"decant" poems
Nan,
being slightly Victorian and
very old
would decant a bottle of Mackeson
into a teapot and
pretend to us children that she
was having her
daily cuppa.
We knew though,
could smell the sweetness
of the alcohol even through
the odours of Number 3 ***** and
macassar oil which seemed to
be an integral part of
Nan
and her Lodge street home.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 5:13 AM UTC
The cold grey clasp of Sunday
Skies blocked by an eternal ****** of crows
Fingers engrossed upon the neck
Asphyxiate existence from seamless seams
Decant the ocean obscene
Where once we were gone in a reverie
...Now only Monday is a day away
Waiting like a shadowed adversary
We obstruct our eyes
And wish the days away
Apr 24, 2011
Apr 24, 2011 at 9:12 AM UTC
Cloaked eyes of white
Open throat cries dry
Echoed padding cadence
Panting tremours
Unable to get away
The streets are unsafely empty
Equality to walk
No illiberal clocking in
I have a cogent life
Will not cede segregation
The struggle, snapped the stem
Stole the stamen from my flower
Shook my pollenous verve
Scattered my soulful scent
Destroyed my confidence to regrow
Sneering the lonesome wolf
Crushes the very flowers that will save it
Without heart of virtue
Praying on those they cannot have
Betrays their own soul without anguish
Proto-stalkers seek help
Decant your desires
Throw off your fur coat
Open up and do not venture into a nightmare
Your Samaritan will always befriend and guide
Lay down your sword
Change the parochial pathway
Magnanimous now live
Fields of flowers beckon
Don't be a brick in the wall
Embrace the feminine essence
Yield flowers their blossom
Steer the legislation to counter the wolven spread
More tulips amongst thorny parliamentarians
Educate the children and those in power
Mar 14, 2021
Mar 14, 2021 at 7:39 PM UTC
Crystals huddled together in the cold,
don't they gather,
insisting that together they are bold.
The secret of how they hold together is
in their salt-less tears
no regret at losing individuals you quiz?
One crystal, one snowflake, is insignificant
but a billion, billion, billion,
that might make a freshwater lake, to decant.
En Masse if, voices fell like hail or snowflakes,
on the ears of those who hear,
and can do, there would be change in the stakes.
One crystal clear thought, choice
one human beautiful snowflake,
one can become the voice, wrought
that rings of common sense, decency and love.
En Masse.
©ClemC092013
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 9:59 PM UTC
We worship beans like it's Bobody's business, and
Beans are my hero
Beans are fibrous
With protein and tasting
Them makes me ready
Beans over-acheive
They did not have to be so
Healthy and ****
I would pour beans where
Fate led me to decant them
Anywhere, Bridget
I'd love a salad
Made of just beans and more beans
I'd eat it with beans.
Jan 20, 2021
Jan 20, 2021 at 9:14 PM UTC
i must hustle cause i’m made of spoil
moist rice skin
thinly incases soft fluttering organs
mucus coated elastic chicken bones
run throughout my parcel
they prop me doe-ing before the lumy screen
(the screen that volunteers us all)
emaciating into my work
through this communal portal i'll detonate my legend
my spirit shall decant and dispel gladly
in the world remaining
my cadaver will become acclimated
and re-meat the soil in an easy spill
no longer alienated my work will be utter
Nov 14, 2022
Nov 14, 2022 at 6:03 AM UTC
People twist and swirl,
In a vague impression of motion
A surging stream, bodies mingle
The flowing crowd moves like water
In part I am drawn to join the decant
By a sense of missing human connection
Their minds wrap together twisted
The dance to the command of an embedded song
Snow-like static thoughts are unclear
Haunting blank stares bid me to stay aloof
A jovial atmosphere moves through the streets
On each face a hallow smile portrayed
With great effort, diverted gaze
Turning to new unmolested roads
I will not be swept away
By humanities passing parade
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 8:23 PM UTC
I stand alone lost in a night sky
without even a silent wind
to decant a silent world,
all I can hear are the whispered
dreams of the fallen,
not liberators,
just more trepidation,
Where are the Horizons?
