"decks" poems
~ Ode to Spring ~
Cherry blossoms filled with bloom
rhododendron’s sweet perfume
warming winds feign summer’s breeze
songbirds singing from the trees
Open windows, déjà vu
sunsets filled with graceful hues
families gather on their strolls
Mother Nature for the soul
Baseball season at the park
evenings lifted from the dark
daylight savings' finally here
patios for wine and beer
Cleaning house and planting seeds
rebirth fills the days and deeds
picnic baskets, hummingbirds
poets find their way in words
Kaleidoscope of bedding plants
shorts in favour over pants
farmers markets, garage sales
power-wash the decks and rails
Hiking, tennis, gardening
inhale the freshness of the spring!
painters, sculptors shape their art
gather here with grateful hearts
Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 1:15 PM UTC
so you're disappointed
that you're disappointed
and maybe that's to be expected
some folks make beds
out of their catharsis
differently than others
it's this list
of things you lost in the fire
or how jealous you are
of people
who never came back up for air
you're crying
so the faucets leak out of solidarity
& someone asks you
why the floor is wet
so you tell them
"we've been weeping here forever"
then they want to give you
a mouth full of presupposition
by saying
"are you going down with the ship?"
& you look them in the mouth
like Leo is handcuffed to a pipe
five decks down
you look at them
like you just woke up
from that dream everyone has
where all their teeth fall out
maybe it's an intervention
a hearse vs station wagon origin story
a clearance sale
& everything's gotta go
or maybe it's the dream
where you're at the docks
from your childhood
and there's a little girl
unmooring all the ships
because she thinks
they'll float away
but every time
she unties them
they just sink
they just sink
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 5:20 PM UTC
I am the deep, the sky in reverse
I have what you seek, for better or worse
I am the blue of infinite depth
I've swallowed the crews and cleared the decks
You are afraid or maybe intrigued
Of the place where you played and also was freed
Kiss me now like you did before
Give me your vow and the ocean is yours.
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 3:01 PM UTC
We embarked upon a titanic voyage to a new world.
It’s said that behind every great man there's a great woman; But a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.
7 bells rang late that night, as our ship stuck fast; between the devil and the deep blue sea.
Fingers frantic! tapping code…—-…
Sailors quickly battened down the hatches and stowed away the Riff-raff, for they knew fine words would butter no parsnips, Better here than there in third class.
Some fiddlers on the deck played “Nearer My God to Thee", As the bubbles rose from beneath the sea, come buckle down boys for the devils to pay, come hell or high water he’ll have his pay.
Mothers row, land lubbers row, it's time to leave this god forsaken place. pulling hard for freedom.
Ten steel decks split and snap, as they join the ***** and hundreds either shriek or pray; as La dolce vita slowly ebbed away.
Mercifully the cacophony descends ever silent, as fifteen hundred souls become neither fish nor flesh, rotting from the head down.
Save our souls •••- - - •••. … — …
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 4:15 PM UTC
1714
By a departing light
We see acuter, quite,
Than by a wick that stays.
There’s something in the flight
That clarifies the sight
And decks the rays.
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People say I haven't played all of my cards yet
But actually i ran out of decks
They tell me to empty my sleeves from all of the tricks
But the only thing I've got are these lyrics
I bought a gun to **** the person who hurts me the most
But then i realized that will end up shooting myself
i f*cked up a lot and I've done the worst
I need to get my **** straight and my brains of the shelf
I've been a selfish and an egoistic *******
Went on the fast lane and switched of them hazards
'Cause everyone around me is moving to fast
While I'm still in my place looking at my past
My life ain't a waste no it ain't a mistake
That's your life c*nt you ain't got what it takes
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 3:22 PM UTC
I.
While raging tempests shake the shore,
While Ælus’ thunders round us roar,
And sweep impetuous o’er the plain
Be still, O tyrant of the main;
Nor let thy brow contracted frowns betray,
While my Susanna skims the wat’ry way.
