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On my way to school I wasn't feeling good But then something happened That lifted up my mood A little boy with his mom He just stood at his place His mom was walking onwards But a weird grin on his...
Excuse me, ma'am. Do you need a shoulder to cry. Take my hand and come inside, You don't have to explain why. Excuse me, ma'am. Do you wish to come and speak.
"That's sick bro" Whatever do you mean. I've spent many an hour painting these trees "That's what I mean bro, those paintings are bad" Sorry start again I don't understand.
I stood up, tall and lean and towering over many, and swept my crystalline eyes over the crowd.
Dear Diary, I wouldn't normally say 'Dear diary' because I feel like that's a American thing (no offence) but I guess I should do it so people know what I'm talking about.
The girl walked slowly to the lamppost and gazed at the snow which was now falling heavily. Words could not describe how miserable she felt.
Our paths overlap, we keep happening to meet, Criss cross criss cross, I want to hide under under the sheet. You walk on by, your eyes stony cold, in my chilled hands pieces of broken heart i hold.
I don't know you Or you, me. But in passing You left me irradiated; Glowing from the outside in Suddenly and beautifully Breaking down. In a glass lift Outside floor thirty-four You smiled.
Figures hurrying through the streets- plugged into music, hiding under hoods and umbrellas. Eyes glazed, looking only to the chewing gum strewn pavement, desperate to avoid the humanity around them.
What a beautiful day it was today. Not a cloud in the expanse of blue. The autumn sun beat gently on my face as i made my way to the high street, pushing sleepy Erin in her pram.
I walked along a busy street, An old man just sat and prayed. This man seemed wise and caring, I could see it in his gaze. He told the busy passers by The things he'd learnt and seen.
There's another one on Harley Street Out of a side door it bumped into me Unsure of the language this one speaks Voice a bit deep with the occasional squeaks Are you now a her but was a him.
Something about the way she moves. She glides. She grooves. Floating her way. Through the day. No classic beauty. As such. But a cutey. And when it was my turn. No words. They were for the birds.
My tale is a short, slightly tear jerking one about how sometimes. despite how much of a cynic you are, people can really surprise you. I begin this tale in a bus.
#nightdwellers I'm in this kebab shop waiting Long cues and piss heads swaying Now rapidly turning into a bar Then in she walks and all eyes exam her I don't gawp like all the others which for...
A man was riding on a crowded bus, standing room only. The bus stopped and an elderly lady got on carrying a large picnic basket.
Ever had that slightly awkward moment when a stranger tries to overtake you whilst walking but can't quite out pace you so ends up walking beside you for a distance. If so then this poem is for you...
This is a true story. I was walking to my local music store in my lunch break, taking my guitar to be restrung. A rather cocky young kid said to me "you can't have a guitar, you're in a suit".
Dragging the luggage, rushing out to the gate of Heathrow Airport, she was desperately eager for some fresh air. She lighted a cigarette, and started to check the timetable to Greenwich station.
A bum asks a man for $2. The man asked, "Will you buy booze. " The bum said, "No. " The man asked, "Will you gamble it away. " The bum said, "No.
'It was a cool December night And I was on the pull When I met this lovely-looking girl In the bar of "The Talking Bull".
Awkward glances. Shared moment. Bronzed olive skin like beef: Tinned; outdated Oily smooth Silk hair - dyed. Eyes penetrating. (No war paint; Good!) You guess.
We're both traveling an endless sidewalk. We both look straight ahead, not minding the other people squeezing in between us. We didn't touch, stiffness runs in our body but we continue walking.
I was walking through town, Not a cloud in the sky. Hotter than an oven, Hotter than that guy. "That guy" named example A, gave me a glare. Not a wave, oh no, just a simple stare.