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Insulating mass of fibers holding out the world iPod earbuds trailing wires, nothing else is heard Pressing through a horde of humans, never looking up Texting, posting, finding romance, all without...
This poem was written by yet another friend, now sadly gone too. I think its worth reading, he was quite a character.........
#household A mug can be refreshing or evil. I'd rather the one of delight A steaming mug of hot tea Or an attack in the darkness of night.
I opened the main door of my Flat this morning only to be faced with dark skies and a steady rainfall - bloody awful weather.I stood there for a moment trying to decide wether to take the pathway or...
A kind old man Came yesterday Gave me water But walked away I stared at him As he turned his heel No thanks I spoke How must he feel.
I'm the boy you walked right past, I'm sitting on the street. Staring dully, eyes cast downwards, Towards my mucky feet. Had no food, and had no drink- It's not like you would care.
Isn't it funny how 1 tiny thing can change your day. Like I was walking down the street thinking ...gosh, life's kinda boring right now, I do the exact same thing every week.
A funny thing happens to a hole in a road, One of life's mysteries I am sure. Cause as soon as a hole in our road appears, It attracts workmen at a rate of four score.
Dora is my friend's mother in law. She was born in 1906, she is 106 years old and is still rational but keen to move on to a better place,( her words). Dora recalled these memories when she was 95.
It's sunny here in Singapore. Too sunny for my liking. I love the rain; I embrace it. I'd even get wet in it. The weather has just been terrible for me.
Cars screeching. Horns tooting. Men preaching. People looting. Siren wailing. Mobiles ringing. Robberies failing. Buskers singing. Music blaring. kids playing. Tunes sharing. Rubbish decaying.
There was once a kitty,. A cat that was so bright,. He lived inside a city,. And he was such a sight,. He had his own apartment,. He earned alot of money,. He always pays his rent,.
I was born in the city. And that's where I was made. Grew up in the City. And that's where I get paid. Made my home in the city. In a house made of bricks. Learned some game in the city.
Walking down the street I see her once again Petite pretty girl whose face is always in my brain Long dark hair,with stunning green eyes Every time I see her I act like its a surprise.
He tucks his trousers into his boots. No shirts or ties he owns no suits. At the crack of dawn he's half awake, he hits the gym for heavy weights.
Night will fall. Replace the day. It's when the darkness. Comes to play. See the girls. Dim lit street. Trying hard. To make ends meet. See the boys. Not yet men. Waste their wages. Drunk again.
Today, another day to drag myself out of bed. Outside the skies grey, rain threatening. My head is pounding, aching from a lack of sleep, as I slowly roll back the covers.
Is it children playing Knock a door run. Or just the Paperboy Delivering the sun. The invisible man. The wind or the rain.
"pat pat pat,splish " One lonely girl walking down the street "pat pat pat,splish" Clothing all soaked,feet bare and wet,cherry nail polished chipped "pat pat pat splish" Humming a tune and walking...
I take my dog for walks at night So I don't wake to heaps of shite... Strategically dropped instead Where I step once i'm out of bed.
We're caged in by six tall buildings. Sun glinting. Two pairs of eyes I'm shielding. I stand still and listen to confused silence. Rushing suits jostle my shoulder. That's white collar violence.
It's Monday no Funday. So let's all have some fun.
I give my mate a croggy when he walks to Vernon Park, his black eyes are always open and he's game for any laugh.
the dying fear to touch a door to a stall that's locked. make sure the door is open. push. stand in front of the toilet and lock the greasy knob. sit. the plates cold.