"smokers" poems
In frames as large as rooms that face all ways
And block the ends of streets with giant loaves,
Screen graves with custard, cover slums with praise
Of motor-oil and cuts of salmon, shine
Perpetually these sharply-pictured groves
Of how life should be. High above the gutter
A silver knife sinks into golden butter,
A glass of milk stands in a meadow, and
Well-balanced families, in fine
Midsummer weather, owe their smiles, their cars,
Even their youth, to that small cube each hand
Stretches towards. These, and the deep armchairs
Aligned to cups at bedtime, radiant bars
(Gas or electric), quarter-profile cats
By slippers on warm mats,
Reflect none of the rained-on streets and squares
They dominate outdoors. Rather, they rise
Serenely to proclaim pure crust, pure foam,
Pure coldness to our live imperfect eyes
That stare beyond this world, where nothing's made
As new or washed quite clean, seeking the home
All such inhabit. There, dark raftered pubs
Are filled with white-clothed ones from tennis-clubs,
And the boy puking his heart out in the Gents
Just missed them, as the pensioner paid
A halfpenny more for Granny Graveclothes' Tea
To taste old age, and dying smokers sense
Walking towards them through some dappled park
As if on water that unfocused she
No match lit up, nor drag ever brought near,
Who now stands newly clear,
Smiling, and recognising, and going dark.
18k
(Quote by Spike Milligan)
One very wise man sat and said
That, long before this world is dead
This planet’s problems won’t be solved
By reasoning which, though now evolved,
has got us, where we now do sit,
Afloat neck deep in mankind’s ****
There’s SARs, Ebola, AIDs, Bird flu
And in the woodwork, West Nile too,
Each replicating viral spat
To mutate, (at the drop of a hat),
To complicate enviro’s stew
Of global degredation’s brew.
Urban spread and over stocking
**** deforestation’s shocking,
Depletion of aquatic life
Intrinsically creating strife,
Industrial pollution’s goo
Ozone depletion... ALL FOR YOU!
*Environmental degradation
Means the world’s a weaker place,
Susceptible to malady
Wide spread across the human race.
Those animals in corn fed stalls
Who never get to see the sun
Or graze green grass where honey bees
Are vanquished by varroha’s fun.
Too late to save the Hector’s dolphin
Conservation’s lost it’s tools,
Rastafarian hootchie smokers,
Save the whales to **** the fools.
Governments sell the carbon credits
Everybody smells a rat
Restorations for the birds
And social conscience creamed the cat.
****** greenies own the airwaves
No one gives a flying ****
That good artesian water’s poisoned
By good farmer’s leached out muck.
CO2 in global warming
Sings it’s song of fast decline
Glacial retreat a-roaring
Bass relief in blood *****
I guess the little children’s future
Most depends on lady luck,
Humankind in mass denial
Most don’t give a flying ****
Marshalg
In retreat to Taranaki’s green haven in the gales of the equinox.
21 September 2011
Sep 21, 2011
Sep 21, 2011 at 2:09 AM UTC
(Quote by Spike Milligan)
One very wise man sat and said
That, long before this world is dead
This planet’s problems won’t be solved
By reasoning which, though now evolved,
has got us, where we now do sit,
Afloat neck deep in mankind’s ****
There’s SARs, Ebola, AIDs, Bird flu
And in the woodwork, West Nile too,
Each replicating viral spat
To mutate, (at the drop of a hat),
To complicate enviro’s stew
Of global degredation’s brew.
Urban spread and over stocking
**** deforestation’s shocking,
Depletion of aquatic life
Intrinsically creating strife,
Industrial pollution’s goo
Ozone depletion... ALL FOR YOU!
Environmental degradation
Means the world’s a weaker place,
Susceptible to malady
Wide spread across the human race.
Those animals in corn fed stalls
Who never get to see the sun
Or graze green grass where honey bees
Are vanquished by varroha’s fun.
Too late to save the Hector’s dolphin
Conservation’s lost it’s tools,
Rastafarian hootchie smokers,
Save the whales to **** the fools.
Governments sell the carbon credits
Everybody smells a rat
Restorations for the birds
And social conscience creamed the cat.
****** greenies own the airwaves
No one gives a flying ****
That good artesian water’s poisoned
By good farmer’s leached out muck.