II.
The Pow’r propitious hears the lay,
The blue-ey’d daughters of the sea
With sweeter cadence glide along,
And Thames responsive joins the song.
Pleas’d with their notes Sol sheds benign his ray,
And double radiance decks the face of day.
III.
To court thee to Britannia’s arms
Serene the climes and mild the sky,
Her region boasts unnumber’d charms,
Thy welcome smiles in ev’ry eye.
Thy promise, Neptune keep, record my pray’r,
Not give my wishes to the empty air.
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relaxing? relaxing would be a sin against myself. see God spun and wove golden bits of wisdom in these curls that are mine. see these curls spring loud with
songs of my Nubian
mothers and war cries of my Rasta fathers. see these curls bounce proud to the rhythm of tribal drums and the foot prints of my sisters from Manila reside
there as they roll
lumpia between the coils and springs. see these curls have moved sandstone bricks cross deserts, building divine architecture so perfectly aligned
with cosmos and
planets until Moses told Pharaoh to Let My People Go. these curls have traveled cross oceans and triangles packed like sardines squalid below the decks
of ships. see these
curls have been ***** by the nasty ***** in the big house and suffered sun strokes in cotton fields. see these curls sing loud and strong. See these curls
were branded and forced
at gunpoint behind ******** barbed wire fences gassed to death in the name of so called purification. see these curls bleed the pain of fire hoses and dog
bites and whites
only signs. see these curls wont back down gainst no burnin crosses gainst no swastikas gainst no elephant ******** talkin all that jazz on fox and cnn. see
these curls dance
wildly off beat to straight rhythms that drone on in 4/4 time c major sixty bpm. see these curls are Mas and my Grammas. see my curls are too proud to sit
back and chill and won’t take no **** or heat or hot air. see these curls cannot be contained in braids or scarves or jars of creamy crack. see
these curls dare you
to force them to
coerce them to
straighten up
their act. my curls.
my curls. my curls.
my curls. my curls.
my curls. my curls.
my curls. my curls.
my curls will not
******* relax.
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 12:03 PM UTC
The streets are clear, we're hydrophobic
Hoods propped by hats and socks pulled high;
The rain brings peace to the agoraphobic
Puddles form moats and clouds fill the sky.
Splash, droplets hit the window,
chauffeured by the gale outside.
Squint your eyes and flash back
boats tilt starboard, with the tide.
The captain shouts to the decks, paranoid
'Clear the decks and brace for impact'
Without turbulence we are disenfranchised
Boredom becomes us when we're boring.
Shake it off and stare at the dot to dot
the residual carving of water as it slides
Another droplet falls beside it, parallel
it aligns, growling thunder overhead.
Without stirring we are robotic workforces
Without awaking we are left inside
The constructs created for us, by corporate-
conglomerate elitist-psychopaths.
Two drops of water on the window
simmer red with burning anger.
Crash lightening sears the sky
Rage becomes you, girders melt.
The starry night undercurrent, flings
us backwards, never up, as democracies
which seek to serve sink into a sea of
stocks and shares, the wall street journal
sits atop the captains lobby, economies
were meant to tumble as the working classes
fumble for bread, men in suits gaggle
and toast to the millions they left for dead.
Resistance is futile, when eighty-five
of the richest suit owners sit on currency
that was meant for the three point five
billion who aren’t driven by gluttony.
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC
*This poem is dedicated to the memory of Admiral Albert ***** Potter who displayed amazing bravery by wearing full drag through several major sea battles. He was cashiered for insisting the Admiralty rename his ship HMS Butch instead of HMS Fearless. In fact the vessel was eventually renamed HMS Damp **** because it was full of ******
A life on the ocean wave, **
In the olden days of sail
When England's ships were proud and brave
And their crews were very male.
