photo for my memory book.
(C) Livvi
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 6:48 PM UTC
Audrey, look out the window and see your dreams.
Brydie, lay on the carpet and think of home.
Charlie, stand in the garden and let the rain wash the pain away.
Danielle, shout at the skies for this awful weather.
Ellen, smile as you see a rainbow in the distance.
Fiona, stick out your tongue to soften their fall.
Gemma, pretend there's nothing falling from the sky.
Hannah, dance in the rain in that favourite dress of yours.
Imogen, jump into puddles, one after the other.
Jade, wave to the people going past in their cars.
Keri, open your hands to cup the cold water.
Laura, laugh as the neighbour's umbrella turns inside out.
Molly, hope the grass is better for football tomorrow.
Natasha, sigh as you drive through it all.
Olivia, read a book by the nice warm fire.
Paige, sleep through the hammering of the droplets.
Queenie, scream as you dash through the storm.
Rhianne, fall back onto that squishy armchair inside.
Steph, pray for the sun to come out soon.
Tuula, watch the leaves huddle against the kerb.
Una, listen as they patter patter on the rooftop.
Victoria, take off those sodden shoes.
Whitney, snap another photograph or two.
Xandra, run to get back home to your family.
Yasmeen, follow the trail of the water on the window.
Zara, give up waiting for the rain to stop.
Mar 8, 2012
Mar 8, 2012 at 7:01 AM UTC
So I've hit a *** note
Kicked out of office
On the kerb
Lost your vote
Of confidence?
Wrote off
Years ago
So I lost your vote
Sat in the gutter
Cause it's the only place
To see what guts are
Still I lost your vote
Made one mistake
In my masterpiece
And made my conduct(er)
Dependent on your lost vote
But as I recount this
I realise this is a dictatorship!
I'll busk for change, for myself
But a Maestro is not dependent on votes
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 10:55 PM UTC
.
The street lamp barely pierces the gloom
as darkness fills up Nature's room.
Any icy breeze blows down the street,
the air is full of rain and sleet.
She stands beneath the murky light,
one of a few out working tonight.
Her clothes do not reflect the weather,
miniskirt, t-shirt, long boots of leather.
Pinprick marks upon her arm reveal
a habit to hide all that she feels.
A daemon that has to be well fed,
from money made in a punters bed.
A low rumble, the quiet is disturbed,
creeping slowly, pulling up at the kerb.
Quick furtive words, a deal is complete,
she opens the door, slides into the seat.
Sometime later she has returned to her place,
crying and shaking, blood on her face.
The blood on her shirt is already dry,
and purple black bruises adorn her eyes.
She does not complain, she does not speak.
It just happens. At least once a week.
There is always one will have his way,
beat her about, and refuse to pay.
Give her a minute to fix her smile,
she will be back in just a short while.
Waiting tartly to be once more defiled,
hoping tonight she can feed her child.
She dreams her daughter will never see
this sick, dark side of her society.
For her sake she hopes to escape
the drugs, the violence, and the ****
Maybe one eve she will not show
her charms under the street lamps glow.
Has she escaped to a better life instead?
Perhaps she is in the river, floating dead?
But 'til then she walks the pavement.
Big smile, **** out, making a statement.
She won't wait long for another ride,
she will block out whatever happens inside.
And the cycle repeats almost every night,
beneath the lamp with the murky light.
This is her spot, her street, her world.
This is the life of a poor street girl.
© Pagan Paul (03/03/17)
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 6:30 PM UTC
colourblind
to traffic lights
but I know how they're
supposed to look
I walk along
a thinning kerb
frequently falling
stumbling along
nothing stops me
I stay on the edge
this line between safety
and imminent death
Jan 27, 2018
Jan 27, 2018 at 9:08 PM UTC
He hears voices; but do you hear his?
Spitting crystals from his teeth,
he says he drank the magic of time
and now every second passing of mine is nervous
knowing every passing second of his mind.
His internal monologue eternally seeping into external,
leaking into the verbal.
He wears many faces; many places know his steps.
How do you react when you see him?
Do you retract and take action to extract yourself
from his immediate surroundings? I do.
His impact is astounding, found in my hometown
are two types of intimidation;
the vexed son and the wrecked **** of Wrexham.
Giant in the crowd, bald with a dead stare.
Constantly looking down, clothes so thin with many a tear.
Academic with his head in the clouds, to look at,
epidemic with his eyes to the ground in reality.
Local myth whose pith is to be barefoot,
you daren’t look. Innocent elder, non compos mentis,
tells you she carries bombs.