CO2 in global warming
Sings it’s song of fast decline
Glacial retreat a-roaring
Bass relief in blood *****
I guess the little children’s future
Most depends on lady luck,
Humankind in mass denial
Most don’t give a flying ****
Marshalg
In retreat to Taranaki’s green haven in the gales of the equinox.
21 September 2011
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 3:14 AM UTC
foundational fluctuation
as flatulence is introduced
that’s right
**** jokes
pppfffrrrttttt
destroying families
undermining relationships
damaging friendships
ending love
breaking the mold
extinguishing the fire
eliminating the excitement
drowning fun
and smelling bad –
pretentious vegetarian
wind walker
kale excretions
cabbage attack
cauliflower bandit
spreading propaganda
and funk
while talking trash
about cigarette smokers –
I could go on for days
making egg comments
referring to the arrival of Eddie’s
big brown shark –
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 6:27 PM UTC
I do not see the hype
with High School Stereotype.
Why does it receive such attention?
It doesn't need the press's mention.
We all know of the smokers by the bike sheds,
Who have nothing but fluff in their heads.
Or the girls with skirts far too short
Who's think of *** as a competitive sport.
The sport buffs, we've all seen,
Full of life and far too keen.
Always poised and ready to go,
Every muscle toned from head to toe.
Young student teachers are here,
Enthusiastic about Bill Shakespeare.
Attempting to teach thugs to spell,
Whilst shady Heads make their life hell.
But do not forget, those you call friend.
The ones who stay by you until the end.
Making you laugh, Keeping you sane
Through rough times they remain.
These companions fit no mould
Therefore their tale is never told.
For the greatest things in teen life
Do not need the media's strife
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 4:42 PM UTC
There is nothing romantic or beautiful about smoking
Smokers out there are aware about their bodies being harmed because of cigarettes
I know people who have ruined their lives because of smoking
now could you please stop romanticising this thing because it is ******* ******* me off.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 10:38 AM UTC
**IMMEDIATELY PLEASE REMOVE ALL OF MY INFORMATION FROM YOUR DATA BASE FORTHWITH. ALSO,
ADVISE ANY AND ALL CONTRACTORS, SUB-CONTRACTORS, AGENTS, SUB-AGENTS, AFFILIATES, PARTNERS, COLLEAGUES, ASSOCIATES, CLIENTS, WEBMASTERS, WEB BASED LINKS, WINKS, TWINKS, COLONEL CLINCKS, BOSSES, CO-WORKERS, EMPLOYEES, VENDORS, SUPPLIERS, SALESMEN, ASCCOUNT REPS/EXCS, ACCOUNTANTS, BROKERS, CO-BROKERS, HACKERS, SLACKERS, WHACKERS, JERKS, PIMPS, HOES, HOBOS, BUMS, DERELICTS, DEGENERATES, DOPERS, DEALERS, TWEEKERS, GAMBLERS, RAMBLERS, SOLICITORS, SIDEKICKS, COHORTS, WINGMEN, WHEELMEN, LOOKOUTS, OUTLAWS, IN-LAWS, RELATIVES, FIANCES, GIRLFRIENDS, BOYFRIENDS, FAMILY, FRIENDS, ENEMIES, EVIL NEMISIS', CANVASSERS, INQUIRERS, QUEERS, QUEENS, COWBOYS, KINGS, **** DRAGS, HAGS, HETEROS, HOMOS, TONY ROMOS, FEMALE IMPERSONATORS, (PRE OR POST) MALE IMPERSONATORS, ***** ***** VAN ***** **** VAN **** LESBIANS, LIARS, BUYERS, CRYERS, CIGAR SMOKERS, CARPET MUNCHERS, RUG RATS, TODDLERS, TEENAGERS, YOUNGSTERS, SENIORS, SUCKERS, TRUCKERS, MOTHER shut yer mouth, LAW MAKERS, LAWYERS, ATTORNEYS, JUDGES, POLITICIANS, PECKERWOODS, LEADERS, FOLLOWERS, DISCIPLES, PROPHETS, EVANGELISTS, SAVIORS, SINNERS, SAINTS, SOOTHSAYERS, MEDICINE MEN, GYPSYS, TRAMPS, AND THIEVES, WITCHES, WARLOCKS, VAMPIRES, LYCANS, ZOMBIES, WAR MONGERS, PROTESTERS, SOLIDERS, GENERALS, GOVERNORS, PRESIDENTS, PATRIOTS, PACKERS, LIONS, BEARS, BROWNS, BLACKHAWKS, REDWINGS, RIGHT WING, LIBERALS, OR LAW BIDING CITIZENS, THEY ARE NOT TO CONTACT ME AND LOOSE MY NUMBER.
