Poems about architecture


№ 946524

Reload the Architecture, babe

The stars are shivering tonight
As your breath cloisters round my neck
While the hands of the clock
Move backward


architecture,  babe,  reload.

Author: Lacus Crystalthorn
Date: 12/08/2019

№ 854434

Designing the architecture

Going somewhere to get somewhere but it's nowhere I know, I'm
Going anyway and moving yesterday back to the somewhere I once knew.

You say, that it's you and so do I,
It must be
Each to their own in another one's eye.

So we'll all go there
Is it anywhere that we know?
I know it's somewhere
Being nowhere on the road
That we go.

I think it was a man but
It's hard to tell,
Too much gel.
I yelled at him anyway
Somewhere in
But it could have been a girl and
Now I'll never know.

Time and the thrill
She loaded her eyes just to kill me
It could have been him
Both slim
And now I'll never know.

architecture,  designing.

Author: John Edward Smallshaw
Date: 20/05/2019

№ 828374

A New Architecture 10w

His first love
Is in ruins
His second
Being build


Author: The forgotten one
Date: 26/04/2019

№ 806656

I do not like the architecture of the mall

I do not like the architecture of the mall.
It's discordant and lax. The architects
Dismissed all Edwardian charm
And even the Gothic grace.
When crossing my field of vision,
The mall concedes defeat,
Whimpering against a prismatic sky:

"I am a hodgepodge of ambition distressed,
Resolute on pioneering a style unlike anything past,
But locked off in dead history, trapped
In a monologue whose audience is myself. "

I presume it's the same across the world,
Architecture molded into something impulsive,
Something so forced it falls flat.

Where have all the artchitects gone?

architecture,  mall.

Author: CH Gorrie
Date: 07/04/2019

№ 733129


The sprain in my back surfaced again today,
A thrice familiar friend since I slipped on ice
Four februarys ago – it became the high note
In the chorus of aches I enjoyed this afternoon.

The line has blurred and I'm unsure of whether or not
My body is rebelling against me or I against it -
I've forced my appetite into a tidy corner
Under the banner of self control, it's capricious
As my moods and fits well into my general motto -
To do without.

Today it is my body placed under the daily lens.
I study my long, swooping lines in the mirror,
Much like I often do to my face – staring
As if locked in a constant attempt to recognize myself.

I remember first grade,
Where I formed a mental picture of myself, what
I was sure to look like when I was thirty -
As if it were in my control, a decision to be made
Like what to eat for breakfast.

To compare, from what I can remember of it:
I've turned out taller, significantly less blonde
(why I thought I would be forever a mystery)
And eight year old self will be disappointed to learn
My hair never did get tamed – it's still unruly,
Prone to erupt and expand like curling wisps of smoke
If tampered with, as if to comb it is some grave insult.

I'm watching my hands as I type, and thinking,
Much like I often do, that these fingers racing
Across the keys are mine – from time to time
They appear to belong to a stranger, the wrinkles
And creases unfamiliar and foreign. slowly
I'll recognize them like a long forgotten friend
Seen in passing, remember they're the same hands
That have always been – this is a wonder to me.


Author: Cameron Martin
Date: 30/01/2019

№ 727873

For the two architecture majors that fell in love

You'd see most of his skeleton as a jail somewhere in venezuela
But only foreign parts like the vertebrae or the clavicle
The rest was this type of bold architecture that mired this house
This house will be seen
Newly appointed

See him build libraries out of open systems
He built a retrospective exhibition of me

I was a white chapel, made up of all the handprints on the sidewalk that were left the day god had the audacity to let it rain
A white chapel whose green glass façade echoed the street
I was judith
A view of his interior space defined from bright colours and daylight
That lasted six floors up
I was his private urban world
Built of high tides and the bluest grass you'd ever choke on

architecture,  fell,  love.

Author: Anna Sintsirmas
Date: 25/01/2019

№ 645500


When you first invited me to your house
And I thought all my thoughts
The pieces of my mind arranged themselves
In to the room that I thought suited you
And the window was wide but dirtied so I didn't know what view you had
And the bed was large enough for the two of us
And the computer you use to kiss me was in the corner beside the door
Across from the wardrobe where you hid your dirty magazines and skins.
And the floor was worn with childhood.

But I soon discovered that your floor was carpeted
And the window was small and on the wrong wall
And you don't have a computer in your room-
There is one in the study of your house
That all
The family


Author: May
Date: 12/11/2018

№ 625771

The Delusion of Architecture

It's beautiful:
Watching the clouds dissolve the left-overs
Of our fatal grace.

This is how we disappear.

architecture,  delusion.

Author: Lacus Crystalthorn
Date: 25/10/2018