"decker" poems
Letter, letter born to return to sender--
extra-marital, maritime, marine, mercy, mercy mine--
two drinks in; four from home,
letter, letter born to return to sender--
.38 special, sexless, spiteful, spitting, spitting rites--
three drinks in; three from home,
letter, letter born to return to sender--
double-decker, drugged, dangerous, daggers, daggers dried--
four drinks in; two from home,
letter, letter born to return to sender--
clusterfucked, fancy-free, foreign, fine, fine unwind,
five drinks in; one from home,
letter, letter born to return to sender--
ether cloud, Evelyn, earthware, everyday, everyday signs--
six drinks in; on the carpeted floor,
letter, letter born to return to sender,
whitewashed, weakly, wounded, wishing, wishing for home.
Dec 17, 2011
Dec 17, 2011 at 3:24 AM UTC
.
T h e
F an t a s t i c
Rocking Horse
T h e Catherine
W heel The Glo w
ing Triangle The
****** The Nirv
ana The Padlock
The SlideThe Ape
The Butterfly The
Ascent to Desire
The Balancing Act
The Splitting Bam
boo The Curled A
n g e l The Bridge
The Clip The Clos
se-up The Double
Decker The Seduc
Tion The Crouchi
ng TigerThe Hero
The Dolphin Th e
Frog The Glowing Juniper The Plow
The Peg The Classic The Kneel The Reclining Lotus The Lustful L eg The Eagle The Cros
s The Rowing Boat The Star Doggy Style
The Super 8 The Bandoleer The
M a g i c Mountain
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 9:37 AM UTC
NAKED BUS
She catches the London bus
in her fist.
Gnaws it...then throws it
through the window.
Lucky the window wasn't
closed.
She chews it when
teething.
Chews its redness
- off.
She is amazed to see
the real thing for the first time.
For her
her toy has grown into a giant.
Then she discovers double-deckers.
Counts: "One double-decker bus...two double-decker buses
...24 double decker buses!"
It is unbelievably so!
Doesn't know she is counting
the same bus twice!
And now to add to her
amazement she
encounters a green bus!
Will the excitement never end.
"The bus has changed its clothes?"
she says unsure that this can be so.
But now confounded by a bus
all in white!
Even we have never seen
a bus in white.
It looks like it has taken
all its clothes off.
A **** bus!
But to her it's worse
far worse than that!
"The bus has taken
it's skin off!"
She refuses to go on
this skinless bus.
We wait for a "normal"
bus to somehow appear.
And appear it does
busy being a red bus.
The world of buses
restored to its proper order.
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 5:07 PM UTC
I walked into the cocktail party
room and found three or four queers
talking together in queertalk.
I tried to be friendly but heard
myself talking to one in hiptalk.
"I'm glad to see you," he said, and
looked away. "Hmn," I mused. The room
was small and had a double-decker
bed in it, and cooking apparatus:
icebox, cabinet, toasters, stove;
the hosts seemed to live with room
enough only for cooking and sleeping.
My remark on this score was under-
stood but not appreciated. I was
offered refreshments, which I accepted.
I ate a sandwich of pure meat; an
enormous sandwich of human flesh,
I noticed, while I was chewing on it,
it also included a ***** *******
More company came, including a
fluffy female who looked like
a princess. She glared at me and
said immediately: "I don't like you,"
turned her head away, and refused
to be introduced. I said, "What!"
in outrage. "Why you ********* fool!"
This got everybody's attention.
"Why you narcissistic ***** How
can you decide when you don't even
know me," I continued in a violent
and messianic voice, inspired at
last, dominating the whole room.
4.9k
His home is an orphanage
in downtown Belize.
Triple-decker bunk beds
topped with ***** stained mattresses
fill each room.
An abandoned 10 year old
lies paralyzed on the floor;
"Don't touch him. Nobody ever touches him."
A small child covered in sores
sleeps in a puddle of his own *****
I offer a container of pink Play-dough to a boy
who proceeds to sculpt me
changing the pink to brown
with his ***** hands.
When he is done,
it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
"What is your name?"
"I'm Allen"
He tells me about his dreams of leaving Belize
and becoming a U.S. soldier.
He tells me of how his mother,
a **** addict,
dropped him off at the doorstep when he was 8 years old
and how he remembers
the look of fear and disappointment in her eyes
every time she looked at him
and saw his father.
His favorite color is blue.
Together, we make bracelets with colorful beads,
and as I stand to leave
he hands me a pinkish-brown heart
warm and sweaty
from his ***** hands.
