"decry" poems
Goats and skinheads try to boast
they say they do it more than most!
Musk ox have a mighty try
Bang! A crash to split the sky.
Alpine sheep, buffalos too
all decry "the rest are poo!"
But they see stars around their nut
when they receive a Dragon ****
No run up or deep breath required
**** all day long , they're never tired.
Oh how the jealous ones desire
a headbutt fuelled with dragon fire!
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 4:13 PM UTC
Utopia Must Be An Invention of the Mind
I have searched long and hard, trying to find that place
where peace and serenity, in our world may yet grace
a chance to meet a dream come true, if only for a few
where pain and suffering are gone, and will never renew
Then I realized, this Utopia I seek, on a map will not be found
still an undiscovered world, whose contemplation will confound
finding some comfort, the thought of my soul ascending on high
no longer to be troubled, suffering on earth never again to decry
A world exists but not for the living, to experience this garden of delight
a place where the happiness of life's dreams, will satiate your appetite
where fear and worries cease, hope and desire now become your reality
trials and tribulations throughout life, ending with that long awaited finality
Maybe Utopia really does exists, but only with extreme effort can you hope to say, it you have acquired
but most people refuse to commit, unwilling to put in the time and effort that is unquestionably required
how mistaken we often are, thinking we can still remain happy, giving up by settling for that much less
only up to the point we are once again challenged, and our daily events again cause us all of our stress
To understand why so many people never seem to be satisfied, no matter what they have, it is never enough
first we must acknowledge the answer might be found in the lies people believe, but most of them are a bluff
Utopia must be an invention of the mind, convincing itself that feelings of joy and happiness are close at hand
seemingly it might then be prudent to maintain this self-deception, since this is what our egos really demand
Although it has been stated time and again that Utopia does not and can not exist, yet we still continue to dream
coming to teach us this great lesson in human psychology, how much for happiness' sake, we're willing to scheme
yet we can take note to the fact that despite our varying differences, this human condition remains constant in us all
our primary need for true happiness is why we can rest assured, invisible Utopia we will forever continue to recall
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 2:30 PM UTC
You Sir, Are An Electrician!
**technocrat
— noun
a proponent, adherent, or supporter of technocracy.**
This city boy was expert at
Turning the lights on,
Unlocking the front door,
Putting new batteries in flashlights,
And calling the handyman to
"Please come upstairs"
When the degree of diving difficulty was a
Positive number.
Also,
Freezing the semi-permanently the DVR,
Triggering alarms,
Killing car batteries,
Making laptops question
Human sanity,
Tearing up when reading,
"Some Assembly Required!"
Raised in a city of experts,
He was unskilled in things electric,
Becoming apoplectic,
When a device had an
On/off switch that ignored him.
Somewhat famous he was,
For engaging the inanimate,
In a verbal dialectic,
Which included words highly phonetic,
But unsuitable for children's ears.
She was raised in rural pastures,
Corn fields used for hide n' go seek,
Riding goats after school
Just for fun,
Familiar with innards of
Deus ex machina, a/k/a
Minor engine repairs, and
Doing what he called,
Making reparations.
IOS7, heaven.
Cabling laptop to external devices,
Icing on the cake,
Dis and reassembling a German coffee maker,
Did not require calling an 800 number.
She never read an instruction sheet
Without pleasurable laughing at
Japanese English.
He was unashamed of his skilled
Unskilled characteristics,
For such is the way of the world
In the human kingdom,
Some of us two handed,
some of us, bi-standers.
But upon occasion,
He would bemoan his fate,
Decry his inability to survive
On a post-apocalyptic Earth,
Like the people on tv and movies.
Periodically he would grow morose,
Listless, at his inability to adapt to a
Point Oh world.
Uncomprehending
Icons and symbols whose meaning
Were wholly unintuitive,
He secretly ashamed of his need for
technological ******
She would sense his frustration,
Wipe away his inner condensation,
Climbing into his lap,
Whispering the following:
**You sir, are an electrician
of words, a verbal technocrat,**
Plumber of the depths where
Few fear to tread, explorer of the head,
Restorer of human paintings unmatched,
Without your ilk,
this world would be unbearable,
Your heart's warming silk
Comforts bodies and souls,
Speaking from experience personal.
Then, she flicked his
On/Off switch,
On.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 2:43 AM UTC
They will tell you there is a right way.
They will hand you a torch and call it the sun.
