"decoys" poems
another
smothered lover
in the Hollywood hills
unbag the bottle
crack the seal
oh the appeal
of intake
for the sake
of intoxication
so meek and unique
in gurgled screams
a pixie in the hand of a king
compelled
to discretely
capture the beauty
in eternity
expelled
i just felt
i had to nest a shell
and befell
clearing her residual
flirtatious signals
even in the squirms
and even in the squeals
even though i know
she yearns
to be hooked by her gills
dragged through landfills
in a projected field
where she would yield
and kiss me.
i'm gonna pretend
to love her
as i tenderly
shove her
in the river
of our love
take her under
my loving thunder
and plunder her
when drugged
dazed in her wonder
i hold her under
from above
if only for a moment
we locked eyes in love
she fit me like glove
remnants
disposed of
in a rug
posed so beautifully
for the smack
hack and rip
one pretty *****
dumped
in an irrigation ditch
triumphed
our wordless
relationship
its over *****
move on with it
in the mouths
of varmints
oh
charming
as im clicking *****
on key chains
sticking misfits
with loose lips
usually homeless
decoys
here to destroy
nothing
in my twisted ploy
to employ
maximum points
conjoint
my addictive anger
to something a little stranger
im going to dangle
her entrails
in front of her eyes
while i'm bangin her
shes looking so surprised
from every camera angle
the mangled piece of ****
what a lamo
hypnotized
in the passing of life
in the
blood
the ***
the ****
and the knife
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 9:22 PM UTC
1239
Risk is the Hair that holds the Tun
Seductive in the Air—
That Tun is hollow—but the Tun—
With Hundred Weights—to spare—
Too ponderous to suspect the snare
Espies that fickle chair
And seats itself to be let go
By that perfidious Hair—
The “foolish Tun” the Critics say—
While that delusive Hair
Persuasive as Perdition,
Decoys its Traveller.
2.3k
It was a Saturday night in the park
his trees were singing
out of tune
his clay pigeons needed to come out
of his closet
for he was parked
on a stool
at his favorite watering hole
amongst a full house
where pairs beat singles
and there he was
shooting blanks
drowning in his sorrows
on his nine lives of lowlife
hoping for a sitting duck in despair
the kind that waddles right up to the Romeo's
with suspense in their hearts
and spontaneity in their wings
a cackle
that he can tackle
to take home
to his garden bed
for him to be fed
but what he got
was for not, naught, knot
wistful thinking
sitting in a bar sinking
for the jukebox played a broken record
finding love in the wrong places
and the joke squarely was on him
for thinking, he could round the bases
looking no further than the escape of his glows
or a crutch of decoys
and sitting ducks
for he was no Romeo
yet
there he was still, like steel,
a stole away in society
forlorn, preserved
like mamas mothballs tucked away
in basement storage
squandering the forage
for there were no triple treats
tonight for him
or forever sounds grim
for his reality check gone dim
or
no eye candy
for his heart beats
no picnic
for his ****
and all the bottled whiskey
could not drown out his pain
as his eyes were slain
as the sitting ducks turned
from his fantasy corner
phantomlike
and though
he's sitting at the bar, a loner
reminded that in cards of life
pairs beat singles
and in his worn hand
familiarly holds a lonely joker
for it's like he tries
and its
like his sitting ducks
are like hoofed deer
and his little sweets,
are spooked
hoofing
away from his
now darken forest
like red ants at his picnic
and the gleam in his eyes turned
to the poorest
its
its
as if his life and watering hole
was condemned
his garden bed cut at the stem
it is as if he has a red vest on
and a rifle don
and all the hoofed deer
panic
looking at him in fear
like he's manic
or maybe it's his eyes
that hold dark skies
he orders another double
trouble
for what else is there to do
on his Saturday night
than to sit in a bubble
forever sounds grim
but sing him a sweet hymn
he says please
to wit as he steals peeks
at the bartenders triple treats
like a bee to a hive
his joker still strikes a beat
if only he can find a bolster
for his gun needs a holster
and a deer in the headlights
would be hard to find
the confession now told, tolled, towed
through tears
the guy in the bar window
is me, sitting
resigned
Logan Robertson
10/18/2018
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 6:23 PM UTC
As the clock ticks and the earth turns
The orbits shift and the fire burns
Peter Pan, Neverland, the Lost Boys
Baby, those ain't nothin' but clever decoys
To lead you astray, lead you away
Convince you that maybe you'll be happy someday