And in return
I hand Allen,
and every child like him,
my own heart
red and ******
dedicated and passionate,
foolishly and hopefully attempting
to change the world.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 5:05 AM UTC
His home is an orphanage
in downtown Belize.
Triple-decker bunk beds
topped with ***** stained mattresses
fill each room.
An abandoned 10 year old
lies paralyzed on the floor;
"Don't touch him. Nobody ever touches him."
A small child covered in sores
sleeps in a puddle of his own *****
I offer a container of pink Play-dough to a boy
who proceeds to sculpt me
changing the pink to brown
with his ***** hands.
"What is your name?"
"I'm Allen"
He tells me about his dreams of leaving Belize
and becoming a U.S. soldier.
He tells me of how his mother,
a **** addict,
dropped him off at the doorstep when he was 8 years old
and how he remembers
the look of fear and disappointment in her eyes
every time she looked at him
and saw his father looking back.
His favorite color is blue.
Together, we make bracelets with colorful beads,
and as I stand to leave
he hands me a pinkish-brown heart
warm and sweaty
from his ***** hands.
And in return
I hand Allen,
and every child like him,
my own heart
red and ******
dedicated and passionate,
foolishly and hopefully attempting
to change the world.
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 3:51 PM UTC
The comely *****
a comely ***** o' twenty three, from yonder village banburee,
alight her sight on poor auld me, a poorly man wi' one bad knee,
she buxom be enough fer three, her legs be thick as big oak tree,
but contrary to crippled me, she sprightly be wi' two good knee.
as I took flight on that fateful night from rutting comely *****
I felt a pain, a twist, a strain, and a gutting Rumley Wrench!
yon knee was spent, wi’ geat lament, she's upon me in a jiffy
she made it clear, she said, “m’dear I want yer little ******
now twenty three ‘tis not in years, but sire, tis stones in weight,
and 'er on me wi one good knee, be too dire to contemplate,
but to my surprise, she got a rise outa my little wrinkled pecker,
wi’ her big thighs and **** the size o’ a bleedin double decker!!
May 8, 2010
May 8, 2010 at 8:13 AM UTC
[Being an humble address to Her Majesty's Naval advisers, who sold Nelson's old flagship to the Germans for a thousand pounds.]
WHO says the Nation's purse is lean,
Who fears for claim or bond or debt,
When all the glories that have been
Are scheduled as a cash asset?
If times are bleak and trade is slack,
If coal and cotton fail at last,
We've something left to barter yet--
Our glorious past.
There's many a crypt in which lies hid
The dust of statesman or of king;
There's Shakespeare's home to raise a bid,
And Milton's house its price would bring.
What for the sword that Cromwell drew?
What for Prince Edward's coat of mail?
What for our Saxon Alfred's tomb?
They're all for sale!
And stone and marble may be sold
Which serve no present daily need;
There's Edward's Windsor, labelled old,
And Wolsey's palace, guaranteed.
St. Clement Danes and fifty fanes,
The Tower and the Temple grounds;
How much for these? Just price them, please,
In British pounds.
You hucksters, have you still to learn,
The things which money will not buy?
Can you not read that, cold and stern
As we may be, there still does lie
Deep in our hearts a hungry love
For what concerns our island story?
We sell our work -- perchance our lives,
But not our glory.
Go barter to the knacker's yard
The steed that has outlived its time!
Send hungry to the pauper ward
The man who served you in his prime!
But when you touch the Nation's store,
Be broad your mind and tight your grip.
Take heed! And bring us back once more
Our Nelson's ship.
And if no mooring can be found
In all our harbours near or far,
Then tow the old three-decker round
To where the deep-sea soundings are;
There, with her pennon flying clear,
And with her ensign lashed peak high,
Sink her a thousand fathoms sheer.
There let her lie!
3.2k
Riding a double decker 4B
from Trinity to Terrenure,
one hand clutching
an overhead strap,
St. Stephen's Green
Frames a Celtic redhead,
exciting priestly thoughts.
Dec 21, 2010
Dec 21, 2010 at 6:09 PM UTC
A pale yellow butterfly weaves in-between the legs of Plai-Jum Pui.
In the middle of the Thai jungle the hard sun beating down,
it tempts this angelic beast with its life.
Trusting in an elephant not to step on you,
Rocking back and forth on the bones of his back.
I guess I've done the same.
A Boeing jet, double decker.
Five hundred and twenty five people balancing on its wings.
The turbulence cradles us back to sleep,
finding motherly comfort in the foreign flight attendants reassuring words.