its light
Where are the proud
, the leaders who never ceased
to claim its glorious rays?
the real stars
as I weep for what is lost
a scarlet tired world begs for them
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 9:14 PM UTC
Their love was never possible
It could not allowed to be
So deceptively decant
The way the beach consumes the sea
Amid the fields of flowers
Where no one would ever see
He stripped her heart so bare
She begged him willingly
Exchanging dangerous glances
It made her heart to race
He consumed her every thought
They made it do in haste
But their days began to narrow
The path became unsure
Deceit flared out it's nostrils
For their lust there was no cure
The parting was barely visible
She went about her way
He chose the other path
That lead down to the cay
She sails in luxurious ships
He sits in a craber's shack
They both turn their shoulders
Always looking back
Their love was never possible
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 8:23 PM UTC
Adhering to social norm, and
obligated duty at the ball
I ask Her Majesty for a dance
and she gracefully extends a hand
Then we step, spin, and sway
as eyes behold in awe
But, who am I in late e'en
to command the silence of a queen
She lay motionless in the cuverie
as I savor the côtes
rousing deep breath and sigh
And I, not befittingly
command a vineyard of floral unfold
The sun riseth not, but heat is known
as lord of land tends each blossom
and shall forsake none
Who am I to drink as a noble
and taketh of fruit so divine
Thy hands remove the canopy
which adorned all I aspire
Seized and raised to mouth
Engaging in gluttonous frolic
as the queen declares 'halt not!'
I shalt not forbid thee
a request for royal execution
Assign thy sacrifice as mine
descending on my dagger
Exhaustive love for loss of life
conquers and consumes thine eyes
Mine end too, be not untimely
as harvest comes to pass
And I, decant into your grasp
Rims of the barriques break
and a peasant dons a crown
~
Scott Mitchell
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 3:26 PM UTC
While I see trains pass a hour in my past are hoping that I can rebuild a fallen staff.
Its 1 o'clock no police men to decant a crime committed by henchmen watching startled for the love of cash.
How many snakes are camouflaged in this land of mine planting landmines to realign a **** boys aim.
Kind a strange to live a life blind folded in areas a beef is cooked cause your a project of the innocents.
How should I remember this, a partition signed by those that are ignorant in a enormous clique of amateur extortionist.
Low as hell snorting short lines of drug substances getting high off there own supply of sugar cain.
A long range of rage walking down blocks ****** a long list of coke heads on cold streets overdosed.
Shots of comatoses, breaking oxygen flowing through my brain feeling deranged about the faint choices made.
Regarding a future for a young boy to walk amongst endangered jungles, force fields and muzzles for a dog trained to ****
Steal made to be loaded by bullets filled gunpowder for war showers filled with wannabe gangstahs.
It goes like that as well as United States embacies remembering a war stopping time from 39 to 45.
>>>UNDER CONSTRUCTION<<<
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 9:53 PM UTC
Sentient beings, or puppets of fate
When, by free will or by command,
They- with vehement threads of hate-
Decant the numbness of my hand
To be Acheron's vicariates.
Black sentinels of my torment
They haunt every abode of rest
And flaunt their hoary adornement
Over the arch of my behest;
A crumbled wall of laments.
Giant companions by my side,
They shade the embers of joys
Of when I danced with Etesians' tide
And tasted the feeling that cloys,
In the garden of the Hesperides.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC
If I had religion, and it pulsed through my veins like it does in some,
I'd recant all the sins I have committed since I met you:
Lust, envy, pride, wrath, greed, and gluttony.
But instead I decant the Seven Deadly Sins inside of me:
Lust, envy, pride, wrath, greed, and gluttony,
Everything except the acedia that you stole away forever.
