My house was smashed, broken and torn,
All walls were holes full of light,
So I moved into town to another small place,
Where the walls could seal airtight.
Then boxing day came in the summer of sun,
We left the air con on for our dog,
And the electrics broke and fire ensued,
Filling the house with a dark sooty smog.
Another quick move to a place by a lake,
A caravan I now proudly call home.
With a bed and a chair, two windows and fridge,
Now I can simply roam.
My housing’s fluid, from farm to a river,
To city, to the suburbian day.
I’ve become like a gypsy, ready to move,
Prepared for a new place to lay.
Categories:
suburbian, adventure, life,
Form: Quatrain
Walking past their witching cackles
and Phantom screams I noticed
them all looking the same
External, different
Masquerading they all were
pulsing to the rhythm of
their hearts and music
Symphony of noise all around
Internally they are all different
each their won unique voice,
look, feelings, they only differ
from the masked appearances
all of them united in their
dance. They internally do not
know each other, their
Suburb homes, Suburbian
life, faking rap/hip-hop
appreciation, they don't know
each other and yet, masked
on this night, they still don't
The moonlight allows me to
see the truth of this Masquerading
Troupe of Suburbia.
Categories:
suburbian, allegory
Form: Free verse