BUT IF YOU SEE MY MOM, TELL HER TO CALL ME.
........................................................................BA-ZING....................................................................**
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 9:47 AM UTC
the Himalayas rise
there is snow on the peaks
I watch it from my bed
I gaze and gaze at it
in the morning
as a little village girl goes by
sniffling with cold
I too am cold
it is chilly here in Tosh in May
but a young Israeli boy
took off his shirt
and stood on the fencepost of the guesthouse dancing
down was the deep green valley
all of us watched in admiration
the next day I went down to the waterfall
which from here is a beautiful whisper in the air
there are donkeys and a path
and pretty houses on the other side of the valley
and everywhere there are people smoking hash and relaxing
in the cafes and the guesthouses
it is almost like a pilgrimage smokers keep coming
and sit around smoking talking
I pull down my woollen cap my arms and back
feel the chill despite a thick sweater
despite a blanket and a four inch thick quilt
I roll my joints and smoke them alone
sometimes smoke them with others
I look at the hills and the valleys and the wooden houses
I look at the white peaks glowing in the sun
and talk about CCR and stained glass art with Michael from Norfolk
who’s going down the valley to another village for a party tonight
with his young Spanish friend
I talk about Bombay with Puneet and Manya from Kanpur
who’ve come here on a Bullet
Hash Heaven Manya says reading my mind as the joint passes on
to the four engineering interns from Delhi
and all the time I sip on ginger lemon honey
for my sore throat until on the last day it disappears
unlike the young Israeli girl’s pink laptop in a pink cover
found by the part time caretaker in the garden on a pink chair
she left behind last night because it was too dark
come again the guesthouse boys say to me as I pay them
what a scene I think how cool as I begin to leave the village
down the dung-clotted stone steps nodding to the smokers coming in.
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 11:13 PM UTC
The gin and juice on my lips
What could be better than this?
Going around the cities like a homeless
Meeting some strangers, smokers, players
(Do you have a cigarette?
Yeah, of course, you naughty girl)
It's so easy to be wrong and bad
If I'm wrong I don't wanna be right
Could you make me high and dope?
I'm too drunk to walk
So let's have a ride in nightly cities
And the gin I had wasn't that bad, so I had one more
He gave me 50 euros, so we gotta get drunk
What a badass
It's time to leave my daddies
And forgot my shameless past
Maybe it's time to get drunk
What about gin and juice?
It's so easy to be wrong and bad
If I'm wrong I don't wanna be right
Could you make me high and dope?
I'm too drunk to walk
So let's have a ride in nightly cities
Don't wake me up
I don't want to cry myself to sleep
I just want to say goodbye to Flora's era
It's so easy to be wrong and bad
If I'm wrong I don't wanna be right
Could you make me high and dope?
I'm too drunk to walk
So let's have a ride in nightly cities
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 8:39 AM UTC
A Zippo lighter with a smoker's cough,
propositions the ladybug
clinging to a flannel pocket,
You can always trust a tealight
to warm the neglected beetles,
that cling to your chest.
this Ritual of the staring contest.
attention behind the curtain:
When You blink at the Rorschach shadows
tell me, they are not mailboxes.
The spirits linger; we stumble into entanglement
birch trees weaving
baskets from our branches
I'm known to cave on integrity, for the taste of freckles,
flickering tealights in the hearthstone, with a smokers cough.
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 3:08 AM UTC
kiss my sorry *** and imagine
a differential. divide it by two,
see? this will give you the
circumference of existential
convulsion; you will see past
the freaky book you can't read
for lack of knowing and how
absurdism scares you if you
believe it. that's why you dropped
The Myth of Sisyphus part-way
through cuz what came to mind
with all the drippy Dali-mentalscape
spa of shread-dread WHATSyness!
was Camus coming to so many a pessimists
ending he had to turn it last second to say
'but in the end, we must assume that
Sisyphus is happy' and all you see in your
minds-eye is pursuit of this absurdist
paradise for nervous thought-drawn chain
-smokers is a gun to your head with one
last glance at the ocean.