If time could tell the outcome ahead
Perhaps you'd choose a different path instead
But you can't peer forward, can't rewind
No turning back or looking behind
So be content with the present
Don't dwell on the past
And maybe, just maybe
Life won't turn out so bad
Apr 13, 2012
Apr 13, 2012 at 1:24 PM UTC
Enjoy until Death
It’s determined in how much time left
The Place was the Thomas Werther’s Mansion
He was a Rich Toy Maker in his day
But he died, but his spirit still stays
Nestled outside London in the suburb of Londonberry
The Mansion stands alone among the hills and mountains with acres of land for miles
The Werther’s Mansion housed toys from Ancient to Present time
But Mr. Werther’s spirit grows weary and is established in all the toys
They will all be for ****** in decoys
Adults and kids would come for miles in getting a glimpse of all the toys they saw
The Mansion would often have open house visits
But was it open house for ******
Unexpected beyond anyone’s wildest imagination, toys that seemed still would often move and stalk
Some would even talk
No one would suspect toys to commit ******
Yet toys had a clause
Visits would sometimes unknowingly find themselves in a trance on pause
Toys took control of visitor’s minds
Darkness within like closed blinds
One by one, toys of all kinds moved within a mission to ****
It was their free will
The Pirate Doll made his appearance and killed one of the visitor’s with a sword
The army of dolls tormented the Guest
It was the toys request
Fire Engines instead of squirting water, it was fire to burn up human life
Christmas season of toys
Too the children of all ages, its oh boy
But will the toys cause terror?
Beware
The toys are coming for you
Dec 14, 2020
Dec 14, 2020 at 3:32 PM UTC
We all have fought this far
To live another day in this realm of despair,
To have another breath in a land of make believe,
Just so we can collapse at the dawn of war
What is the point of joy
Just knowing it will last for ticks,
Taking it for granted as your eyes shred tears
As you realize it's all granted as a toy to play
As you fight, you stand your side
You realize the colors fade away
As your feet fall down you stay and sway
The sorrow coming from the trivial made
We collect and hide in decoys,
The pain and sorrow goes away,
But scars and memories do stay
In our minds and hearts of sticks
Then you wake up and stand up everyday,
Go repeat the day after yesterday,
What is the point of a yesterday
When there's nothing new today
We fight a trivial battle with our dire epoch
We run we sweat we fall to see another sunshine
We laugh we cry we frown to call ourselves a human
Just so we die.
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 5:50 PM UTC
5
I have a Bird in spring
Which for myself doth sing—
The spring decoys.
And as the summer nears—
And as the Rose appears,
Robin is gone.
Yet do I not repine
Knowing that Bird of mine
Though flown—
Learneth beyond the sea
Melody new for me
And will return.
Fast is a safer hand
Held in a truer Land
Are mine—
And though they now depart,
Tell I my doubting heart
They’re thine.
In a serener Bright,
In a more golden light
I see
Each little doubt and fear,
Each little discord here
Removed.
Then will I not repine,
Knowing that Bird of mine
Though flown
Shall in a distant tree
Bright melody for me
Return.
1.4k
*my pretentious voice doesn't match the noise in my head
verses etched as silken decoys unfurled by titanium recoil
hiding in the recesses of silent protocol's evasive gibberish
clamoring to speak the truth within history's chapters
my stealth commute from childhood to insanity
rewarded by awkward stares of disbelief and disgust
i've waded in the pool of denial's wavelengths
lost in aftermath's undertow of insolent impudency
i've tread water til i drowned an insignificant death
still breathing the vapors of past grievances
grousing under a tidal wave of crush'd soul's imperfections
breached in the indignity of transgression's metaphors
personifications of a role better left blinded by fear
than face the nakedness of turbulent truth *
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 3:28 PM UTC
People can surprise you
They feed lies disguised as truths
And claim to be someone they're not.
You get comfortable with this character they portray
And the minute you let your guard down
It's all over.
They slither into your mind
Into your heart
And proceed to hurt you in ways unimaginable.
People can shock you.
All the empty promises
And traits they act out are decoys
That lead to you being left
Shattered
Stunned
Broken.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 3:40 AM UTC
"I write poetry," you laugh, "I can tell beautiful lies..."
