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concrete jungle heatsuffocating cityscape~ bare feet loving grass......Mark Toney © 2021.5/13/2021 - Poetry form: Haiku (for you)
Buildings of blue Reflecting the sunlight, Like brothers and sisters Competing in height. Indian, Chinese, Mediterranean, A variety of cuisines. The CN Tower and Rogers Centre stadium.
Trade without consent Forced from a forest of trees Fear asylum of steel
I forget them in the day time, all the little lights At me they wave and blink and do their damndest to get my attention, but I pay them no mind
My dreams are so big It’s hurt small minded people They can’t wrap their minds are my big dreams So instead
We, the new generation, are the dream. We, dentist smiles and thin, diet bodies. Fluorescent lights, hope for a star to deem
Dear twenty-seventeen there's a lot of things you showed me like how time can move so slowly then get faster than you'd like there's a lot of things that happened like my highschool days at home
We’re rich, and posh, really fancy We can afford to blow all our money On things that were never necessary. And then other things that we see.
Buzzing with your rainbow dreams All those diamond cities scream Is everything just what it seems? Golden people planning schemes
And I seem to be stuck I cannot seem to move The atmosphere of this place surrounds me The people, they don’t seem to care
Wow, how fast time has gone Wow, how old I have become
In the city, coffee-toting zombies of the morning pass along the avenue, a rich soup of smog and haze. Skyscrapers stretch to block the sun, weeds growing in the cracks of neglected sidewalks. The
Kerülök egyet városomban, gyalog, mint balog. A terjengő füstszag üdvözöl, mint régi ismerős, én is kalapomat emelem, s' továbbmegyek. Sétálóutcára keveredek, embertömeg szerte szét.
When you pass down the streets in Chicago, Cleveland, and Atlantic City, you see it in their eyes. They’re not yet sixteen, acting eighteen, Driving their moms up a wall when they don’t come home for supper.
Do you know who you are? Tell the truth since the truth is a heavy matter Are you as chill and sleek as your car? Or do you see yourself as scattered and splattered
Looking up into the sky, Seeing towers that offer dreams. The American Dream within your hand. Comfort, luxury, could it be a dream? What seems like a dream is nothing, Nothing but slavery in disguise!
"Seven years," was my mantra when I first moved. I don't belong here, and now it's too late to belong there and I find these havens, in sanctuaries and trees and basement rooms
one more turn and it's the Mission District. i'm taking pictures of strangers. these are my people, and