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 2:21 AM UTC
Life tends to kick you quickest when you're down
Like the little pithy scratch of jealousy
On your neck as you see the signs
When your girlfriend's stale eyes
Begin to wander
Begin to wander too specifically
For your personal
Comfort
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 5:06 AM UTC
five years ago, June 2018,
I, poet Sir Humbug,
wrote:that the job of the artist was to be
luminous and dangerous
<>
*the job of the artist
is to be
luminous and dangerous
luminous to others
by being
dangerous to themselves
when the words are ripped from the chest,
atmosphere disbursed by the body’s projectile messes,
starburst fireworks,
luminous and dangerous,
luminating the shared night,
laminating your truths,
in poems disguised
and so the job,
our work,
begins*
<>
five years on,
somethings have changed,
indeed, the dangers of
being luminous,
clarifying and exposing,
the requisite badge of courage,
need-be more desperately earned
the work is more risky,
as the rules of now are none,
and the risk of good taste,
thoughtful caring,
exposing you innards outwardly,
so easy to demean
and sadly
that titillates the iliterati
like a fire-working fireflies flashing,
their in-concert of ligh attracts the
oohs and aahs
but too,
the restless for glory,
opinionated blowhard,
whose critical boundaries of ill will
are
boundless
yet,
write on, right on
to be where courage be the
sticking point!
your verbs must be pointy,
your direction true,
adjectives of modest innovation,
craft harder, then harder again,
for the work must be honest
in a manner most delicate
now is the time of
subtlety -
if one must bang pots to be heard,
that you to are but a noisemaker, a loser,
an addition to those
lost in the din
quiet passion,
thoughtful insight
to inside, to the tender parts,
will rule the day
and the blow smokers
will rue the day,
as their pretenses chafe and flail wayside,
and your words,
be like sightings of new lands
where you take us utterly beholden,
willing explorers to places most wonderfully
luminous and dangerous!
Jul 10, 2023
Jul 10, 2023 at 11:25 PM UTC
I watch you smoke Neptune for the last time outside your front door
Listening to you talk about music or the weather
Your hand twitches and the cobalt glass shatters in three pieces at your feet, but you don't even look down and continue your monologue
The dry air between us heaves a smokers cough and sighs
In the den, under low ceilings and blurry repercussion
Ciphering through lots of nothing on tv
You settle on some garbage show
But end up kissing me instead
I had to leave at one thirty five
Someone always has to leave eventually
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 6:58 PM UTC
The most common magic trick I've ever seen is making a 100mm stick disappear.
It is the oldest trick in the book.
Everyone knows how it’s done but everyone is always never tired of being the audience to it.
Maybe it’s because the audience is always invited to take part in the act.
The trick is always done by a stressed magician,
The trick mocked by kids trying to imitate the 100mm disappearing stick trick.
They hide under the pretence of being stressed.
They disgrace the world class performers that had practiced the routine so much throughout their lives.
Never quitting
And
Always over rehearsing.
The performers would always keep practicing until it becomes its second nature like breathing.
Until it becomes like a habit,
Until they become too passionate to the routine on perfecting the make-believe act.
That they are too obsessed to realized they had become addicted to it.
They had become too reliant over it and that they can't live without it.
Even on their last breath they would attempt to show its final performance and draw its strength from it.
The most common magic trick I've ever seen involves a 100mm stick disappearing.
The trick is like every other disappearing magic act.
First the object is lit on fire with a light,
Second the smoker kisses the object and takes a deep inhale praying the performance would go well.
Third you get distracted by the smokes given off in the exhale
And ...ta da.
While the Smoke rises
It is estimated
14 minutes of the magician's life disappearing.
However the audience is too focused on the main act of the 100mm stick disappearing to notice.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 1:13 PM UTC
Both of my parents “don’t smoke”
But the pack in the bag disagrees
And the butts in the yard
Hiding spots in the car
Beer cans through which I can see
Both of my parents don’t smoke
Sometimes I think it’s a joke
When they’d smile their smiles
And lie to my face
But every secret has its place
And at least mine aren’t known
Sep 4, 2022
Sep 4, 2022 at 1:23 PM UTC
Squeaking sneakers squealing as the smoker squelched across the slippery shiny surface.