Sadly clever, your decoys reaching out to the dendrites of trees
desolated by winter, fingertips in their severe shapes stroking
lungs turned inside out so that they might breathe for you
when the patterns of things become as unwoven as they seem
and a dark symmetry throws smoke across the mirrors. All the
mirrors are rippling, frail as moonlight on the ruptured skein
of whatever is left of the water and then only the good doctor
as you turn to undress before the open door, waits.
You whisper: "I will tell lies you will want to believe."
Feb 13, 2012
Feb 13, 2012 at 11:34 PM UTC
I took my wife out hunting
It didn't work out good
She missed all of her targets
But she shot up lots of wood
She couldn't hit a thing at all
She tried to shoot a duck
She sneezed and dropped her rifle
She put two holes in my truck
The decoys, they got blasted
Instead of five I now have three
She was aiming nowhere near them
She shot them, and killed a tree
Other hunters scurried
They were running for their lives
None of them was dumb enough
to go hunting with their wives
She came out wearing makeup
For the photo op she said
I said that will not happen
Unless you've got something that's dead
Forty pounds of pine tree
And a dozen more of birch
Are the trophies she'll be mounting
Up on the fireplace they'll perch
She almost took a ranger down
She mistook him for a goose
He gave to me a ticket
Saying...this girl should not be loose
He said the only kind of hunting
That she should be around
Is in the fish shop or the butcher
Where she can hunt it by the pound
He took us from the woodlot
With our trophies, shot up wood
He told her never to return there
And made sure she understood
He then turned and he told me
That it would be real good for my health
If I ever brought her back there
He'd shoot me dead himself
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 11:28 PM UTC
The making of every man begins before the union of the cell of his mother with that of his father; one thing leading to another
This always lies on strings of varied decisions which needs to meet in one way or the other for destiny to balance on in order to get to her creating destination
Before mine, some ***** went down the drain with some pain; a sign of womanhood and fertility
Before mine, some sea of men only flowed in and out because there was none in the house to recieve any of those cells to grow and make it out alive
So they returned a waste
At all those times when pulses elevated beyond normal and hormones of the souls which brought about my existence went busily crisscrossing each other to get the job done,
Those fallen ones were expendable decoys sacrificed to achieve emotional satisfaction
It was so, many times but my time was not cos destiny had it all planned and that plan got my batch to come at the right time
Scientists say it's the fittest and quickest that makes it out as another human but my case was so different
On that day
In the council of those brothers and sisters
The floor was given to each of us to make a case on the reason to be the one to go out in flesh
We all had the opportunity and everyone made a case
Each one of them presented intellectually satisfying arguments backed by illustrations that made decision making a difficult one
Finally the platform was given me and the room was so quiet you could hear the even the humans outside at the time
"I don't have a thing I can say I'm going out there to do in particular", I said
"I'm representing you all"
"The educators, I will be there for you
The health enthusiasts ,your job will be done
The other humanitarians, am going out for you"
"The intellectuals, trust me
The musicians, your songs would be heard
The artists, I will be there to uncover your insights
The spiritual ones, the work is going to be done
The poet's your works will definitely see the light of the days
The athletes and sports personalities, I will put in my best to represent you"
After everything, the applause said it all and the rest is history
Therefore when the going gets tough and giving up seem the easiest option, I remember I'm not here for myself
I'm a representative of a batch of brothers and sisters who never made it out alive
Though scientists say it was a race, mine wasn't
I didn't race, I was chosen
Mar 29, 2023
Mar 29, 2023 at 7:07 AM UTC
911 Carousel
by Michael R. Burch
“And what rough beast ... slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?”—W. B. Yeats
They laugh and do not comprehend, nor ask
which way the wind is blowing, no, nor why
the reeling azure fixture of the sky
grows pale with ash, and whispers “Holocaust.”
They think to seize the ring, life’s tinfoil prize,
and, breathless with endeavor, shriek aloud.
The voice of terror thunders from a cloud
that darkens over children adult-wise,
far less inclined to error, when a step
in any wrong direction is to fall
a JDAM short of heaven. Decoys call,
their voices plangent, honking to be shot ...
Here, childish dreams and nightmares whirl, collide,
as East and West, on slouching beasts, they ride.
