"decals" poems
He gave me a ring
With its facets glazed and cracked
Insisting it was once his great-grandmother's
She who
In rot-edged vintage photos
Wore a mink stole and flapper beads.
_________________________________________
She pulls at seams
Takes up and brings down hems,
The stole pushed to the back
Of a web festooned attic
In a steamer trunk slapped with decals:
Moscow
Austria
Monte Carlo
Rio de Janeiro.
On cold days she wears it again
Dancing to old melodies on rough boards
And when she hears the front door slam
It's made to disappear in haste,
Her engagement ring clacking
Against the trunks flip locks.
That night as she makes biscuits
For her breadwinner she sees
The crack, the chip
Through a glaze of milked flour.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 3:51 PM UTC
I think he’s worried that if he gives me the keys I will walk into his heart and immediately start redecorating. He has things set up the way he likes and he doesn’t want his posters torn down for wall decals of birds and quotes about love. He knows (it’s happened before) that most people can’t help but want to change things. No matter how much they like the way it looks, they can’t help but get started thinking what if… They have their ideas about how it should look. They want to put in their night tables and their paper lanterns. They want to make your heart theirs.
And when they leave (which they inevitably do, we are all some sort of nomad) they take some parts and leave others and you are left with a half full, cluttered heart. You have to make the long and painful decisions about what belongs there; try to remember what was there before she came. You try to sift out which parts of you she built, and which parts are worth keeping.
What he doesn’t understand about me is that I am not in the habit of making homes. I don’t like too much to stay. A blanket, bed and books are all I need. So he can keep his posters, and hang whatever lights he wants. If I admire the décor its only because I can see the way it lights up his eyes.
So I keep knocking, I keep peeking in the windows. And he keeps stalling, putting things in their right place, worried that if he lets me in I’ll start knocking things down. And I can’t claim to not be a master of messes. I can’t claim I wont throw my laundry on the floor, and forget to scrub the toilet, and get sugar in the crevices of all the kitchen appliances for some late night cupcakes.
But I am not the type to move furniture. And when I’m gone it will be all yours again, every quiet corner. Maybe just a fingerful of sugar lingering behind a clean coffee mug will remind you that I was ever there at all.
Apr 24, 2018
Apr 24, 2018 at 9:56 AM UTC
I see those off
gold metallic
chevy cavaliers
everywhere.
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 3:26 PM UTC
Like the car you dumped at the junk yard, you left me an empty shell of what I once was.
You grabbed your suitcase and emptied all of me into it as soon as you found a vessel more flashy to carry your soul.
My tires weren't brand new but my tread still hugged your road with great traction.
My speakers crackle with age but I still played your favorites at your request.
I have rust and some dents, but my glass was clear enough for you to see the path ahead.
I may idle rough, and my exhaust is loud when you test my pedals with force, but I could've gotten you where you wanted to go.
You partially lifted my decals, left the burnt-out air freshener dangling, dancing on the mirror, and the lighter you lost is still in my pocket.
But I have a full tank of gas and someone new's got the key.
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 8:33 PM UTC
this title has begrudgingly waited for some loving kindness, fulfillment-needy, since October of Two Thousand and Seventeen
which is not quite as long as the decades I have been waiting to
accumulate the words to provide us both, an inspired solution
my days are numbered
in decades, decals, varying lengths of hair,
belts with notches that ain’t reachable,
suits various, both too big and too small to fit,
the who who used to own them,
begrudgingly, writes this
city born and bred, with the pale skin needed to prove my urbanity, each day came unto me begrudgingly,
even, especially, the good ones
when I was ten and rode my bike from freedom to mystery,
and back again in a city that was ok, if you stayed out of its way
and knew the city’s vocabulary and its erogenous zones
when nothing come easy, when even the easy, when it comes, comes begrudgingly
when you think of love, and the next immediate thought is:
how great the cost - recalling too well,
the pain of childbirth and child rearing
and the staining, paining fluid is in perm-attendence,
that doesn’t ever fully departs and
is not never entirely stain-stick-removable,
and the children come ‘n go according to their schedule,
someone else’s vast eternal plan
life in the same apartment
where my parents died,
listening to the stories of joined lives,
listen to the sisters telling them
over and over to a stream of visitors
earned from and of a 98 year life,
given up willing but, begrudgingly as well.
the story-telling skill because of them,
my mist-matched parents who did ok
and their very best,
gifted us hyperbole innate genetic
and all of us now registered
tall tale tellers;
some write for a living,
some live to write,
some write to make themselves clearer,
after honestly confronting their subway reflection
words acquired bot ‘n sold,
they too are stains unerasable,
very always handy,
the one thing we shared, word skill,
was never at loss, words never held a grudge
no matter how long they waited to serve
this fact, begrudgingly confess;
all my-word skill was freely inherited...
and I hope it satisfied the title
and you, those that waited patiently but,
begrudgingly
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 4:00 PM UTC
Concise, smooth
... in the mind's motor
Change the gears
... in the mind's motor.
Smooth transition
Up & Down
Forward & Reverse
The clutch
is not the crutch
the crucifix logo
on the bonnet
covering the forehead.