They will roll their words in raw linen and whisper:
"This is what poetry is meant to be."
And you will nod.
Because they have made it so that not nodding feels like blasphemy.
But listen—
the ink does not check your credentials.
The meter does not ask if your suffering is organic.
A line does not collapse because it was crafted instead of bled.
They will tell you a poem must be naked, barefoot, aching—
as if there is no beauty in a well-cut suit.
They will decry the temple and build a pulpit in its ruins,
preaching freedom in a voice that allows no dissent.
Good poets are cult leaders,
and the first rule of the cult
is that they are not one.
So write the sonnet, carve the sestina,
sculpt the page in iambic steel.
Or break it, shatter it, scatter its bones—
but let no one call your wreckage untrue.
And if they do,
smile.
Because poetry does not kneel to priests.
Feb 18, 2025
Feb 18, 2025 at 2:11 AM UTC
No. It's an impudent falsehood. Men did not
Invariably think the newer way Prosaic
mad, inelegant, or what not.
Was the first pointed arch esteemed a blot
Upon the church? Did anybody say How
modern and how ugly? They did not.
Plate-armour, or windows glazed, or verse fire-hot
With rhymes from France, or spices from Cathay,
Were these at first a horror? They were not.
If, then, our present arts, laws, houses, food
All set us hankering after yesterday,
Need this be only an archaising mood?
Why, any man whose purse has been let blood
By sharpers, when he finds all drained away
Must compare how he stands with how he stood.
If a quack doctor's breezy ineptitude
Has cost me a leg, must I forget straightway
All that I can't do now, all that I could?
So, when our guides unanimously decry
The backward glance, I think we can guess why.
5.6k
The orb of night is pulchritudinous tonight,
And not a breath of life in this house seems to notice.
My eyes on you, Your eyes on me,
Viciously music trapped between the bed and windows;
Innocents tiptoeing along the hall,
And us.
While walking towards your car,
I suppose inferring that:
The orb is pulchritudinous tonight,
But what I decry is meant for self-revelation or not at all.
You look at me and smile.
I will always admire the way you glow is so generous to,
Those unaware of the way she fills my eyes.
A delicate modesty.
You open my door,
And I am thankful;
But can’t help wishing to be with someone who notices that,
The Orb is Pulchritudinous tonight.
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 6:23 PM UTC
United [] [] [] Meanwhile
we boldly [] [] [] we fortify
decry [] [] [] our hearts
the loud [] [] [] not permitting
orange man [] [] [] entry
wailing for [] [] [] to anyone
a wall [] [] [] at all
.
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 1:11 AM UTC
From the outside
looking at my country
do not laugh
do not mock
do not decry this
as the collective scream
of a nation gone mad
understand that
this is not a choice born of madness
but rather
this is a choice born of desperation
a cry
of every mother who can't feed her children
of every father working multiple jobs, just to provide
of every child born into a suffering they will never rise from
of every person who has to beg on the streets
hoping, begging for things to change
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 9:46 AM UTC
"Beauty just is."
I have an 80's wooden plaque with a picture of an ocean somewhere and waves crashing on the rocks, written on the sky in the photo is the quote, "Beauty just is."
I believe it. So should you. Whoever you are.
I could pick apart the picture. But I won't.
Don't look for ugly.
The quote was given credit to anonymous. Deservedly so.
Anyone anywhere at anytime can recognize beauty.
This is not a duty, choose to be dutiful in all things beautiful.
There is lacquer over the picture to protect it. The lacquer makes it shine.
I find that part ironic, protecting the beauty from spills, unkind graffiti,
from any ugly thing that might happen to it.
That might mar the beauty.
It is not an easily recognizable coastline,
not a celebrity coastline
or a model coastline
or a physically outstanding coastline,
no archways of rocks
or large rocks
that have stood the test of time and erosion and wind and well, pollution.
"Beauty just is" so accept your beauty.
I am not talking to your cat or my dog, the aquarium or the stable full of horses, all those animals do not measure life in terms of beauty, only we, humans do. Animals do not judge anything on the basis of beauty, smell maybe, not necessarily good smells but strong smells, even odours.
Only we humans; also decry, put down,
use the word ugly
and write each other
off,
for not being beautiful.
But "beauty just is", beauty just is. Period.
If you are talking about a piece d'art and
you are going to shell out cash, from your stash,
make sure you buy something significantly important to you and beautiful.
As for another human being...