Published by The Neovictorian/Cochlea, Mindful of Poetry, Gostinaya and Scholasticus/Fullosia Press. Keywords/Tags: 911, war, violence, retribution, twin towers, terror, terrorism, east, west, dreams, nightmares, error
Apr 16, 2020
Apr 16, 2020 at 4:49 AM UTC
i can:
flip a switch
just for you;
sometimes i do,
forget how to
flip a switch;
one day it's on,
then it's off,
and i am gone.
i get lost
when in love;
lose myself
to some kind of
dark energy
taking hold of me;
flip it off
then i am free.
something inside
tugging away,
causing me
to toss and sway -
with so many
wordly distractions,
and so many
wild interactions;
with such embrace
and so much joy,
we have no reason
to set decoys.
you fell in love,
it was with me;
why can it be so
hard to see?
flip a switch
until it's habit
give me patience;
i'll give you practice.
don't look away,
and i will not
look away
like i was taught.
you have me,
battles won;
no one else
can overcome.
flip a switch,
i will do.
flip a switch,
for me and you.
Dec 11, 2017
Dec 11, 2017 at 2:34 PM UTC
She is always running
from what the world has to offer
instincts she trusts
spirits and lessons to ponder.
She's so strong
and she does not play the cards,
so strong and free
that he makes the life of boys go hard.
Her defenses are upright
with will to prioritize her wonders.
a wall high as heavens,
beliefs that cannot be shattered
A million salute to her ways
and she knows some day it pays.
she's a strong woman for keeps,
a rare kind, gentle but silently weeps.
She is running away
from the love that sips her life points.
running away and away
from the perfect, with her knowable decoys
Stepping backwards
but I can see the barricade's almost done.
but I don't want to spoil another spirit
so I will let this go. flee, and gone.
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 12:33 AM UTC
The carpet is ***** but I sleep
on the floor
of the room I lost my virginity in
when I was a teenager
where is she now I wonder
the view of the adjacent house
through the cobwebbed window
remains as it did
those ten or so years ago
shadows of trees dance on a fresh white coat in the sometimes breeze
overgrown bush and brick below
with grass and damp decoys
worried about an unwell friend
fighting the urge to walk
to the bottle shop
and forget about my life
for awhile
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 7:08 PM UTC
A river of scents and cymbals, a closeup look at tomorrow
the land and people borrow, collaborating hymnals
Stayed inside the darkness, somewhere in there is light
sensations are like coasters, before peace there is a fight
Paths beaten for understanding, on an imaginary cutting edge
manufacturing mental landings, between the visions there is a wedge
Impromptu races can teach us how to deceive
decoys in the mind show us what to retrieve
a blind world will never know how to conceive
a gemlike planet and a pressure relieve
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 4:52 PM UTC
To fall in and out of this drunken web we weave
Time goes by slower than desired
you still need to find what you desire
Because you won't find it in what we have conspired
I am not the dot on your radar
I am the spot you missed in the grass
I am your friend
but that grass continues to grow
and love is not what embraces it to such a mass
Silence is said to be golden
because it is simply a reiteration of things
that have the properties of being broken
What do your silent spells tell me
that my pauses in speech have not already spoken?
You are fire and I am water
But we are not blissfully ignorant
no, this is not an indie movie
we are opposites
but they do not attract
they distinguish the other
water makes fire smother
and water evaporates into its brother
You are a flame being kindled by the desires of youth
and I am waters flowing through all walks of life
with eyes of a learned elder.
I observe, you do, I observe you,
I intrigue you, You act upon you.
I flow and you burn
We are opposites that don't attract
This isn't a dream, but we can surely act
I have a beautiful mind
You have a beautiful body
and you have such a hollow tact
We both have passions
Mine compassion, yours politics
Mine genuine, yours manipulative
Emotions are art, emotions are toys
Find your heart in clever decoys
I see your core
Yes, it's beautiful
but your afflictions have it so clouded
that you are pushing me away
You need to sort out your clouds
You need to act
I need to observe.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 5:15 PM UTC
today i decided to look at nature
accept the hot and humid temperature
with my jacket, plain as always
i succumb to the calming melodies
apparitions destroying the futile soil
put to countless decoys
climbing up my sorry deceit
flowing gusts of air fill my lungs with
new inspiration
as the trees thistle and leaves crinkle
i sit down and look at the ants being blown off
there was an awkward moment when
i stood and faced my sins in the face
there i was, stood idle, left to rust
the sun makes my uncomfortable
with a comforter beside me
a bag filled with my incentives
my evening glistens
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 3:59 AM UTC
It hides deep in your dark trenches.
It is the boldness of joy!
Rip it out of you and be relentless.
Be careful though; watch out for those menacing decoys.
Your happiness isn't in others.
It doesn't belong to them.
Treat it like you would your mother.
Tend to it and whatever you do: don't pull out the stem!