Pain on the dashboard
Diviners, decals or designators
Inflictors, innovators or inflexions
Pain on the Dashboard
Ignition, perception, cognition
waits for the turn key
in the soft tissue starter motor.
Turning indicators
flicker flash
amber red
there is no green.
Headlamps a dull glow
in the white hot agony
of the parking lot.
Robyn Youl.
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC
1. Yesterday tasted like teardrops
Each droplet the loneliest messenger
The saline was tougher than usual this time
It skipped my cheek bone
Lit up my taste buds like gunfire
And now my mouth is drowning in the vowels tomorrow has to offer
Yesterday felt like monster truck tire marks
On the junk car assembly line
Yesterday never felt this deadly before
Those weapons
The ones with dragons painted on the side
The big purple ones with names like Beast or Destroyer
With fire decals that looked fake enough to smile at
Were real enough to crush us
Crush yesterday
Crush everything we always wanted to be
And I've never been so ready for nothing to exist
Yesterday sounded like daffodils in December
The silence only former lovers know
Each petal looking for one last chance you know it doesn't deserve
Yesterday sounded like a good time to give up
To get the hell out of here
Yesterday makes a fool of the horizon
Pretending there is nothing worth searching for
Like there is nothing left at all
It’s morning
Today hits you in the forehead with a spitball
Grabs you out of bed
Points you to the windowsill
And smiles
You turn around
Bed just out of arm's reach
But today taps you on the shoulder
Leans in and whispers the good news mom used to leave you with at the bus stop
It blends in with the cool breeze for a moment
You go outside
Grab that jacket your grandmother bought you last Christmas
Zip it up right above your bellybutton
And remember the wind can give the best advice
Today brought you your favorite mixtape
The one you left in your high school locker
And today likes the stereo real loud
You cruise with the windows down all day
You drive west
Swear you can beat the sunset
You imagine you're driving a monster truck
And you destroy today
Take everything you ever wanted back
You see yesterday in the rear view mirror as you approach the beach
It's dusk
You smile
You jump right in the water and know there's no turning back
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 1:19 PM UTC
With every line written,
All I have given,
These rhymes nothing more,
Than self made prison,
Trying to avoid tunnel vision,
The pen that left crimson,
The petals of emotion,
The decals of wisdom,
Rip apart
Like faint heart,
This ain't art.
This dirt on my shoes,
Ain't wishing for me to loose,
Every step taken,
The pages left brazen,
True rhymes feel like a haven,
For the endangered species of the kingdom,
I ain't talking about reading between the lines,
I am talking about freedom.
Oct 7, 2010
Oct 7, 2010 at 8:21 AM UTC
The rumors are true,
Nighttime crowds, hand stuffed hoodies.
Blah blah blah. Yada yada yada.
V neck t-shirts with decals printed on the back of them.
Sweatshirts. Loose cargo shorts.
The holiday of photo galleries captured between blinking eyes.
Tickets sold half priced.
Too bad movies aren't the way they used to be.
A stigma that everything around changes.
A few empty seats, one empty stall in the men's bathroom.
A exclusively graphic depiction of unzipped blouses, unbuttoned pants.
Toilet tissue stuck to the bottom of worn shoes.
Suddenly there's a tote for whatever bag that needed to be held.
But then again we're just chatting, aren't we. Two souls with nothing to do but vandalize each other's mind.
Blah blah blah. Yada yada yada.
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 7:32 PM UTC
On my seventeenth birthday
I left talcum footprints
On the stairs
As my feet padded around
the house.
-
I woke up late to no buzzing phone
And a birthday cake
hidden under
the bathroom sink
-
I spent the day weightless
but as evening came
my body turned to
heavy lead
-
I was poison
amongst the lively
asian men
and women
that planted food
on my table
that I made toxic
-
I knew now
that my fate was sealed
in the gold wall decals,
the birds that never sang
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
Wake up, I'm still breathing
Deep breath, Sun still shines
Scattered thoughts, Need to focus
Determination, Now's the time
Moments pass, Familiar faces
Small towns, I've seen these names.
Past employment?
Residential greetings?
Does it really matter? Seasons change.
One step forward, Never backward.
Head held high, There is no shame.
The ones we've lost Will not be forgotten
They are gone But not in vain.
Open minded, Training neurons
Information sticks like glue
Coherent words, expressed, Well spoken
Living
Learning
Right on que.
Kitchen decals, Pen to paper,
Carbon copies, Bruised Left thigh
Inspiration
Beat
ing
Bleed
ing
What's the Question?
Am I me??
Or I know I??
I Am a Nurse
And Fearless fighter
I'm a mother and a Friend
Unfinished Masterpiece in progress
With no Beginning, without End
I am Perfect Imperfections.
A constant journey to improve.
I am Light containing Darkness
I'm sometimes wrong, but who are you??!
I Am Flesh and Bone Created by Unmoved mover of all that IS.
I am student, sometimes teacher
I'm not labelled by past ****
I'm Slightly damaged, Never broken
Bruises fade, These Bones do mend
I'm organizing matter..
Reestablish
Reinvent
Ing
Reunite
Ing
Inner Freedom
To try and Place my Faces to the Place to Face your Name-
L. DeCypher
Jul 3, 2019
Jul 3, 2019 at 1:13 AM UTC