You have not the right or responsibility to say that someone is not beautiful.
I do not think there is
one person with the wisdom,
alive to recognize what makes
each of us beautiful.
Beauty just is, no parts, no assembly required, accept it, accept one another.
I know there are those that already get it.
I don't want them to read this and sweat it.
They don't need to. I want the bully to read this, out loud.
Beauty JUST IS. You might not get it, yet.
Keep rolling it thru your mind, a beautiful surprise awaits you.
Meditate on it.
Meditate on not the author of the quote, he is anonymous, but the Creator of beauty is not.
Be surprised, as this revelation once understood, will change your perspective on life, after all you're beautiful too.
Originally done by © DWE 2011-5-11
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 12:39 AM UTC
For You- Butch my friend from Philippines ocean away to Cali U.S.A
FRIENDSHIP is like Red Rose in my Garden.
It is not the sum -total on how many it BLOOMED
but unfathomable beneath the ROOTS thriving & Sprouting.
Purview as Emoting little some Some,
little Bored,
little Depleted
little sad, or yielding to the Inevitable!
Languish to anguish perhaps from lack of vitamin 'ME"..Ahah!
Thereby stayed in touch, in Tuned
following the thread with ME.
My Friend so close yet Afar.
Truly Extraordinary,
wonderfully Smiling
and adamantly Affirms:
"You are D apple of my Eye!"
Every time WE see eye to eye in social networking called Facebook
Through Cyber Space
The abounding witty comments of "OMG's," "Ohhs "and 'AAhhs"
makes everyone amused with Awe of such silly antics we so accorded!
A blessing, a gift from God.
So unusual Diamonds so Alike
a rare atypical like it!
..so Uncommon
Not Phony friends out there to deceive & Decry..
Succumb unlikely in Waterloo!
But You definitely a Diamond to my passion!
As girl's BFF, a Buddy or a Sweet chum or Dude!
Not a Foe but Pal Forever.
And just to let You Know , my Friend,
You are like a Diamond so brilliant
Found like a rare gemstone from a dust
who is never be a mere coincidence to bring JOY & Delight
to the norm & Conform.
So for now.. priceless friend like You..is for me to treasure the friendship between Us.
Thank you, my Friend,
I will always be here & there for You as a Friend in Deed!
Aug 7, 2011
Aug 7, 2011 at 11:57 PM UTC
I sit amongst rampant consumerism,
Yet I smile as I sip my Starbucks tall Pike Place.
To my left, old ladies decked in Tiffany decry their neighbours folly,
Even while they sit blind to their own.
To my right, Chapters!
Book store that offers so much more,
A perfect monument of society's needs answered in one storefront.
We don't shop here for a read, or for the escape some unknown author's words spell for us.
No, this masterfully crafted shop answers our shared need of empty spending on soulless items that will lift us from the mire of our meaningless lives for one instance,
Before that scented candle or witty greeting card is left to collect the dust of our fallen gods.
Behind me the street is full of noise but no one is listening,
Busses carry the many but each is a world onto themselves,
Thoughts not of their making wrestle for attention with smartphones,
Before long the thoughts echo what the eyes read on the digital screens glowing below them.
The enemy of my friend...
Don't let consciousness wake!
Combined the noise without and the noise within will drown whatever chance we had at relevancy.
And so Oprah wins,
Look under your chairs,
It's your new life,
Not to be mistaken with your old one,
This one comes with a shiny new automobile, trip, ring, dress, shoes,
Anything but enlightenment.
Before me,
Possibilities.
You?
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
In preserving Hugo Chavez,
every method will be tried.
If stuffing Hugo doesn’t work,
They’ll try Formaldehyde.
Madam Tussaud’s was consulted
But their wax was doomed to melt.
It is steamy in Caracas
And Hugo’s not exactly svelte.
A corpse in a glass coffin
Like Snow White on display
The late lamented Hugo
Was a saint some peasants say.
What is it with these communists
Who all faiths do decry?
They long to be like Lenin;
To be worshiped, deified.
In the end they'll use McDonald's
secret sauce to tan his hide.
Their burgers last forever
don't get me started on their fries.
If you go to Venezuela
Be sure and say hello for me
To the carcass of Caracas
preserved for posterity.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 11:06 PM UTC
cast off
they never wanted us
they just want what we've got
I decry
because I must
before what I remember of liverpool
is ground into dust
underfoot
of a conservative government
determined to sell off everything
that makes us
us
we must what we must
its time to take back
what was ours in the first place
its in our blood
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 11:27 PM UTC
The long dormant heart need
burst, explode, dance in the fire,
decry the years.
