"decking" poems
Cambridge is screaming
and as a result its throat is sore.
Everyone is every park and porch
stopped, looked and saw
the shot and killed on a Willow Street floor.
For a girl whom walked as if wind
over little river stream, ******
was the last thing that made her scream.
A thundering absence laid seldom slain
with a bolt of blood spelling innocent pain,
on porch-wood-decking painted cream green
salad leaf fresh, cut from the root with melded flesh.
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 8:37 AM UTC
Sunrise was just a red line in the inky void, as Lisa and I reached the harbor decking stairs,
but at once, the brazen slash began widening, like a silent, slow motion explosion,
thin, smoky wisps of cloud, like flammable tissue, prismed the stage light ignition.
bee-de-deep my phone chirped. It was Peter (my bf).
“Hey you,” I pronounced, as Lisa took off her left sneaker and shook it, upside-down.
“How’s the harbor?” Peter asked. I glanced at my watch, it was 5:32 am in New Haven.
Peter must be at lunch (in Geneva) and tracking our morning run with the ‘Find My’ app.
“Beautiful,” I pronounced, “they’re really putting on a show.”
Of course, I meant the universe, the sun, the turns who were already at work, and Long Island Sound.
The gulls, perched on whatever, and grousing at each other, obviously haven’t had their coffee.
I read that AI had decoded bird talk and on a wire, they chittered, “Move over, you’re in my space.”
“Just wanted to say good morning,” Peter confessed, “Good Morning.”
“Good morning,” I wished back, “gotta go,” I replied, Lisa had finished de-pebbling her shoe.
“Yep,” Peter agreed, “Seee ya,” he quipped. “See ya,” I chuckled, smiling.
My watch asked, in my Air Podded ears, “Have you finished your workout?” because I was motionless.
I pressed the crown of my watch and slid the phone back in my pocket, our jogg’s only half done.
We began our harbor exodus, by turning our backs to the haven. It was already beginning to busy with boats.
We slipped on our hats and protective, polarized sunglasses as we began to run directly into the blazing sun.
.
.
Songs for this:
Sail on Sailor by the Beach Boys
Dancing in the moonlight by Toploader
Cold Heart - PNAU Remix by Elton John, Dua Lipa, PNAU
Apr 25, 2024
Apr 25, 2024 at 10:07 AM UTC
To see this old man shaking here
In rage at boys whose apple-throwing jeers
Reduce him to impotent rage and tears
Is to know Odysseus, home from Troy,
Battle spent, no Cyclops left to blind,
And no more Stygian puzzles to unwind.
The threats he hurls are hollow stones
Coming now from a man whose bones
Once cracked beneath a decking plank
As Scylla searched with serpent heads
For men to crush and swallow, dead,
But Nob'dy now remains to save the day.
The hapless tree whose apples green are peltering his home
Is now an oar, pole-planted tall a thousand miles ashore
As penance for the years of taunting gods of wave and foam,
And boys be savages unaware of what an apple's for.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 10:11 PM UTC
Rollin up at school
Mates and I loving to fool
Graffiti on the walls
Bullies decking the halls
An out-of-place Christmas
Dis this ***** I'll dish licks for spits
Revenge counteracted and counters counteract
Mother ******* follow law of Chemistry: react
And that's that, it's a fact
Evil reigns supreme
I'm evil too yet Devils be
Hating on me
You see?
There's no justice just depression
No real law just suppression
It's hard to imagine
That a devils invention
Is invested in protection
Law
And Order for Chaos
Does it work?
Nope
I walk down the street see six ******* blazing dope
Walk into school toilets and herb is in the air
******* blow smoke in teachers ears
They don't care
There's no prayer to save those so gone
The world is a cruel place and erases those when they are alone
So we band together
Rule of strength and defence
Is for us altogether
Never sharing secrets in our minds we be keeping
We stay awake to 8 past 8 in the morning, no sleeping
No rest for the wicked
I guess I'm just sick of ********
Because every lyric I spit
Falls hard on deaf ears
Still listening?