Your chest swells up with sadness.
Don't think that's not okay.
I know that it may all be madness,
But after it, you'll be left feeling gay.
You will sometimes feel scared.
You may sometimes feel sad.
Although you don't know it you will always be prepared.
It's okay to get mad.
I will always be there for you.
A best friend to love you.
A lover who knows how strong you are.
Your soul is battered.
Life can be tough.
No matter what though,
I'll always be by your side.
You're not alone.
I love you.
-For Julie.
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 10:41 AM UTC
I? A Heroine? You care about the end?
A nice story to encourage children for life!
While I wade through a swamp of thoughts
ugly, muddy, smelling of death trolls underneath.
I do doubt if there is an end at all.
I do doubt each temporary sense of joy.
I call them clever decoys, set by time
And time to fool us all like a group
of chickens fluttering wings for food.
yes, darling! All heroines passed the road
put an end, bold as brass, daring as a dagger
but I,baby-like, stumble and stagger
This isn't fair, and fair is not the point.
Let the pain crumble each muscle and joint.
But life! oh life plays her cards close to her chest!
And knows how to make disorder manifest.
Feb 21, 2018
Feb 21, 2018 at 5:16 PM UTC
Washington, DC, you need to wake up today
House Representatives you think Guns are ok
Guns in the public’s hands with bullets that go astray
Guns constantly **** every day
But it seems you want to have your own way
Push has constantly been done to get rid of Guns, but as usual Congress you have no words to say
Bullets can have anyone’s aim
But you Congress are the finger pointing in blame
Whatever happened to God’s commandment. “Thou shall not ****
But the question being and answer stalled on still
Guns will continue to destroy
Human bodies are not decoys
Guns are used as though they are toys
Congress, please stand with the world who are against guns
This is not some joke being a pun
It’s the seriousness of all these unnecessary guns
Guns are supposed to protect
At least this is you Congress has stated being elect
But you have turned your heads as a reject
What would it take for Guns to disappear?
Lives being loss, but how does one preserver
I often pray that Congress will do the right thing
Not so much fighting and being uptight
The mission is “Bullets to lose and lives to gain”
This ongoing shootings just can’t remain
Guns must go and just follow my flow
Guns have their own any and the multitudes add up to many
Fire one, aim to stop
Fire two, the target could be you
Fire three, Guns are getting into the wrong hands
Guns that could fire on me, and no one would investigate to see
How long and why wait?
Congress and the world, this is no time to hesitate.
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 7:36 AM UTC
I chase the decoys, fleeting and bright,
A world strewn with toys that dazzle the sight.
Deceptions and games weave through the day,
Till nightfall arrives, and truths slip away.
Something falters, a crack in the core,
Nature’s own riddle, unyielding, unsure.
Kindness must bloom where hardness takes root,
Yet chaos persists, sowing endless dispute.
How does it spin, this unending maze?
Life’s like a box where wild weeds blaze.
Courage, a spark, flares fierce in the space,
Confidence cuts with a savage display.
Nothing grows quick, though time doesn't stand still,
A constant pulse with a shifting will.
Scenes rise and fade, their edges blur,
Moments dissolve, yet their echoes stir.
What would the world be, in scarcity or wealth?
Would birds still carve skies in their boundless health?
Their wings sweep the heavens, a distant flight,
Carving their paths through the endless night.
Destiny runs deeper than surfaces show,
Its layers unfold where dimensions grow.
Beyond what we see, beyond what we trace,
A truth hums alive in the vastness of space.
Divisive tides clash, bold riders hone,
Creeping through shadows that cover the globe.
Somedays bring light, others weigh like stone—
What words can answer when meaning’s unknown?
Jun 16, 2025
Jun 16, 2025 at 5:20 AM UTC
I've got all my ducks in a row
Turned out 1 is rubber
2 are decoys
And the other 4 are vultures
But they're definitely in a row
Dec 24, 2023
Dec 24, 2023 at 4:43 PM UTC
ripe limed watermelon *****
wear light stricken sun stripes
for an absent bottom
without oxygen
but inside
infused with pink ecstasy
that births the belly of many seeds
see,
these decoys in our sight
seem willing
but they were alright just sitting
on
cross-legged coils in sun beams
what the acid stains left
when they came as spoiled decay:
a spot of impiety
where veins were torn
off
from a she-deity
and the gyroscopic fruit
before being eaten
was
already
gone
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 1:23 PM UTC