Dare laugh at the black angel,
howl with glee, a jacquerie of one,
for you are a presence, alive.
Astonish, before it is too late,
for the lambent eve wanes.
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 7:06 PM UTC
Cords are becoming loose,
Affections floating the boat
To the island of Disappointment
Oxytocin no longer rushes
Staying stagnant
Until a trigger releases the manacles
Tied stiffly
Assumed there is a chance
But you waived the golden opportunity
Embarked on the journey
Of self-indulgence
Into your picked avenue
Casanova
Betrayer
Narcissist
Hypocritical Not I
But you showed me
I will decry
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 1:52 PM UTC
Versifyin'
Isn't dyin',
But man,
It's hard to do.
Words and lines
Sound like cliches,
What once
Was old
Is new..
Familiar phrases
Crowd the pages,
Causing such to do.
Can anyone write
Anything new.
Did I write that;
Overhear a wit?
Read it in the loo?
I'll note it down,
Sit,
Sweat and swap,
Get off the ***
And write it.
I don't purloin
Pretty Woman
Because Roy
Is older than me.
To write Yesterday
Is almost to say,
I've hijacked
Sir McCartney.
Write Daffodils,
And see what thrills
That word brings to you.
We may overuse them,
Unwittingly
Abuse them,
And with some we amuse,
But they're ours,
Put to good use
With me.
The number of chords
Limits the hordes;
Repetition ensues,
The decry is sung:
I've heard that song before.
The great ones of writing
Are cause for citing,
By we and me and you.
Can't contrast love to roses,
Shakespeare's told us;
Can't compare eyes to stars,
Lips to petals:
To say,
Your soft, white skin
Is an ink-black sin.
And Beautiful should not
Be used as such.
If one must use it,
One needs
A thesaurus.
Thee, Thine, and Shall
Have taken their toll;
Like Death,
Be not proud.
Be the chosen one,
You know how.
Words and phrases
Are replete;
Too well known
Not to repeat.
They're in
Our vernacular
To be used by
Any author.
But verbatim
Copying's outlawed.
The copy cops
Finger-print
The frauds.
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 10:19 PM UTC
Eyes full of the unknown
We slowly came to know
Of each other, nervous but excited
Feeling around in the dark what was to become so familiar
Months past in your arms
Years next to your lips
Arguments set in, thunder storms
We fought to make up and made up to fight
There was life in it still
Two strong characters of will
Impassioned lust laid across covers of trust
My beautiful vision of you and I
Too perfect you did decry
Infected by resentment, my heart shrank
You were to endure words so utterly fraught with cold
As though fashioned in the North Pole
Yet your love remained bound tightly to me
We would rise high above common ground
Soaring amongst the clouds, our love not to be touched
Until crashing down we fell into boundless hell
Picking at faults we should have forgiven
Too long they haunted our position
“You need to change” we both declared
Attempts were made in vein
So simple it all seems now
To have simply kissed your furrowed brow
Taken your hand and reassured you of my love
Apologised for any wrong made in haste
Sadly it was too late; you took matters into your own hands
Feeling away from me into foreign lands
To where I could not reach you
I went mad with pain of missing you
My utmost did I try to show my change
The man I had renounced stood no longer in me
I only wished for your return
To rekindle the fire that had died in my heart
I would rise born again a better man
With you to guide my unsteady hand
The fire remains quelled ever since you came back
To see and feel for me so differently
Our bond lay broken, dashed aside
Relinquished our tie, let loose against the tide
I now struggle out at sea, wave’s crash over me
Waiting, hoping for you to rescue me
It never came
Memories seemingly held you back
Of torment, tears rolled by
So your love drowned
Letting it go gladly, almost a relief
I now sit alone
Wet and full of regret, on a vast sandy beach.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 5:23 PM UTC
She’ll wander back to you again,
but drawn by the string
of ineffable instinct—kissing the sand
of your beaches still damp
by the routine of her departure.
Yet as she recedes,
you already ache her homecoming
as though longing for an estranged relative.
You count the years
by the bitterest point
of every winter, and
value your harvests
against the cruelty of the drought—
and even when she rearranges herself
nightly, by increments you’ve already calculated
by meticulous observation,
somehow good fortune owes you eternity,
even as it crumbles under the weight
of its own impermanence.