I reminisce blue skies
That I see through crystal clear tears
No solution or absolution to resolve this malicious premonition
The worlds in despair
No repair
Disrepair
Fire flashing embers swirl and smoke is in the air
We destroy and conquer and thrive off death
Fighting others killing hope until we pass our final breath
If this is a test
God we failed
Eons ago
I'd like to rest peacefully now
If you don't mind
I just want you to know
Action brings reaction, reaction brings pain
Don't question the truth
It's ruthless but we ****** in the brain
Insane
Now if you don't mind
I got business to attend to
And a brand new life to find
Or a new rap to recite
We're doomed, we failed,
Good didn't prevail
Evil conquered long ago
And sanity set sail
To somewhere better,
Perhaps another land
Maybe there peace and hope
Is something people understand
And prosper from it
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 2:56 AM UTC
You feel it coming
should be in, on and
around everything
Expiration Dates mean something
pay heed from the beginning
Ignore it,
fight a battle
backing zero winners
Flexing pure prays weight
cutting down
on the sinners
All of us are rotting
ever since our precious birth
Expiration Dates foretelling
of what we’re really worth
Ignore it,
face a conflict
stuck forever in debate
While I rest adjacent
decking your
days hate
All men created equal but,
don’t practice what they preach
Expiration date’s approaching
we were taught, now we must teach!
Ignore it,
keep on walkin’ till
you know it’s much too late
a victim of
your own accord and
the next stirred Nations fate
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 6:29 PM UTC
She by him like an angel always stood.
Her presence often gave him true joy
And warmth, her words were like food
To his soul, and never was his love coy
In her heart, nor was her affection with
Guile beclouded too. She's a babe unique--
Decking out in virtue, diligence and divine wit,
One that could make mortal men weak.
Howbeit she has left him in the lurch all alone,
His life and authorship to paddle on his own.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 9:57 AM UTC
It had been told the boy was old and wise before his time
his locks they say were peppered gray though he was only nine
he grew to be a prodigy, read every book he could
but played as hard out in the yard, this was his childhood.
His skin is fair and freckled, with eyes of grayish green
sometimes they are bespeckled but the clearest ones i've seen
he stared me down the sidewalk and I thought that I would melt
but never told him anything about the thing I felt
I met him then, at seventeen and just a budding rose
much less the height and weight he is but that's just how it goes
I got to know this gentle dude who goes without a sock
the King of Conversation, he's the baddest on the block
He made the grade without the aid of study hall Morrone
Lo and behold God broke the mold, he had a funny bone
but rarely let it out, his quiet kind of fun
his friends will vouch he loves the couch, it's where his nappin's done
Well he's somewhat into music, saw the movie, read the book
periodicals take floorspace while his CDs line the nook,
Lisk ain't into artwork, window treatments, floors or walls,
it's Thanksgiving over Christmas, can't be bothered decking halls
The only one I've ever met who can make me laugh and cry
all in the same moment though I really can't say why
but when I was just seventeen, he turned the big "eight oh"
i wished that I could be around to watch that old man grow.
it's my first cold of the season and my last poem of the year
and though I sit here sneezin', there's nothing we should fear
and I know that he will love this, and he may just shed a tear,
so let's toast, a swig of Lisky and God Bless the coming year!
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
The wood chimes are clunking
with each sweep of breeze,
lending melody in this space.
This is where I dig,
dividing root from soil,
time from life, and us
from everybody else.
Squirrel scampers the border,
raising hackles and creating a
two-legged dog and mayhem.
This must be his habitat,
passed down through generations
until the brick and concrete conspired
to break the oak stronghold.
The view from the decking
throws itself through other gardens
to the far distant fast lane.
Noiseless here, with only
the high haunting whistle
of the slow circling
red kite.
Jul 7, 2011
Jul 7, 2011 at 11:46 PM UTC
There's a hurdler in the distance,
Approaching from afar,
Nothing struck him in this instance,
Though the setting was bizarre
He somersaults each in a flurry,
As the clouds threaten to rain,
The flowers flutter with worry,
As they sight the old warplane
He runs straight out the exit,
Takes a right onto an avenue,
Where streetlights line the docks,
And pebbles question you
Waves crackle over the pier,
As he flies across the decking,
He throws his hands up and volunteers,
To the cold hiss of forgetting
Some time later he awakes,
On a beach of pebbles and shells,
Hasty escape perhaps a mistake,
A fall from carousels
A tower commands the sea around,
Windowless, aged concrete,
He laughs and spins at what he's found,
Alive but incomplete
Jul 13, 2019
Jul 13, 2019 at 9:48 AM UTC
Don't go leaping
Into water
chasing after
Cute disaster
Noughan's daughter
Sings to fishers
Young and old
they lose their decking
All their wishes
All untold
Skinny boy or
Old man whiskers
drowned-a-calm
by Noughan's daughter
smiling even
as they're weeping
in the deep
where they lay
sleeping.