The Captain stood upon his bridge
Looking smart and flash;
But below the decks, the orders were
*** and *** and the lash.
The bosun went to the main gunroom,
**** Deadeye at the ready;
Initiation time had come
For little midshipman Freddy.
"Strap him o'er that cannon, lads!"
Roared the hirsute fellow,
"Gag his mouth securely, lads,
In case he tries to bellow!"
The sailors did as he had bid -
Refused and they'd be punished -
And they knew their turn would come
After the bosun had finished.
The bosun went up the poor young lad
And soon was going strong;
Midshipman Fred looked rather pained -
The Bosun was THICK and LONG.
Then came the turn of the other men
And they set to with a will;
Little Fred could not say no
Until they'd had their fill.
What a life our sailors had then,
Always singing shanties;
When men were men and big and butch
And cabin boys wore silk *******
A life on the ocean wave, **
With the rolling sea and the spray.
Sinking the Frogs and murdering Wogs
Kept England's sailors so gay.
OLÉ! OLÉ! OLÉ! OLÉ! OLÉ! OLÉ!
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 6:37 PM UTC
I sing of life at state expense
a state devoid of common sense
addicted to obesity
impolitic in body weight
yet headed for austerity
as other people’s money ends
plebeian class-revolt transcends
our bureaucratic history.
They stack the monthly welfare decks
complain the service second-rate
those sullen clients, thankless louts
pajama-clad with tattooed pouts
whose girlfriends swell while babies cry;
the fathers mumble, sagging high
and wait in lines. The women try
to fool the lunar period
conceptions waxing myriad
while teenage dads discover ***
and social workers cash the checks
the daily urban nightmare is
enough to scare a nation broke
in clouds of marijuana smoke:
the cashless global mystery.
The breeders born in tropic lands
are tempted till they take the bait
no baby-momma understands
what family means, what life demands
Your undertakers overstate
in order to remunerate
your Democratic history:
a bankrupt urban mystery
the not-so-Great Society.
The ghetto sperm-donation ploy
makes babies but maintains the boy
to run around from mom to mom
slow-motion population bomb
as if to merely demonstrate
that social program funders wait
till number-crunchers aggravate
the urban teenage welfare state.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 4:36 PM UTC
My heads pounding
My necks twisted amuck
think I'mma stop giving a ****
Light up a blunt and do what I want -
woah wait -
ain't that the **** that got me
here in the first place?
Worst case I nervously pace
the halls for a day - two or a weekend
Blasting the weeknd
Entire enviroment reeking
shrieking -
Nah -
I'm better than that.
Can't latch onto the past.
That's the trash that got
us there at the start - instead
I prepare it in art
And share from the heart, with you.
And you.
And you and you and you.
Because why not?
It helps forget about that pinebox looming-
Thinking outside the winebox lucid -
I mean Windex, clean em out
And a win decks, stacks paper chips
You can't say this isn't some matrix blips
I am not losing ****
I am manuevering this beautiful thing
up past this ******* Nuva Ring
Cause that's life - you can get beat
or keep it on a leash - jeez
that's sexist. I don't know
where this became an accepted
comparison, its embarrassing
comparing them - to K9's
But we hear it through the grapevine
Turns of phrase we make fine.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 12:29 AM UTC
It's late summer, too humid and hot to really do much of anything
without having your t shirt sticking to your back
like an extra layer of skin.
that time of year when the air makes the city turn still-
just for a second.
if you don't freeze the frame, it'll be like it never happened.
I'm lurking like a ghost in the woods,
my blue hair glinting through the trees.
I'm finding abandoned concrete jungles, broken skateboard decks
and graffiti scattered like memories from when everything was okay.
Sometimes, if I'm too sad, the universe lets me find a house.
One that makes me gasp; one that turns the air get a little colder.
I go alone, others tend to rush in,
spray paint in hand, loud footsteps and rough voices
echoing through the deserted hallways.
I am always quiet, always still,
i make sure to blend into the walls like i am breathing
with the creeping ivy.