Sweat slipping off the smokers snout as the law chased. Oliver the overweight officer was overly panting but gained no advantage. Had he finally met his match?
Safe and sound in a storage facility the smoker stayed silent.
Oliver smashed the smoker across the kisser. He'd smelt out his prey by the stench resonating from the smokers smelly socks.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 2:01 PM UTC
There are vampires, but they like to feed on blood and they do it because they have to, to exist.
The werewolf has to feed because it is in their nature and meat becomes their prey.
Zombies are cursed and that is why they feed the way they do.
But me, I do what I do for the sheer pleasure of it and you would be shocked if you knew how many people like me were out there in this world of ours.
You see, I am what you would call a cannibal and if you even tasted human flesh, then you would understand how it is an amazing required taste.
And the fear of my victims makes that taste so much sweeter, the mingling of their sweat is just mouth watering and they just so much better when they have to feel pain.
Mind you, heavy smokers can be a bit annoying because you get that smell of nicotine in the air when you fry up their lungs.
There are so many of us about, have you ever wondered about those exclusive restaurants where you find it difficult to be able to book a table.
Where if you order the sausages it has so much great flavour and the gravy is just so delicious.
Next time and look around at those regulars that always seem to get a table, that look is not the expectation of the food but the wonder of what you might taste like.
I've had it all, Indian, Mexican, Chinese and nothing seems to beat a nice English roast.
But never complain to the management because the next time you might find yourself on the menu.
Sooner or later we are going to get you, we might cut you to pieces as you are still alive, because as I said before, the flesh tastes so much better that way.
Maybe we could boil you alive like a lobster, I've done that so many times to my victims.
I know the neighbour was having some problems with some teenagers but they have disappeared now.
So I decided to celebrate and have a barbeque and invite everyone, the food will taste like nothing you've tasted before.
Yes I'm going to invite you over to join us, we would love to have you over for dinner.
Jun 13, 2010
Jun 13, 2010 at 2:34 PM UTC
Once we're on the slippery slope,
With assisted suicide,
That's when the sick people,
Have nowhere left to hide,
Now that the clock is ticking,
Where will it all stop,
Next is the old folk,
We'll chop them till they drop,
Down Syndrome men and women,
Elderly, infirm who can tell,
Doctors must authorise,
Shipman did that well,
Then there's the druggies,
We'll have to use a rope,
Injection would be stupid,
Like giving them more dope,
They'll not be the last,
The unemployed are next,
They'll not be sent a letter,
We'll do it all by text,
Get them all lined up,
We'll do them one by one,
Give them the death injection,
Nowhere left for them to run,
The fat ones need to go,
Costing too much cash,
Eating too much food,
Use a knife to slash,
If your neighbour's a bit different,
You know, a bit like that,
Take out your weapon,
And stab him in the heart,
Clear the jails out,
The place if your a crook,
If we need more killers,
It's the very place to look,
Dignitas will be redundant,
We'll **** them all in house,
It'll be good business,
Shooting them just like grouse,
Forget about the smokers,
Assisted suicide's not their game,
With their lungs and breath failing,
They're dying just the same,
Life is so **** precious,
Killing's against God's law,
Commandment number six,
One of ten we shouldn't withdraw.
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 1:53 PM UTC
The world’s on a street,
on a string, running
at incomprehensible speeds-
well it’s a 30 zone
but it might as well be
a highway for the kids-
those who pray on their knees on Sundays to please their mothers.
*Mouthing lyrics against the pillow
your lips skimming the linen,
the blinds are half cut
letting light in, highlighting your out-of-the-bed foot.
Alarm clock call was late as we relied on the front desk,
the telephone wire twisted behind cavity wall green,
so we wake together to inner city rooster roar
with the traffic tearing past and the cafes opening up to more coffee drinkers and business smokers.