Having faith in aluminum sheets,
we all drift back to sleep.
A knock on the door and a call from the neighbor,
complaints of boundaries being resisted and property abused.
Fences acting as a seam to a fiery feud.
Guardian of their own selfish wills.
The worst war is fought from within,
a fight with your own kin.
A naive creature is spared its life,
confiding in the unsure and unreliable.
lacking trust for each other,
and burdening these winged seraphs and mothers.
The assumed minor species rely on one another,
having no need for metal protection and a religious buffer.
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 3:45 PM UTC
.ah here comes england with its eccentricities, ah hier kommt polen mit seine christentum: where anyone can be a messiah, as stressed by the byzantines.
my first love was the love of the english grey,
(in honesty mentioned it was
the double-decker first, since
i fancied myself the great bus-driver of
the no. 5 bus back home)
earl grey came and said: ‘i can’t look
at these skies without sunglasses!’
and so it was, mid-autumn with sunglasses
at loss the sun-worshiper
enter the moon idiot,
looking for accents, looking for anything.
in england they called him das deutsche -
for reasons believable enough;
the luftwaffe eagerly anticipating the tunnelling
centipede that is the euro-star train-tunnel:
the panzers are rolling in!
the panzers are rolling in!
strange he never minded the coal-miners as useful
as minded by edvard gierek von silesia -
to the dispute of silesians not ex-patriated to saxony
(oh wait... texan boy doesn't sound as
nationalistic as minnesota boy?).
ooh pokey poo... writing about germany
became so **** so recently, i forget that i started it:
here’s to the english language’s chirality of s and z,
actually being superimposable:
from words in the socratic sense as encoded by plato
i don't get a bunch of ideas... virtue
does not make me ponder it with meaning or definition,
i only see the kabbalistic sensibility
of anti-alphabetical sequencing as v
i r t u e...
otherwise e i u r t v;
almost sounds like s.t.d.
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 6:33 AM UTC
Hazel often wonders,
What it would be like,
Watching an orang-utan,
Riding on a motorbike.
Such unusual images,
Always bring a smile,
Like seeing a milk-float,
Driven by a crocodile.
A camel steering a tractor,
A fish flying a plane,
Or a big African Elephant,
Trying to drive a train!
So if you see Hazel,
Daydreaming with a grin,
A donkey might be taking,
A double-decker for a spin!
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 5:32 PM UTC
Happiness is in the smile
That lights up your face
Happiness is watching you play
Happiness is your whispered
I love you mum
Happiness is lazy Sunday's
Happiness is you
Happiness is us
Happiness is a red double decker bus
Happiness is hugs
Happiness is free
But mostly
Happiness
Is bacon sandwiches
(cut into triangles!)
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 8:50 AM UTC
(I)
So concretey, these jungles
but not like this
Glass shards shoot up 45 stories
only to have tarp covered markets
populated by shouters
Oh, Powerpuff Girls on backpacks
one green
one purple
one pink
And 10 dollar Gucci bags
these people have it made
Four blocks from the world stock exchange
these people have it made
(II)
You ain't had won ton noodle soup
Or chicken feet
Or shrimp stuffed eggplant
Or food from Chinese franchise Pizza Huts
which happens to be an escargot joint
What does that say about US?
hopefully not much
(III)
Red taxis between every other car
Double decker busses
more common than city pigeons
Still the city finds time for trees
whiskery ents rising out of
ancient volcanic soil
You would think it's a city full of sin
Seven million souls, what-
that's higher than I can count
It's not
Everyone here is cute and wrinkly
Confucian
except for the young
These people have it made
(IV)
In this city, you're expected to stay
home with mom and dad
As they get cute and wrinkly
you're to return the love
Confucian
these people have it made
11 seated dinners
these people have it made
(V)
Here in this ancient city
the gravestones dot the hills
coat the hills
And then the cremation jars bury the hills
(yes, they're dead)
cough
Here's how a Chinese name is structured:
[family name] [given name]
Confucianism
and then these names fade too
These people have it made
but it's alright.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 8:18 AM UTC
With the tightfisted budget now handed down
There is a lot of ****** off people in our nation's towns
Mr Hockey has hit the taxpayers with a double decker bus
High and low income earners put well into a binding truss
Revolt in the Senate Chamber is showing on the cards
The government will be in receipt of a few shrapnel shards
Legislation won't get passed in a timely manner
There will be the flying of a double dissolution banner
Then the Abbott mob will be well and truly stumped
Voters are itching to have the extra tax imposts bumped
Canberra shall shortly be in for an enormous rattling
Heft taxing has the nation's populous struggling and battling
Had the GST been set at fourteen percent and on everything
Our tax burden to-day wouldn't be so troubling
Government must learn to live within its boundaries
As the tax paying public are sickening of all the levees
Tax policy is in need of urgent attention too right
For parliamentarians don't seem to see our plight
Mr Shorten has stated that his mob can fix our woes
But his side of politics has not the scent of a rose
We are stuck with a budget which has us ******* down
And it offers us nothing of the lights in mirthful town
The treasury calculator has a very mean spirited spike
Twill there ever be a tax regime which we'll all like
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 7:54 AM UTC
She didn’t look awfully well that day
Though she never would make a fuss,
I said we should get to the hospital
That I’d travel with her on the bus.
