My Home

I see empty places and lonely cracked roads

I hear big cranes and builders banging and bashing into build new buildings 

I smell old dust that rushes through my nose

I touch the air that rushes through my five fingers 

I can see and hear the water streams that calmly plot through the city

I slowly walk past mums work the “Breakfree” 

on Cashel street 

and get the sense of my mum.

Christchurch is my home for me.

The street poem

A ginormous, lonely road 

leads off to the distance

with old smudgy cracks in it 

from earthquakes in the past years 

probably by the San Andreas fault line.

One set of traffic lights 

with an old street sign 

dangles down from up high.

Power lines droop like bunting at a fair

draped down the road.

I am a fast car, who zooms

past an AT&T network sign 

seen from the cockpit.

Where should I go next? 

Will there be a gas station soon?

Or will you take me for a warrant of fitness?

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I am learning to improve my writing by adding words in like I sprang out of the water and more. I am trying to use simile, I have used two simile. 

My next step is to make metaphor be taking away ‘like’ and turning it a metaphor.