We’ll get our to-go coffees
in a spree of NFC later,
watch sons saying to dads that they need to go wee
and start our day again with a hotel cup of tea.*
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 3:25 PM UTC
I love love, I love hate, I love love before it's love, I love love after it dies
I love sunny days, I love rainy days, I love overcast , and I love the snow
I love walking, I love breathing,
I love listening I love speaking
I love interactions with factions upon factions and I truly love being alone
I love the rich, I love the poor, I love Liberals and Conservatives
I love they got meanings of the terms twisted and preach so vehemently about the superiority of their ideology
I love those who speak logically, I love those who listen, I love words that were written to be spoken, and those that were just to be written
I love racists, I love blacks, I love whites, and every ethnicity with any pigmentation that falls between them or against them
I love all cultures equally, And I love cultures that hold themselves to a higher esteem than other cultures
I love Cops and I love Criminals, I love Order and alcoholics and crack addicts who just keep gettin back at it with bare minimals
I love Devote Christians, I love Krampus, I love Christmas,
I love Baphomets, I love Marvin Gaye, I love The Doors Greatest Hit list
I love Batman, I love the Joker,
I love marijuana, and both those who are and are not avid smokers
I love the freedoms I enjoy everyday and I love that men are systematically taught to hate me on a spiritual level with such passion that they would strap a bomb to their chest just to end my existence
I love the Persistence, Of time, Life, Movement, The Cosmos, and I love that it keeps on existing so fluently that we feel almost lucidly that our existence is significant =)
I love the inquisitive look in the eyes of babies asking questions without the means to ask questions that, in due time, will only be answered by questions and answers that evoke much larger questions. And I love both those questions and the appropriate answers.
I love those with and without an appreciation for the nonsensical
I love you
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 7:22 PM UTC
It's been a long time coming
I have made it this far
My life has hit a point of numbing
I hit a bar
I can feel it slipping away
Control is lost
I tell myself not to fray
Because in life you are your own boss
Only you can fire the people in it
You do have control
Every opportunity that comes you can hit
Even if it's not a grand slam you can still say you swung
Because the effort is better than the regret
You're life will not be taken form you like a smokers lung
So let's make ourselves a bet
Never live life out of fear
Because you'll end up being the one to shed a tear
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 11:09 PM UTC
When something perturbs me to such a point
I have to step back and take the whiff of realization
The opposite of one that ***** smokers take
The puff of fresh air
The one that heals instead of one that stays stagnant
And become the mouthpiece of optimism
Because God could of put me somewhere far more hellish than this
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 10:24 PM UTC
Bouncers can only stop and stare, maybe
get involved when their contract states
they've got to care, but up to that line
they wait on doorstops and thresholds,
looking for kisses from the makeup clad gold.
Smokers swell in the sea mist of the
open smoking area, they talk ideas
and travel plans, wave to no one
hoping they'll wave back again.
The bar men, the bar women and the cloakroom
attendants sing along to the songs
under tired, muttered breaths,
hoping the depth of the queue
subsides into something more serviceable.
And after?
Young ones with freshly ironed faces
**** into gutters and speak in
half-rhyme stutters, Morse code flutters that
translate into nothing more than, another beer please.
They yell as if they own the sky,
keep their echoes on rope tied to the
openings of back alleyways,
showing to her and her and her and him, his best friend, that he's
the drunkest of them all.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 11:00 AM UTC
Marching, hopping, running, waddling
down the street, people with working feet
oblivious to the stares of the woman
in a chair.
Why would they see her?
She's not even their height!
They are just people plodding and
plotting, lives rotting slowly away.
But, back to the woman in the chair
Snooping on the crowd
Watching the mothers tug at toddlers reins.
Rowing teens shouting "bruv" a lot!
She's mocking the crowd in her own way
She has become them, just invisible.
She likes it like that, knowing of you
Yet them not knowing of her.
Her awareness is acute, sees the businessman
in his suit. The homeless man in his home
called box, the elderly matrons
moaning about bingo.
The drunk with his bottle clutched as tight
as the baby clutches her bear.
The smokers all congregated at the altar of tar
The shopkeeper eyeing the kids, missing the thief
The security guard, guarding the pretty
Little things, no, not the jewellery the
teenage girls! Oh, his eyes are popping!
His legs are twitching. His fingers itching to touch!
Along with the sights are the sounds,
shouting, laughing, heckling and coughing
Smell,also plays a part in people watching
fast food, sweat, the great unwashed.
All plodding along, flocking like birds
clogging the street, swapping gossip,
unaware as always of the
young woman in a wheelchair.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 5:02 PM UTC