The weather was terrible, snow on the road
And a seaborne yellow mist,
So I wrapped her well in a scarf and coat
And did my best to assist.
She leant on me, walked out to the stop
And we sat on the ice cold bench,
I thought for a moment she’d faint or drop
So taking the bus made sense.
The car would be hard to manage that night
For the roads were covered with ice,
I couldn’t hold her while driving the car,
But we needed a doctor’s advice.
The cough had got worse as the day went on
And her hanky was spattered with blood,
I prayed it was just a vessel that burst,
Not that I thought it should,
But consumption sat at the back of my mind
It was rare, but still around,
I was praying a lot, but still my head
Would cover the same old ground.
We watched as the lights of the bus rolled up
So dim in the mist to see,
A double-decker, we climbed aboard
It was number twenty-three.
The passengers all were grey and drab
And some of them seemed asleep,
A skeleton sat hunched up at the rear
And Kathie began to weep.
‘It’s only a medical student’s thing,’
I said, ‘there’s nothing to fear.’
But Kathie flinched as we walked on past,
‘Then why did he leave it here?’
She settled down in a window seat
While I sat next to the aisle,
And the bus rolled into the swirling mist
So we sat quite still for a while.
The lights in the bus were more than dim
And Kathie was looking grey,
While I got up at the hospital stop
Kathie was looking away.
Then suddenly I was out on the road
As the bus took off in the mist,
While Kathie stared through the window pane,
It was like she didn’t exist.
I ran and I ran, and chased the bus,
But I ran and ran in vain,
For the bus veered off, went over the cliffs
And vanished into the rain,
I found her there on the bus stop bench
Where we’d sat, all grey and still,
And I wept, and thought of the phantom bus
That had taken her over the hill.
I could swear we’d stood, and climbed on the bus,
My love, my Kathie and me,
But they said there never was such a bus
As a number twenty-three,
And I see her now in my dreams at night
As she stares through the window pane,
Of a phantom bus that takes her away,
Over the cliffs in the rain.
Over the cliffs on a freezing night
When she died, ice cold on the bench,
What was I thinking, I ask myself,
Where was my common sense?
Then I take some comfort to think that I
Had once been a part of us,
And travelled some of the way with her
Where she’d gone, on the phantom bus.
David Lewis Paget
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 11:56 PM UTC
ambiance amplified and gravitas dead inside
drink alone, danger zone, shot the Jekyll, saved the Hyde
cut my seat belts so my doors wouldn't beep, though
I creep with a fleet of conceited banditos
to the park, skip some rocks, play the shark, shuffle birds
find the narc, go and knock, make it bark, no one heard
a million reason to stay awake wide-eyed tonight
ninety-nine ******* one problem: you're in my line of sight
black & decker woodpecker, fur-trap chop with my power-drill
trill wagon, cool dragon flagon of honey mead on the window sill
unseen fiends mean for stones out beating streets to smithereens
you only live nine times: shake the earth, **** the silver screens
pair of sweet, pear-shaped tweets for you to meet in the suite,
they can show, you can see that they know how to greet
enough throwaways to keep boost mobile open
enough light reflecting princess cuts that they think my neck is frozen
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 2:46 AM UTC
Met a wife and her husband at a bus stop in Atlanta.
Said
"We're going down to Miami to see our brother. Hubby's gonna go deep sea fishing next to all the mangrove roots."
Just then, the double decker came and swooped them up, took off into the sky beating its mighty $1 dollar ticket wings.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 11:23 AM UTC
I spend most of my days
on the top level of a double decker bus
Going from one direction in the morning
to another in the afternoon.
The glamor lacks
but the freedom is incredible.
Where will I go?
What will I do?
Will I ever come back to you?