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 6:05 PM UTC
she ..... he
she, as sweet as honey. doe-eyed tender splendor. the sun braids her hair, the moon wipes her tears. day & night, she can only carry herself. teacup girl, you can hold her eggshell ego in your palm
calm.
she's a woeman or a wooman.
she, rue and blue. nocturnal ocular. inamorato inane. crazy stupid love, crazy stupid ladylove. predator of pure perpetual bliss, his kiss ~
she's laughter, guffaw and raw. she's cute, twee and sweet. she's every ability capable of catastrophe jealousy jalousie jade, unafraid.
a tectonic plate girl, a train wreck looking for equanimity tranquility.
a cat scratch female.
a female severe thunderstorm, warning.
auburn hair, dribbling like transferred decant hazelnut coffee
brewed shampoo sheen, his palms pouring with bountiful bliss
a cup of her.
wearing a pearl choker around her neck, she's his oyster
ready to be eaten, raw
his dear delicacy
ostentatious ritz
risqué getup glitz
lush.
he feeds her frenzied, hot, hunger for her concupiscent daydream
in actuality he has a haughty personality, between her hips arousal drips.
he's her peach, beseech with fervent fever for innocuous intimacy; enmesh and evoke in ease, please the plead we need.
he's her contour, the silhouette that invokes her earnestly and summons her evoked despondent deity, bring vigor and satisfactory vengeance.
on her mother-naked body, be the fabric that nukes her raw reprehensible physique,
be sinful, spiteful, senseless
in the way they drape.
breathe in her arousal
breathe in her lust,
touch her yearned wants and needs
touch her hankering hands,
kiss her passion
kiss her pain,
coition.
(k.m.m.)
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 12:41 PM UTC
The end is nigh, I told them.
It's belted up in that suede jacket of yours,
smoking in the half-light of attic bookshelves.
This night is unclean, I said unto her,
leathered and whimpered, wined and placated.
Have you seen this girl? Hair shines pale under a woollen hat,
answers to "End",
looks good in lipstick and stockings and sweet nothings.
Decant that red charm of yours, madam ghost, I'll pour.
Aug 7, 2019
Aug 7, 2019 at 3:46 PM UTC
most nights
you decant into my head wounds
you suggest my makeup
orchestrate my being
and sometimes
for fun
prank me with ridiculous ideas
that inspire some absurd social pratfall
lure
you make me warm and sure of myself
struck and sense numbed
but
floss in the memory
tide
i am a Diving Suit
but in misuse
i am a suit
the pressure
the deep ocean
filled from the inside
cold
darkness
and nutrients
but
i am filled from the inside
pipette
you tap drops
into special valves
along the sides of the aquarium helmet
you decorate my inner-scape
with harvesting monsters
and phosphorescence
you deteriorate the textile of my sadness
a thorough jettison
lull
via your Vegas
your adolescence
i follow your string of lights
deep sea
skiving mortality
embracing your malady
with no ill effects ?
sink deeper still
i am leadened
to your charge
and plumb to your will
deeper
Nov 18, 2019
Nov 18, 2019 at 8:20 PM UTC
Home made, completely all home made
I bet you cannot tell.
The label tells it all that I have designed
and looks good enough to sell.
I started tinkering around with ideas
what can I produce from my vine?
I can grow all sorts you know so I
will see what I can make into wine.
I have fruit in all colours and every shape
to the delicate little ruby cherry
to to most sophisticated shiny grape
and every possible home grown berry.
I have trees laden with the rich sweet
bouncy good old English plums
to the good old fashioned stone in the middle
dark red and sometimes purple damsons.
I can get my hands on nectarines, peaches
apricots galore, apricots and sweet peas
Of course Mother Nature is responsible not me
and of course the clever little bumble bees.
Well they all get mashed up
and placed in my home made vat
the aroma spreads for miles
led by next doors nosy cat.
The time you leave it matters a good deal
I like to leave the wine a good length of time
Then you know you have a decent brew
and produce quite a cheeky little wine.
Of course if you want the sparkle
it is not that much work or trouble
Want a fizz to blow the cork sky high
Make you see double with the bubble?
Add extra yeast or at least that's what I do
oh yes you are left with quite a fantastic beast
spread it on toast and float on the surface
looks disgusting and it will be a frothy yeast.
But whatever the weather whatever the tide
you are sure to have sometime to decant
Whether it will make the neighbours talk
you have produced something significant.