My heart is still searching for the place it will call home.
I've seen a lot of dilapidated houses and i'm still searching,
unable to find what I'm looking for.
My heart found an apartment in yours.
I never realized I was subleasing until someone better came along.
Its late summer,
and once a girl told me that it will get far worse before it gets better.
Well, its getting bad again but I'm still breathing,
so i guess that counts for something.
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 5:17 PM UTC
Antonia is such a good swimmer,
She often swims in the sea,
Where she met a friendly dolphin,
Who she invited back for tea.
There were plates of jam sandwiches,
Ice-cream, with jelly in a fancy dish,
Vanilla slices and chocolate cake,
Oh, and of course, lots of fish.
Then the dolphin shared a story,
Of a far off-distant land,
Even though his voice was very squeaky,
Antonia could easily understand.
The story told of mermaids,
Magic songs upon their lips,
Their singing enticing sailors,
From the rigging and decks of ships.
Though, the sailors were not harmed,
Only enchanted in a drowsy sleep,
Dreaming in the mermaid kingdom,
Beneath the ocean cool and deep.
The mermaids made a prophecy,
Of the sailors promised release,
When mankind stopped all wars,
And had learned to live in peace.
Antonia thought, ‘how very wise’,
Watching waves upon the sea,
From the beach, she waved goodbye,
To the dolphin who came for tea.
Sep 26, 2010
Sep 26, 2010 at 5:36 AM UTC
How distant, the departure of young men
Down valleys, or watching
The green shore past the salt-white cordage
Rising and falling.
Cattlemen, or carpenters, or keen
Simply to get away
From married villages before morning,
Melodeons play
On tiny decks past fraying cliffs of water
Or late at night
Sweet under the differently-swung stars,
When the chance sight
Of a girl doing her laundry in the steerage
Ramifies endlessly.
This is being young,
Assumption of the startled century
Like new store clothes,
The huge decisions printed out by feet
Inventing where they tread,
The random windows conjuring a street.
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Light breaks where no sun shines;
Where no sea runs, the waters of the heart
Push in their tides;
And, broken ghosts with glowworms in their heads,
The things of light
File through the flesh where no flesh decks the bones.
A candle in the thighs
Warms youth and seed and burns the seeds of age;
Where no seed stirs,
The fruit of man unwrinkles in the stars,
Bright as a fig;
Where no wax is, the candle shows its hairs.
Dawn breaks behind the eyes;
From poles of skull and toe the windy blood
Slides like a sea;
Nor fenced, nor staked, the gushers of the sky
Spout to the rod
Divining in a smile the oil of tears.
Night in the sockets rounds,
Like some pitch moon, the limit of the globes;
Day lights the bone;
Where no cold is, the skinning gales unpin
The winter's robes;
The film of spring is hanging from the lids.
Light breaks on secret lots,
On tips of thought where thoughts smell in the rain;
When logics die,
The secret of the soil grows through the eye,
And blood jumps in the sun;
Above the waste allotments the dawn halts.
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Oh, I should like to ride the seas,
A roaring buccaneer;
A cutlass banging at my knees,
A dirk behind my ear.
And when my captives' chains would clank
I'd howl with glee and drink,
And then fling out the quivering plank
And watch the beggars sink.
I'd like to straddle gory decks,
And dig in laden sands,
And know the feel of throbbing necks
Between my knotted hands.
Oh, I should like to strut and curse
Among my blackguard crew...
But I am writing little verse,
As little ladies do.
Oh, I should like to dance and laugh
And pose and preen and sway,
And rip the hearts of men in half,
And toss the bits away.
I'd like to view the reeling years
Through unastonished eyes,
And dip my finger-tips in tears,
And give my smiles for sighs.
I'd stroll beyond the ancient bounds,
And tap at fastened gates,
And hear the prettiest of sound-
The clink of shattered fates.