It carries on, in plain sight
there are so many vacant minds walking these streets.
They incite fear, recite dreams and live near
the edge. Of the kerb. Of the absurd.
I have had the chance to meet some frail lives,
one gave me their last drop of wisdom and the tale of his bullet wound.
He told me to remember where I was from.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 12:53 PM UTC
Oh bathing in the water
Cleansing my skin
Trying to wash away
All of my sins
Trying to bring
The best I have back out
Time to burn this heart to the core
I've got love want to release it all
Got a little feeling
Got a little spark
Yeah this fire
I want to light it up
Needed that feeling
To take hold
Needed this feeling
So I can bring it all
Purify me
Wash all this negativity
Away from me
I wanna feel that light
Shining brightly
Purify me
I wanna feel that
Warmth inside me
Purify me
Purify me
Time to shake
My world up
Time to change
This whole landscape
Positivity gotta let it
Shine in, shine so brightly
Come on these demons
They've taken enough from me
Time to believe
We can do better things
No more drowning
I need to breathe freely
From the mountain top
This time, I'll take the time
To enjoy the view
I'm changing me
Are you gonna change you, ooh
Got a little feeling
Got a little spark
Yeah this fire
I want to light it up
Needed that feeling
To take hold
Needed this feeling
So I can bring it all
Purify me
Wash all this negativity
Away from me
I wanna feel that light
Shining brightly
Purify me
I wanna feel that
Warmth inside me
Purify me
Purify me
Kicking these demons
Back to the kerb
Wash them away
back to the sea
I won't disappear
Got a smile on my face
Clearing up my soul
All this darkness inside
Can fill up with light
Let the sun shine
Heat this cold heart up
It's time to make a pact
Yeah time to restart
Got a little feeling
Got a little spark
Yeah this fire
I want to light it up
Needed that feeling
To take hold
Needed this feeling
So I can bring it all
Purify me
Wash all this negativity
Away from me
I wanna feel that light
Shining brightly
Purify me
I wanna feel that
Warmth inside me
Purify me
Purify me
Rewriting this story
From the start
It all begins here
Past memories
Only hanging on to the good
Letting go of the bad
Learnt from mistakes
That made me angry or sad
Time to let go, time to look forward
Leave all those mistakes
That I've made
Cleanse it away
Yeah cleanse it away
Got a little feeling
Got a little spark
Yeah this fire
I want to light it up
Needed that feeling
To take hold
Needed this feeling
So I can bring it all
Purify me
Wash all this negativity
Away from me
I wanna feel that light
Shining brightly
Purify me
I wanna feel that
Warmth inside me
Purify me
Purify me
©2017 Written By Benji James
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 6:24 AM UTC
No one feels more alone when feeling alone in another darkened hometown.
He went and wandered,
kerb crawled and begged,
asked for four quid
then left when he got it, though
two pounds less than he wanted;
away, away, away, away, away,
away he’ll go again,
vagabond turned drifter,
God talking, kneel praying, church attending, Amen.
When the already sirens
start up, wind up,
swing around merrily in their
egg shell cups upon and above
the panda-car-cop,
he’ll wake to wander again
until the day his body flails
and gives in, drops to the floor
in a melodramatic stop.
For this forever New York,
with its high rise chimney tops
and siren's scare,
is no place to sleep without
a home to go home too.
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 10:22 AM UTC
*do you need
any help
with your homework?
its fine
you dont have to pay me back
do you want
some painkillers?
you shouldnt drink
so much
watch the
kerb
are you
feeling okay?
you look sad
want to talk?
careful
we havent spoken
in a while
you have blue eyes
right?
dont run
with scissors
ill sleep on the floor
you take
the bed*
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 1:55 PM UTC
I stare out of my window at the midnight street:
Desperate lovers roam back alleys, hoping one day they’ll meet.
Creeping shadows cast from dimming street lamps haunt the pathways;
Yawning teens sit awake typing up long overdue essays;
The dreams of the unsuccessful hang in the sky with the stars;
Drunken mugs trip over their own feet outside the city bars
A lone tree stands to attention in the middle of a frost bitten field
Fear ridden walkers use recycling bins and garden walls as shields
Workaholics typing themselves into oblivion
Athletes run laps hoping to become an Olympian
Stray cats and the heart wrenching cries of the homeless haunt the alleys
Holiday goers walk by torchlight through hundred year old valleys
Hopeful wannabes sing their shoulda coulda wouldas by the crack in the kerb
Whilst I sit… staring at the wall thinking of a perfect verb
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 2:44 PM UTC
there was a little guide dog he was very kind
a very special dog he used to guide the blind
he wore a metal harness he was very strong
he would guide the blind and help them get along
stopping at the kerb until it was safe to go
then across the road the little dog would show
he would use his paws to open up the door
and move any objects that were lying on the floor
a very special fellow as clever as can be
by guiding them along he helped the blind to see.