Pour them a drop of the old plonk
bottoms up, see you soon and good old cheers
Its fantastic this home made brewing idea
the best home made brew in years.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 11:10 PM UTC
_Gilt-edged meanderings
decant
the sediment of diurnal isolation
as autumn falls._
Apr 29, 2020
Apr 29, 2020 at 12:06 AM UTC
03:15 a.m.
The Crowd Steamy Cloud
Violently Unsilent Noct
Expelled from party tomb
Aug 8, 2019
Aug 8, 2019 at 5:23 PM UTC
Morning is moving molasses
seems like I need to wipe clean
the lens 'til it passes
Central line underground blues.
same story
he views
but still likes to choose
the way that he looks at
his life.
Red anorak lady
hold tight quilted baby
sleeping
in tune with the rest
fingernail scratchers
detach me of thoughts
as my eyes itch
to watch them some more.
stale odours
surround me
the Japanese girl
had a face mask on
she got off.
In listening to
the World through you
and your earphones
I come to the understanding
that
I have been standing
forever.
Dungarees a drag on
she's wearing them
a bag on
her shoulder
looks twenty
but
probably older
I think too much
must
have a touch of the Sun
or
a drop of the madness,
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 1:08 AM UTC
I am the monarch of my tea --
which I drink at ten-past-three --
Whose praise Great Britain loudly chants,
As they lose themselves in caffein'd trance,
As they lose themselves in caffein'd trance,
(Of Loose Leafed Tea that's sourced in Ceylon,)
And clap their batons,
in breeches and ribbons,
in a dance!
When the amber brew is spied,
My ***** swells with pride,
And I snap my fingers in the tea-house haunt,
In the estaminets and the restaurant,
In the estaminets and the restaurant,
(Of Loose Leafed Tea that's sourced in Ceylon,)
To get my quota,
of ice-tea soda,
as my want!
But when the brew is cold,
I generally arms mine fold,
And seek my rights with an English rant!
And demand my due of this G-d-blest plant
And demand my due of this G-d-blest plant
(Of Loose Leafed Tea that's sourced in Ceylon,)
of hot English tea,
with milk 'n honey,
to decant!
Alternative:
I am the monarch of my tea --
which I drink at ten-past-three --
Whose praise Great Britain loudly chants,
And so do its critics and its pundits and savants!
And so do its critics and its pundits and savants!
Its critics and its pundits,
especially its pundits,
and savants!
When the amber brew is spied,
My ***** swells with pride,
And I snap my fingers in the tea-house haunts,
And so do its critics and its pundits and savants!
And so do its critics and its pundits and savants!
Its critics and its pundits,
especially its pundits,
and savants!
But when the brew is cold,
I generally arms mine fold,
And seek my rights with an English rant!
And so do its critics and its pundits and savants!
And so do its critics and its pundits and savants!
Its critics and its pundits
[some of whom are bandits],
and savants!
May 24, 2021
May 24, 2021 at 6:59 AM UTC
(20 minute poetry)
That rebound sound and you know that we fear it,
the slingshot ricochet that moves me closer and you further away.
When the glue cracks and the sides come apart and the seamstress is on vacation
who will fix this broken heart?
I travel vacantly
unaware where I'm going or what I have seen.
It seems that the consciousness stream has been dammed as if this was planned in my own private foxhole because I know that it's war, she knows it and knew long before me,
knew of the towers that would fall in my wake, knew I'd be awake
sensing each sunrise, waiting for her to open those blue eyes and explode.
Every root I expose and each shoot left to bloom leaves me less room to decant my ancestry,
is it me
am I feeble?
She scribbled my name on the tips of her fingers,
I quibbled about the time that it took and this is the reason I'm reading at bedtime
a book on my own.
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 2:27 PM UTC
Celestial Sodomites, decant your debaucheries carefully. Here Dionysus lies -- 1969-1969. Summer sunshine sexcapades. I have been sent by the true Khalifa, supreme placeholder, perpetual nihil to sever defunct neurological pathways and lead to the pearly gates of emotional wounding. Please, open your hearts and pray with me.
Aug 2, 2017
Aug 2, 2017 at 6:56 AM UTC