My slaves I'd like to bind with thongs
That cut and burn and chill...
But I am writing little songs,
As little ladies will.
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**And the Lord spoke in dreams serene
to he, a righteous man within his years,
of mankind's folly, of wickedness,
the Earth to flood with Heaven's tears.
'From the face of the Earth I will cleanse
fowl of the air with feathered wing,
only two from each kind will I spare
neither man nor beast or creeping thing'.
'An Ark to build is My intent
of Gopher wood, three decks high,
many years will thou toil and sweat
but labours fruits will keep thee dry'.
'For thou art blessed, a blameless man
and secure shall be with thy kin
and with sustenance, I will provide for all
upon this Ark, you will abide within'.
Then at God's command, throughout the land
to each and every creature,
two of each, male n' female both to save
... to propagate their future.
So from every forest, from every field
from every byre, to every beach
bird and bat upon the wing, all that crawl
or walk, procure, just two, two of each.
Then on marched they, tooth by hide
ever forward, onward bound
fur and feather side by side
to board the Ark, upon the ground.
Of the days when Noah walked with God
thirty score were his measure in years
and through forty days and forty nights
the deluge prevailed, for those pioneers.
For the fountains of the deep were opened
and the windows of Heaven gaped wide
upon the face of the Earth, the rains fell
and the oceans they blossomed, world wide.
Upon the face of the waters, the Ark rose
until the highest peak with waters advanced
for the days in number, one hundred and fifty
drifting upon that mighty expanse.
Then the 'Lord God' remembered Noah
and caused the great winds to blow
wiping the tears of Heaven away
and closed tight, the deep fountains below.
Then the Ark upon Ararat stumbled
as the mighty waters, slowly withdrew
with the rains restraint, the waters abate
and the crests of the mountains, they grew.
And Noah sends forth both raven and dove
the ravens complaint was to fly 'to and fro'
but, with olive leaf, the dove returns
then flies again thrice, by dawns early glow.
Thirty score plus one, his years then tally
when the waters were dried from upon the Earth,
then Noah walks forth with beasts disembarking
for this was the dawn of the worlds rebirth.
Then God blessed, and bestows man with dominion
over every beast of the ground
over every creature that flounders
over all the birds that abound.
And His covenant with humanity, established
the rainbow, His contract to see
never to cause, such a deluge for man
for that was our Lord's guarantee.**
... ... ...
451
Jul 9, 2011
Jul 9, 2011 at 11:14 PM UTC
after some grey days
comes the sun
summer heat
spectacle on the Seine
to commemorate
"La Route de l'Armada"
a fleet for tourists
that never was
yet nice to watch
nevertheless
with fireworks
& stately masts
sails folded orderly
decks scrubbed
the crews all smiles
ready to answer
all the children's questions
in between
gray & inaccessible
some men-of-war
of more contemporary make
among them
somewhat tarnished
one single ship
that really carried
allied soldiers
in its sightless hull
on that gray morning
and suddenly
if only for a moment
you smell the sweat
of fearful courage
hear ammunition
click into magazines
the waves break dull
with hollow sound
amidst the crashes
of firework artillery
that splits the waters
upward from the ground
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 7:27 PM UTC
I effortless pass through water
like gliding through a silky air.
And as you all sail through life
you all sparkle with the idea
of being near.
As I am ultimate wisdom that
comes in the form of joy and play.
As the decks are silent splashes of
water all over your faces.
Then suddenly you all cry,
" THE DOLPHINS ARE HEAR"
A tingly excitement every where
as though walking on a bubbly
carpet.
Everyone congregating at the
side of the boat hoping to catch
a bit of magic.
Gasps and shrills as bounce and
burst out of the water along side
your boat.
People stretching reaching as I offer
a new hope the light of GOD.
And when they return to the shore the
story of the Dolphins like church bells
ringing travels through the town.
As everyone longs for Holy spirit they
are eager to hear the story.
