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Bourgeois DreamsBourgeois DreamsBourgeois Dreams
Red stroked street, a red stroked night I buy a red room, under the red light. The red makes a change- at least from the grey The red makes a change it washes away- Lust of desire, the shameful love The bought love, I can pack up at night I can shove
Into a box and lock away, My bourgeois dreams for another day
by ~WaterFOOLfoundation
Whitechapel DemonsWhitechapel demonsWhitechapel Demons
Cocaine white playing off the shining sun, Sit the neat rows of Marlebourne’s jewels. Lines of conflict diamonds Polished, Perfect. Fitted with neat trim emerald bushes, And golden furnishings. They sit deliberate and proud, like
Costumed generals addressing the queen. This oh this is Whitechapel’s dream. Over paid politicians, and brokers and Bentleys, Beautiful the façade that we wish to see. This oh this is Whitechapel's dream.
In the same city, littered on the same floor, Lie giant towers, built tall built cheap,
by ~WaterFOOLfoundation
Two LoversTwo LoversTwo Lovers
They kept the whole world to themselves, And lived on nothing but love and heroic desires Melted down to brown on silver foil And dreamt a million times over.
At night they lay naked … side by side… Two lovers entwined like branches,
Or ivy,
And through their sleeping minds all their thoughts were of each other. The moonlig
by ~WaterFOOLfoundation
Staring at the 1730Staring at the 1730Staring at the 1730
A sea of black Pinstripe suits and, black Bowler hats swell on the platform, 9-5 employees waiting for the same train home, To identical flat pack Ikea houses,
To the same smiling wife And hard working children, In the same housing estate, In the same town. The crowd moves, not fluidly Like liquid but Organised, in time.
Then in rolls the 1730 to Edinburgh,
And it waits expectantly at the platform, Letting its bell ring to the crowd. No one moves, the pack are still, The pack stare — And gr
by ~WaterFOOLfoundation
Favourites
Pebbleby ~BlackWolf1991
working manhe was a hoary man one whose hair was a slickedworking man
field of black tobacco with
thick rows of skin between the herbs
he was a generous man one whose lenient vivacity for life
had cost him a forefinger
and half of his right ear,
though he could still pull back the rake
he was a quiet man one whose yellow-toothed grins
were found on the floor after sales
but had been discovered and used as fertilizer with the rest of the garbage
he was a misconstrued man one whose farm was sold to his neighbor who bulldozed it and built
by ~San-Tropez
coffee cityby =pushOK-12
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Devious Info
- Interests: eating, writing running chatting drinking dreaming dazing
- Favourite movie: clockwork orange
- Favourite band or musician: pete doherty or morrisey (before he got old and boring)
- Favourite genre of music: i have no idea... see above
- Favourite artist: salvador and warhol pretty mainstream abstract
- Favourite poet or writer: me.... lol... nah... orwell, huxley definately, david mitchel, wilfred owen, yeats
- Favourite photographer: froome
- Shell of choice: turtle
- Favourite game: rugby and traffic lights
- Tools of the Trade: pen/keyboard
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FROOME WAS ERE
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FROOME WAS ERE
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