Feb 7, 2011
Feb 7, 2011 at 5:55 PM UTC
the white ants have eaten
the timber decking
as we didn't keep
checking for white ants
being present in the decking
the decking is much like honey comb
as the white ants ate into it
as if it were a piece of styrofoam
the decking is not fit for anything
and it requires replacing
when those white ants get together
for a munch out
they always make sure
that they hollow
the timber well out
munch
munch
munch
they've been on a devouring romp
chomping the decking
with a munching pomp
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 7:54 PM UTC
To see this old man shaking here
In rage at boys whose apple-throwing jeers
Reduce him to impotent rage and tears
Is to know Odysseus, home from Troy,
Battle spent, no Cyclops left to blind,
And no more Stygian puzzles to unwind.
The threats he hurls are hollow stones
Coming now from a man whose bones
Once cracked beneath a decking plank
As Scylla searched with serpent heads
For men to crush and swallow, dead,
But Nob'dy now remains to save the day.
The hapless tree whose apples green are peltering his home
Is now an oar, pole-planted tall a thousand miles ashore
As penance for the years of taunting gods of wave and foam,
And boys be savages unaware of what an apple's for.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 11:43 AM UTC
I
sang
●glad tidings●
sang ● Noel
●decorate with●
bulbs ● and
●bells ● strung the popcorn●
tinsel ● decked ● place
●the star and ● all that heck●
but the most ● important
●part of all ● is not decking ● the●
house ● or halls ● the most
●important thing ● to do ● is celebrating●
the ● birth● of●
YOU
SoulSurvivor
(C) 12/6/2015
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 10:19 AM UTC
Red mist that night
Unholy still
Our ships pins marring
That ocean like glass
For the wind, all at once, had died
I strode the deck, bashing heads
As I must, such as men were
Loosed sails that might
May a breeze sort the lot
Twilight had broke
The first sight to fix me,
My dearest new maiden wife
Bon Homme she stayed
Small miles west, whaling I must stay
The next, stole my breadth
The whole of the ocean rose
Blending both sky and sea
Where one began I could not tell
But it's glass caught us up
Brought us high, fearing to tip
From wince it's cresting
The very sea brought to waste
Screaming to lash sail
The words strangled my throat
I could see them come
Not one at first, but sprang
Many as though they were the sea itself
Tearing at decking, board and man
Destroying, in mad waste
A mass of scrabbling death
The ocean bubbled, cursing its own fate
Each parts aquatic fish,
The dead men of a thousand years
Drowned, and undead
Grasping, ripping, and tearing at life
In a moment I was thrown
From faithful decking
Knocking myself senseless upon the spar
Suddenly in the cold
To my men, in lifeboats tossed about
Creatures, rose around us
Twice the height of man
A guffaw, almost laughter
Before they opened mouths as one
And cast their eyes upon us
Behind their voices
Like chirping of birds
All black of wing
A song, barely heard
Just beyond its words
With a menace of despair
Too grand for comprehension
The night darkened
As the stars winked out
One by one
The entities, became one
Tor'd Ul d'Chulp
It bleed my ears as it spoke
The ocean boiled around my little boat
Inward I cowered when it spoke it's name
It seemed to straighten
If something of such great height could
And turned away
Our crew of six, nightmarish awe
Our lifeboat then thrown about in its wake
At which point, men screamed
I know, for I was among them
Not for our lot, now with the sea
But for what we witnessed
Birthed from the deep
Striding toward our homes
The village of Bon Homme
We knew would be gone by morn
Knowing naught what befallen us
Only the fate of those to come
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 6:40 PM UTC
It seemed a good idea at the time
the wide beam
protected by a wall on one side
another intersecting beam on the other
and composite decking above
a perfect place build a nest
to raise young
but now that the chill of spring
has given way to the warmth of summer....
many large feet beat the deck above
and slide furniture around
in a never ending thunderstorm.