As they learn about the Dolphin
that came to there town they want to
know who actually touched it.
I am the spirit that visits the holy as
I love those who are full but also
empty.
I come to those brought to the edge
who stared down the cliff
but did not jump, as they chose life.
And to those who's world said no with
all doors closed because only they can
listen.
I come to those who have lost all will because
only those let me carry them.
I come to those who are broken
as only they can be molded
I bring you many colours and inspiration
sometimes I will make you dance and
sometimes sing.
I am the Pentacost, holy Ghost and your
Jesus Christs holy spirit.
Sometimes when you swim softly through
sweet watery emotion you will hear us talking.
When you think all is lost
you find yourself praying
even though you think no one is there
I will be listening.
Feel like you are drowning grab my
dorsal fin and I will give you a lift
even make you laugh, make it fun
even exciting.
Lost at sea sharks prowling I will circle you
as I will even fend of death for as I can
also heal you.
Some will pen me in keep me in a
small tank tech me a childish trick
and manipulate.
But only those bigger than pools
more like the sea will know I have
greater tricks to teach.
As only those without plan and expectation
can ever swim with me.
As I will guide you on your hearts
adventure into the free.
We will always love and seek to guide
you as we look for you in the sea and
gather around you in the bay.
We will teach you how to channel to
have an open mind to breath spirit
through your head.
And I will teach you how to be both
the radio and the wave.
How to be father Christmas, the chimney
and the presents underneath the tree.
So if you are needing help please
look over hear we are listening.
let yourself be empty and we will guide you.
There is so much to learn from communicating
and swimming with the Gods spirit, the Dolphin.
So let us connect with God heaven and the Dolphin
And be grateful for all her LOVE.
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 7:36 PM UTC
The magician's basement was no more glamorous than my own.
Old couches, an untouched television.
One corner, however, holds some curiosities.
Loaded dice, trick decks, handkerchiefs.
Handcuffs, matches, rope, knives.
But his handcuffs hold no illusion, only my thin wrists.
They are hard and cold like any other pair
digging in, no escape.
There was no magic.
He offers to show me a trick.
How easy, I think now, it must be
to fool a seven year old girl.
I was tricked.
He told me once that magicians love the dark.
The black, he said, keeps their secrets hidden.
He told me to close my eyes,
and when I could finally open them,
there was no more light.
He hid me in the dark with the rest of his secrets, the rest of his tricks.
K.A.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 1:55 AM UTC
~~~
out of an arid ocean
You came up
hoary with barnacles
grey with skin
a spray of stars erupted
startled . awash
against its own night
and down again You go
to know the
mating of tendrils
the killing planes of seashores
the antiquities of the sun
were we there once?
in the phosphor seasons
we played with You
as You are even then
so self contained we found
no need to surrender
to the patient
winds of change
now You echo in
strange meridians
storming Your gusts
in far off topography
Your great tail
sings its starlight way
homing to its thunder
~~~
they came
oh, yes, they came
to harvest Your virtues
their decks slick
with Your blood
crimson stains ugly with lucre
their forest of masts
peopled by
Your ghosts
sing ! O leviathan ! sing
lift Your voice and
bellow to us
of Your lost pods
Your wonderful oceans
Your salty maternity
*Your
song
is
heard
by
GOD*
(c) soulsurvivor
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 6:04 AM UTC
1581
The farthest Thunder that I heard
Was nearer than the Sky
And rumbles still, though torrid Noons
Have lain their missiles by—
The Lightning that preceded it
Struck no one but myself—
But I would not exchange the Bolt
For all the rest of Life—
Indebtedness to Oxygen
The Happy may repay,
But not the obligation
To Electricity—
It founds the Homes and decks the Days
And every clamor bright
Is but the gleam concomitant
Of that waylaying Light—
The Thought is quiet as a Flake—
A Crash without a Sound,
How Life’s reverberation
Its Explanation found—
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