Waking and working
cooking and cleaning
marrying and conceiving
What a dull sad life
most are destined to live
While I enjoy my time
living the lie
of someone who travels
on a double decker bus
Jun 28, 2010
Jun 28, 2010 at 7:23 AM UTC
Slum ditch ****
and a double-decker train
heading straight for the heart;
bypassing all other organs.
I sit next to
dresses and scarves
and MomandSon kisses
and journals in the hands
of Chicago lovers
documenting every moment.
Jul 4, 2011
Jul 4, 2011 at 5:21 PM UTC
Ur ******* crazy
Because your young and I can see the adventure in ur eyes
You don’t do nothin on weekends
Still most confident and withdrawing
Rather ride around on the beach by the water where you live
Than hang out with me, us
I guess I should’ve thought of that before I fell for you hard
Bout how you prefer your lonesome
Let me in
Before I found out how many miles an hour your moped can go
I should probably’ve done something
Need to stop idolizing you
Read me
Take my foot and drag it against your leg
Own me, why do I predict
I’ll be too needy
You’ll take distance and cancel
You’ll cancel and fall in passion with your own mind and soul
Look down at the ground
Bend your endless back
Show me those eyes with your amazingly hopeful smile
Bend up again and talk a bit slurry
Dark dark tones, tender
Let me combine your guitar strings with my aching desire
Aching aching
Desperate for adventure
And all the other ones sit quiet and awkward looking into complete and pure nite
Me and them have already shared our ideas
Empty empty and desperate for action
For love, wondering if this is all we’ll ever be
Put me on to your black motorcycle and never stop
Grab my thighs while I’m behind you to ’assure’,
I’m stuck to you and I won’t fall of
Only if a double decker bus crashes into us
I will fall off
With you
Whisper how you feel
Even if you’re only expressing hunger
I see visions in those dark brown eyes
Tip toe into the bathroom, look in the mirror
Yayo, yes you
I’m always buzzing just like neon
Imagine
Make our souls complete
Join the ones who just are there
Confess loneliness
Slow dance in the dark
Et prends ta guitar
Now there’s one last chance
Don’t reject again
Paris, way to set up but
With our school french group thirty people
Possible freedom with your friends and mine
But only if you touch me with your fingertips
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 2:53 PM UTC
it's been a long trip since innocence
the distant city of joy
where my tongue believed in candyfloss
my footsteps in lyrics
sugar coated moments wrapped in colorful layers of truth
so many layers of truth
I since took a degree in doubt
they taught me how to earn a living
feeding fear to babies
selling carrots to dinosaurs
how all immortal things
are shiny posters on double-decker buses
running over bridges at night
fantasies are clinging to minds
like fluff to a sticky tape
when church bells ring till death do us part
I sigh, lift my pint and cheer:
another graduating photo.
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 9:42 AM UTC
with a billion Chinese and Indians
on the tally... i think it's hardly worth noting
the individuation process the West has adapted...
who needs another Kurt Cobain brain in
spaghetti splatters on the wall? there's a billion of each...
a ******* billion! heath ledger and daniel johns
(i would be a freak having released
something like frog-stomp in my teens,
i would be, playing the mongolian harmonica)...
but there's a ******* billion of each,
Taj Mahal saved them when the western
oozy saw the scalping technique...
so did the curry recipe...
i'm an alcoholic like the rest of them...
Apache eagle feather how how hush
(dog bark interlude)... nonetheless, we're taught
to individuate, to state a difference worthy of an
advert... any other slogan not ending
with -Pepsi and you're ******* Chinese to me...
Hong Kong double-decker buses and Karate! Ha Ya!
chop... or sushi, whichever bruise to add to the skin
of Copernican for the sundown and plum.
no, the point being drummers are wacko,
having to process individuation
would never instil me having a potential to
number a Mongolian horde... i wouldn't have cared...
if only ****** suggested.. if only ****** suggested....
i too would be a bleached Eskimo.
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 8:59 PM UTC
Train 1
What happens when
you throw hard candies
at the passengers of a double-decker bus?
What happens when
you yell ***** at the ladies
on a yacht circling the downtown canals?
What happens when
the sky-deck of the tallest building in the U.S.
puts pavement over its windows?
What happens when that seagull
perched upon the chained buoys
turns into a swan?
Train 2
What happens when
my father gives his last cigarette
to a homeless man begging for change?
What happens when
the lovers on the loop line
never disconnect lips?
What happens when
the buildings collapse into
the great plains again?
What happens when
the cameras of tourists
lose their capabilities to capture this moment?
Jul 4, 2011
Jul 4, 2011 at 5:28 PM UTC