Second thoughts perhaps?
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 7:00 AM UTC
3 and a half years from now, if our fingers are no longer intertwined, i know i'll see you someday at the bar down the road. i'd imagine you to be taller but donned with the grin i've grown to love as you pass me in the hallways. you owe me a drink anyway
with you, with you it feels like i'm going places - not that i have a destination in mind but usually i can't see past the finish line, but i can't see the finishing line with you. let alone a path off of the shore as the waves crashes against our ankles. but here i am, ashore caught between letting go and running to higher ground and i all see the sunset caught in your eyes. we both can't swim but at this point does it really matter? years from now, maybe they'll be cafés we've sat across the table from each other, whispers in the dark in cinemas as pictures dance across the screen. dancing like how two figures will attempt to one day. different sceneries and cities with a familiar face. little fairy lights decking the ceiling for countless of miles to go but all i can see is the moonbeam resting against your cheek.
i want to hold your hand at hospitals.
i want to kiss you at airports.
i want your scent against my skin.
i want to forget how to stay sober with you.
i would like to forget sometimes, in this dazed illusion you're one of the few things that seems to stay vivid around me. a glimpse of sunlight in the moonlight
you're the outline in blue tracing commotion in my mind.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 4:41 PM UTC
another sober day, and another day spent gardening,
trimming hedges, forming bulbs from shrubs,
only yesterday i cut a 7ft tree to a hardly seen stump,
today the weeds got the treatment, while a
strange cohort of bees were flying under the decking
with pollen pouches attached to their hind legs,
a little colony, rebellious bees that escaped from
a beer keeper - all of this attached to a hope for a new
rigour: a new year or new techniques, an invested
in the discourse between Dionysian and Apollonian
poetics - only because it annoyed me that the man
who invented this conceptualisation actually thought
Goethe's poetry was the latter... the man died like a
patriarch in a bed, apparently uttering the words:
more light! he enjoyed the latter's rigour, a statesman
and a respected member of the established...
so long have i wished to remember how i wrote sober,
but there's an ulterior reason... i can't be left
with scraps of £9.00 as a bank account,
here's the arithmetic:
monday, wednesday,
friday, sunday -
£11.00 x 4 = £44.00
carton of romanian cigarettes
£4.00 x 10 = £40.00
a weekly saving of ~£50.00
(give or take)...
an hour with a girl: £110.00, entry fee for
the madam £10.00...
how many weeks is that
to save up for the pleasure?
let's call it an even month of saving up...
i just remember that one time i was walking from
a pub tipsy... the rumbling in my stomach
was so great, it weren't butterflies in there...
honey bees! 10 metres from the brothel entrance...
diarrhoea... i **** myself from excitement...
i took the seat of shame on the bus, squid of ****
in my trousers, then a cab home with the cabbie
being polite enough to not mention the smell...
that was one time... it's what i learnt about
England and the "roses" of Devon and Stratford-upon-Avon...
cold like the lions of Trafalgar Sq., i've been living
here TWENTY TWO YEARS... guess what?
NEVER HAD AN ENGLISH BIRD...
i must really look like Quasimodo or something, anyway:
you just have to learn to compromise, a healthy
appetite for the carnal in youth - because who really
dreams of wrinkly lechery? even the brothel girls
said that to... one just said: 'who'd want to **** old men?
not me!'
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 8:37 AM UTC
My friends and I are having a ball.
We are dancing and chancing and decking the hall.
I'm so busy, I have no time to fall.
I'm not lonely.
You're lonely.
I don't miss you at all.
My friends and I are carefree with glee.
We joke and we choke on the best hydro green.
I'm laughing so hard I may even ***
I'm not crying.
You're crying
These tears are happy.
My friends and I are coquets, so flirty.
We use a*holes and leave them right after coffee.
I don't want your commitment; I just want to be free.
I don't love you.
You love you.
Do you still love me?
