construction remnants

Someone spilled rock and sand on the city street below. I didn’t see them do it, I can only guess how it happened. The clamor to rush away as the traffic light announced the alternation of stopping and going. A truck’s tailgate pushed too hard by the weight of the load upon acceleration. A trail of dust and sand tumbled to the asphalt in an effort to escape, only to be trampled by thousands of cars over the next few hours. Each time someone drives over the rocky debris a hiss escapes from tire and sand skittering in opposite directions while somehow maintaining a glistening track on the dark street. It sounds like someone thinks it’s going to snow, like preparation for the ice and cold February is known for. It feels like spring though. The air is warmer and the sun lingers longer, diminishing the length of the darkness that haunts us from one season to the next. I find myself drifting off, dreaming of a deep, clear sky speckled with dots, sifting the light from distant planets and stars through the dark, warm air. In my mind I remember a summer night where the stray sparks from a fire mingled with the stars. Everything felt so possible, so near. Then wheel meets dust and I’m back in my apartment. Sitting up in bed, the only night sky I can muster lives on a backlit screen and the line of sand in the road is one I cannot cross nor can I understand. 

Certains batiments et constructions dégagent une énergie particulière, une vie qui leur est propre. On partage avec eux un temps, à leur rythme. Majoritairement, je ne fais que les observer, attiré par ces énergies, j'y pénètre parfois quand l'occasion m'est présentée ou que j'y suis invité, voir contraint, parce qu'il y a des lieux que j'éviterais si je le pouvais, dont la pulsion me déplait. Les feuilles du lierre qui court en veines sur cette maison, bruissaient en vagues dans le grand vent qui chassait dans le couloir de la rue. Tout autour de moi le bruit, l'animation d'une place proche qui se répendaient dans les rues adjacentes. Les trams, bus, voitures, piétons, cyclistes passaient, tournoyant, bruyant, patientant. La maison était calme et forte, caressée par le vent, habituée au tumulte, à peine distraite. Sa tranquilité majestueuse et le mur de briques rouges qui la longe ont attiré mon oeil comme le vert qui la couvre et donne à la nature un droit visuel là où le gris et les couleur fades imposées dans nos villes dominent. . . #animism #animisme #ivyinvasion #ivy #livinghouse #lifethings #house #ivycovered #building #colorsinarchitecture #townincolors #colorsincity #citypoetry #citystory #wherethelifeis #energyofthings #streetpicture #streetsofbelgium #streetphotography #streetpicture #brussels🇧🇪 #bruxelles🇧🇪 #belgique🇧🇪 #belgium🇧🇪 #evere #schaerbeek #cellphonepicture #nofilter #lionelcampionphotographe (à Evere) https://www.instagram.com/p/CBKmdJFHc5j/?igshid=blc2o8aih65k

Walking home in the dead of the night, finding poetry in random places. #poetry #mycity #citypoetry #publicart #mironbiałoszewski #poezja #wiersz #randomplaces #mojemiasto

Smilza su verde mela, vita da grondaia . . . #city #urbanphotography #pastelcolors #shadow #lines #detail #citypoetry (presso Florence, Italy) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bt6tv8Ylm5a/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1flhetuzv6gbk

#poetry #words #powerofwords #movimentodiemancipazionedellapoesia #milan #milanpoetry #art #artinmilan #citypoetry (Ph. @camibia_ ) (at Milan, Italy)

•una signora mi ha detto: la poesia è tutto ... cuore,testa, ma soprattutto viscere• #makemyday #citypoetry (presso Milan, Italy)

Look at the beauty from this 3rd grader. Just beautiful. ...the statements leave no doubt and the sustained “s” throughout like a breeze until the final release of “wind”. . . . . #nationalpoetrymonth #poetry #3rdgrade #poet #instagood #instabook #poem #nyc #citypoetry (at New York, New York)

#despair #consumerism #isolation #oursocietytoday #pathetic #citypoetry (at London, United Kingdom)

#Repost @womanchester0161_pics ・・・ A bit different from my love of 📸 - just a little poem I wrote for fellow Mancs and how we can all interpret it personally. Of course in many different ways for everyone it’s been a tough year, but just remind yourself you’re made of Northern Grit 💪🏽🐝📸 April is onwards and upwards🌸 . . . #manchester #mcr #mcruk #poetry #poetrycommunity #poetsofinstagram #poetrylovers #lifeupnorth #poetrysociety #creativemanchester #poetrytalk #societypoetry #poetcity #apoeticview #streetwritersofficial #uniquepoets #Mancunian #themanc #manchestereveningnews #manchesterpoets #mcrstreet #wallpoetry #wallpoems #citypoetry #feelgoodclub (at Manchester, United Kingdom) https://www.instagram.com/p/CNS-U0tA2ks/?igshid=1ft6jylk1fewn

I feel ya Alexander #homunculus #poetry #citypoetry #nyc #brooklyn (at Crown Heights, Brooklyn)

Capillaries

The ants crumble into the red dust As if the earth is sucking them under Mounds and mounds Of red dust Climb out of the pavements And sprawl on to the kerb Like daylight is a drug The queen ant heaves Towards her supper As her workers skitter through Their labyrinths And the sun creaks Under the moon As a murder of crows Bargain with the fading daylight The sun blisters Into the milky blind moon And while the moths Chase dreams in the streetlights Drunks Swallow and wallow In theirs A morning rain comes Soaks And flattens the mounds Of red dust Like lava lashing out At a city. I look out Between the racing raindrops On my window And wait And watch For the mounds Of red dust To be rebuilt To be rebuilt To be rebuilt

∧

morning after morning i rise to this frozen metropolis- this city of steel and iron girders, this mercury lift

some call it a broken promise, an abandoned enclave,  a prison others say it is  a sleeping possibility, a gasping fortuity, a desperate chance

but for me  this urban tundra is the bright red-glowing city of our love,  the city of you

home to all the streets we’ve walked and every dim corner where you’ve kissed me tenderly enough to reincarnate whatever humanity I had left

this is the city of your laughter of the countless, nameless faces i search for the warmth of your eyes and come up short of so many beautiful people never you enough

this is the city of our divining of your whispered words and my full silences of my feasting heart and your burning fire how could i ever call another place home?

The Grey Space

You can just about make Out the city gulls Twisting their wings Incredibly As the sky becomes Grey, the strange space Between day and night

The only light in here Sprays from the TV Some fuzzy shaky doc About poets and publishers and friends And how they knew Bukowski

Everything has been removed Here, packed into cardboard boxes The one on the chair has Baking potatoes Written on it But they were gobbled up a long time ago Like the night gnashing and devouring Into the day The ceiling leaks A mouse lives in the walls A window-sill is falling through with damp A tramp lives in the rusty car in the garden But this has been our home With rotating neighbours

The boxes will travel across the city Mimicking the seagulls above Then emptied and chewed up To create something new

Moving to the other side Of the city, new pavements New roads, new faces New beginnings But the seagulls will still Sink into the grey space As the sun diminishes And the night stretches out And yawns above