Mar 24, 2010
Mar 24, 2010 at 5:14 PM UTC
Dear family and friends
At last, my son is walking the long gangplank
to a happy married life. God bless his final journey to sanity.
I'm sure his beautiful bride has learned how to
cart a whole box of beer bottles out to the kerb very tuesday
**** socks, ignore those **** posters on his walls,
collect all his Penthouse Libraries
and tie ties. It will be a happy life together.
I was lost for words the day he came over to Mom and me
to inform of his final adrenalin rush into matrimony.
( or was it matrimoney?)
I was happy for him to be happy
and even offered to escort him to the gate!
We looked at his budget for the big do
and quietly froze our bank accounts, shut down the
family jewels and booked a holiday to Paris
a day after the wedding.Confronting the bills
was a frightening prospect for his mother and me.
I am sure, honourable guests, you will have enjoyed
the invitations of recycled paper?
He offered to return my tie and brocade shirt the day after.
But he was a good guy after all. So much like his father
chip of the old block. Like father, like son
blah blah blah
He has a lovely wife, and she is smiling too
at the catch she made. God bless that girls cunning.
As a parting gift,my son, I have left you
a legacy of lust and happiness.
A supply of ****** so that you too, my son
could walk around
with a stiff neck!
God bless the happy married couple!
Author Notes
Ok. Its not serious. So what.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 6:47 PM UTC
A white stick she holds,
it's in her right hand,
she feels her way through life,
all it's kerb stones,
she has a dog,
normally he's wearing a harness,
but, she left him indoors,
just for today,
for she has a date,
a date with dignity,
she knew she'd be late,
folks stop and pet the dog,
it always makes her late,
this,
this is such a special date,
she's meeting a soul mate,
another with failing eyes,
she steps onto the bus,
those who notice her move,
move out of the way,
fetching lady,
fetches soul mate,
they meet up,
off they go on their special first date.
(C) Livvi
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 10:03 AM UTC
I found you there, lying on the tarmac,
Dressed in a suit, your hair gelled back,
People walking by, hadn't got a clue,
Too busy in their minds, but I could see you,
~~~
Car's driving by, gesturing at each other,
Unaware of a body, lying undiscovered,
Commuters in the way, I struggle through the rush,
Stubborn moans, as they refuse to budge,
~~~
Twisting my ankle, stumbling off the kerb,
Knocked off the pavement, by this one way herd,
Calling out to you, I asked if you're okay.
You didn't respond, so still that you lay,
~~~
Checking your vitals, your eyes open wide,
Ignoring my calls, like you wanted to hide,
I call for some help, a policeman walks by,
Oblivious to us both, as you let out a cry,
~~~
More people look around, they see you there,
Rubber necking as they, gather and stare,
The policeman asked, if you were okay,
You didn't respond, so still that you lay,
~~~
Calling an ambulance, as commuters watch,
A vagrant on a bench, clutching his scotch,
People calling over, Will he be okay?
We didn't respond, so still that you lay,
~~~
Arrival of a paramedic, and an off duty Nurse,
Reading your vitals, talking chapter and verse,
Interrupting them both, we asked if you were okay,
They didn't respond, so still that you lay,
~~~
Movement of your eyes, as you whisper a sound,
A moment of silence, as you look around,
I lay down beside you, to listen to your words,
The commuters muted, in their gathering herd,
~~~
You said
~~~
The reason I'm lying in the road is....
~~~
Newsflash on the Radio,
A city sleeps,
Thousands laying down,
Refusing to speak,
We asked for an update, from commissioner grey,
He didn't respond, so still that he lay,
~~~
End of Transmission
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 2:30 AM UTC
Pee-po said the funny sun, as it hid behind the tree.
Kerb stones took the mickey, they said they needed cleaning.
Patio so pretentious dared, dared to be dream of being used.
Awaiting very desperately, the bringing of the springtime sun.
Well, they've had a **** good scrub.
Garden was in so much pain, drowning in this flaming rain.
The sun has got it jacket on, no water to extinguish it and take its smile away.
****** weather!
(C) LIVVI
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 2:15 AM UTC