Sep 13, 2019
Sep 13, 2019 at 5:10 AM UTC
Blue skies
Daily highs
Green fields
Keeping it real
Soft sand
Hand in hand
Yellow sun
Days just begun
Rainy days
Foggy haze
Orange sun
Skies ablaze
Softly lapping seas
At your feet they tease
Large crashing waves
Wiping you off your feet, quick save
Rock pools on the shore
Children climbing to explore
Sandcastles on the beach
Waves just out of reach
Yellow flowers
Pollen power
Temperature 28 degrees
Some people with hayfever, attempting not to sneeze
Kites flying in the sky
Children laughing nearby
Picnics spread upon the ground
Variety of flavours abound
Swans swimming in the lake
Cygnets fighting for breadcrumbs to take
Dogs running in the park
Owners chasing them, not to bark
Cricket playing in the field
"Not out, surely" "umpire what do you feel"?
Sitting out on the decking
Last of the suns rays savouring
Bright Full Moon
The end of the day has come too soon
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 1:28 PM UTC
by Ryan P. Kinney and J.M. Romig
The coy house thinks, “Should I let this man enter me?”
Although she pretends to resist at first
She soon relents,
The pressure giving way and her door granting passage
He pledges to give her hardwood floors
To put a swingset in her backyard
The finest dressings on her windows
Painting her face,
Decking her out
To show the world how much he loves her
Softly wooing, he promises her a family
She hopes this one will make good
As he begins his work,
She watches the swell in his young wife’s womb
And for a while, believes in life again
For the first time in years,
She breathes fresh air as they move in their boxes
The melding of their past and her future
An image so bright,
That she is almost blinded by the light
When one night,
The soon-to-be mother misses her first step
At the bottom of the stairs,
He finds his world in pieces
As the paramedics pack the body and cart it away
The door closes behind them
And the air grows stagnant
The only boxes he ever unpacks,
Contain spirits
To numb him from the haunting emptiness inside
The past becomes nothing, but a foot stool
Slowly crushed and deformed under his weight
Her rooms,
Built to house new memories, home cooked meals, and laughter
Now nothing, but
Stale beer, chips, and wasted life
Created from prompts at the Winter Writing Workshop (Dec. 27, 2015),
HEYMAN! Productions
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 9:10 PM UTC
A stunning morning.
Sunshine decking the glory filled lawn.
Night's swept away on the brush of a fox.
Lamenting my flowers.
They have passed.
A natural tragedy.
They have withered and died.
Disappeared, in what seemed like the blink of an eye.
They shall be retained.
Deep in the brain.
The brain of the lady.
Work is bereft.
Final recollection, that all things must pass.
Their beauty shall not be ashes,but scrunched up dry dust.
I shall find a spot in the garden.
Where I shall lay memories of my friends to rest.
And hence I explain my flowers away.
So precious were these flowers.
Burnings' so final you know.
Once they were beauteous.
Once so was I.
A bouquet of beauty.
Sadly they've died.
True beauty lives in the beholders eye.
(c) Livvi
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 4:38 AM UTC
She snuggles into her warm
green winter blanket
disturbing the last seeds of summer
That will be a welcome winter feast
for the small winter birds
As they forage around her bedding
collecting their winter store
Spiders casts their webs
around the sea of green sagging stalks
Hoping to fill their nets with
one last harvest
The light dims
A sleepy mouse shows its head
from under the garden shed door
Zig zaging across the decking
munching on a slug
who stayed out a little too late
The toad
who has been eyeing his supper
As the sun was setting
over the now sleepy garden
Was not amused
and puffed his body out in anger,
only to spy a worm
peeking her head out of the decking groove
Checking out all the commotion
Gone in an instant
to the now happy toad
A black and white cat
quietly surveys
from her vantage point
on top of the tired sagging
roofed garden shed
As the still night
washes over the garden
the animals blend
back into their garden home
Waiting
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 2:51 PM UTC
Hanging the Mistletoe, decking the tree. Getting a shopping list or 3. Hurrying to get all of the gifts, forgetting what the season really means. All of the hustle and pomp, overlooks the thankfulness that we should show. Taking a few moments to be kind to our fellow man. This is what holidays should truly mean.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 4:46 PM UTC
waken
I awoken with a sound at the door
I shouted hello
Silent
Then creaking on the decking boards
Runs down the stairs
And peels back the curtains it's a
LOADING...............
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 8:29 PM UTC