You’ve never dealt well with entropy;
all that came before you, which also happens
to survive you—an honorary god.
Stranded on earth,
you monitor your greying scalp as grimly
as you decry a darkening sky above you succumbing
to the certainty of winter, but
even she is ebbing, too.
You curse her departure like an abandoned child,
but she had never sinned against you—
that was your idea.
You mourn the day she repossesses
with mortal anguish,
yet you still find a way to forgive her
when she sends Dawn
to shine his light between the trees.
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 7:44 PM UTC
He's dead!! They weep and wail
Now they proclaim "He was a hero" apartheid slain
True it was vanquished but at a cost
Acts of terror, his proclaimers forgot
Preaching peace to a world stage, others you counsel killed each day
The truth is tainted by the media's stage, all colours all tribes dead on the way
I don't decry the good he did, but remember the killing in his partys name.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 6:09 PM UTC
1. I must let go of my expectations
whenever you put forward an idea
the idea of how happiness and bitterness
should work
you put forth expectations
on how the world works
it will surprise you every time
show the flip of the coin
if we do not live moment by moment
allowing each to have it's own
Importance
we label ourselves with
the falacy of past and future
we remember the past as only we can
Individually
we know the future by estimations
of consequence
in regard to present decisions
each day we are born anew
each day is a lifetime
a chance to Be change
to experience life according
to the gleam in our eye
label me by my past
and you label my ghost
my ghost doesn't care - it's only an imagined
imprint in the Now.
2. Happiness does not depend on
the opinions of others
there will always be those
for whom my joy
will cause the ugly head
of Cerebus to raise
and try to bite
their hair they pull
their teeth they gnash
in frustration of seeing
someone else
achieve that highest goal
of contentment within the self
it is human nature
within the viewfinder of history
to enjoy the suffering of others
even when we decry to the contrary
I must stand alone -
if I cannot be happy
in my quietest places
then that golden nugget
of bliss has not been truly found
the fire I light is for my
Own Illumination
I have no control
over the reactions of others
they may share in my epiphanies
or war against me - I never know which
but, I will always stand
within my own subjective reality
and know
My Own Truth.
Sep 24, 2010
Sep 24, 2010 at 9:55 AM UTC
How now the vanishing wind…
The days are upon us
last season begins
All words are regifted
and placed into song
As time has now shifted
our last excuse gone
How now the suffering lies…
The light burns immortal
old visions decry
What’s done long behind us
new storms call our name
The clouds mark their entry
—the past left to blame
(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2018)
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 1:47 PM UTC
On harried days when our world seems unkind,
There lies a place my senses crave to be,
Within the shady woodland wild and free,
To ease the burdens of my troubled mind.
I soak much joyous sounds the Wood bestows,
Absorbing dawn aubades each songbird sings,
While zephyrs murmur notes like chello strings,
Beneath a harsh cacophony of crows.
Infectious woodland scents I fondly yearn,
A wily pungent fox peers with unease,
The sweetness of the wildflower on the breeze,
Against the bitter of the trodden fern.
A rotted branch falls crashing to the floor,
As Nature shows its sudden crushing powers,
Two butterflies then kissed some purple flowers,
Such gentle grace that startled me much more.
A speckled thrush begins her fledgling wean,
In search of ration squabble in a fume,
A worm to share with raised and ruffled plume,
She watches proudly o'er in perfect preen.
The sparkling sunlight dapples through the shade,
As if it dripped from sun drenched foliage,
A scene where light and shadows both engage,
Unleashing dazzling splendour on the glade.
These wilds intoxicate me as I stroll,
The need for drugs or liquor I decry,
Near Nature I am naturally high,
As Gaia lulls me to her leafy soul.
Dusk slowly looms, as daylight moments wane,
Return I must to cruel society,
The healing woods restored much piety,
This ailing mind refreshed and freed of pain.
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 7:17 PM UTC
Reason is there to explain,
Heart is there to perceive.
Souls are there to entwine,
Eyes are there to believe.
Nature is there to be loved,
Minds are there to be moved.
Sorrows are there to be drowned,
Fools are there to be spoofed.
All that we have is ourselves,
All that we cherish is dreams.
All that we trust is a lie,
All that we know is a myth.
Illusions are there to defy,
Light is there to embrace.
Evil is there to decry,
Karma is there to face.
1.11.2010
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 8:16 AM UTC