Best Decayed Poems
Demons drown the desire;
proudly persecuting patiently.
Evil erupted entities;
maliciously mangling me.
Satan states the severity;
of corrupting his command.
Ferociously framed in fire;
horrifically at his hands.
Dreams died decades ago.
Slaying sins set out;
to traumatize the innocent,
on a rancid, wretched route.
Blood bath beginning;
Demons delightfully dote.
Abominations are appreciated;
take the knife to her throat.
The trials are terminated;
Judgment Day is just.
A lifetime with Lucifer;
all in the name of lust!
brittle stained jagged fingernails
scratch against the splint hairs
of a cold weathered wooden elbow
an impatient clock had sapped
a once supple leather coat
now requiring constant mending
as homeless unraveling posed an inevitable ending
torn pockets spilled over
with a plethora of dead letters
hope had long ago delivered
its final walking papers
without care of return receipt
handmade trees with news of unease
spun unmercifully
into the arms of a brisk fall breeze
birds began their escape
into the mouth of another sun
a slow rise from a patinaed throne
on a benched park seat
a myopic vision of how cracks
are formed on overused and forgotten streets
she walks alone
to nowhere
a decayed ballerina
the place she is seen as most complete
Age is not all decay; it is the ripening, the swelling, of the fresh life within, that withers and bursts the husk. George MacDonald
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In a world where decay is dominant,
Arctic tundra is melting, and envy is prominent.
Friendship withered away with the lapse of time,
Moon gapes at all facts and truths, concomitant.
We jive in death-cool air and chime,
Where dreams and hopes start to climb.
As though molehills faded into the grass,
Rapture rain has turned into melting rime.
In a place where the sky spills tears of brass,
And the howling winds bestow a deafening bass.
We lingered in the natural ephemeral support,
Behind the murky cloud of the ebbing mass
Our bond, however, was not flexible to contort,
Cyclic in the way that orchestral drums distort.
We carried out a solemn pledge on the floor,
In divine draughts, brambles flood the report.
The Meadow Brook gave us richness galore,
Black valleys where floods shred and roar?
We could not deny such a reservoir of devotion,
As with the wilting branches and dwindling door.
Our bonds faded, plagued by wide demotion,
Secrets below the land, a flurry of blades of notion.
In a world where deterioration prevails supreme,
Time and distance cast a curtain on our emotions.
But even amid such decay, there is a dream,
Darkening and drooping, we creep and esteem.
With the truth that humanity may split and slope,
Crows chirp as they drop twigs and scream.
While passing across acrid rings of mope,
Our ties are fraying. Teach me how to hope.
It shines brightly behind the gloomy overlay,
A dazzling beacon in the depths to grope.
In this universe of inexorable decay,
We acquire courage with each raw day.
With percussive pulses of love and delight,
Our ties will last for a span we cannot deny.
In a world where decay holds its might,
We defy its grasp, shining with an inner light.
Through the drills and tribulations we face,
Whatever embers burn our ego and sight.
Before me, was a fork upon the trail;
go left- go right- confused, I just stood there.
Then took a chance- not seeing past the veil
of crowded ferns that hid the views with care.
Not far into my chosen turn on right,
I saw the tattered roof, burst window, porch-
of the decaying structure- and, on-site,
a weathered chair that held a rusted torch.
The door, ajar- displayed a worn staircase
with some steps missing, quite in disarray.
Then, just like that- it floated down with grace-
a witch- with twigs and black rosette bouquet!
In black translucent skirt and cloak- she flew
above the stairs, past chair- to tall, dry, grass-
where once, for sure, a lovely garden grew.
But now- loud whispers warned, "do not trespass"!
I started backing up and then- oh, no!
The murmurings became a screeching scream!
Both ghost and house exploded in a glow-
as I woke up- to end my dreadful dream!
July 15, 2020
~1st Place~
Contest: Decaying House
Sponsor: Constance La France
Judged: July 19, 2020
Rules:
Write a poem on the theme of finding a decaying house
Use the 10 words (shown in bold) once only and in any order
Title is three words only from poem's first line
As I stand before this old, dilapidated house,
A structure fast decaying and about to crumble,
With its walls painted grey and white,
And the plaster bearing cracks and marks,
Memories leap out,
From the moss-grown crevices of my mind,
Like snakes uncoiling, rather like bees swarming,
Fragmented, scented, and sour!
I remember my old maternal uncle,
Who had turned a widower at forty-one,
The presiding deity of a joint family of sixteen.
Most of the time he sprawled in the armchair,
In the enclosed patio of this big house.
In the living room was an old grandfather clock
Ticking away like the faint heartbeat
Of that decadent house with crumbling plaster
He had seen heydays with many ceremonies of great fanfare,
When the house used to board all kith and kin,
And the granary was full of paddy and tons of black gold
But as time slowly weakened his torso
The house too lost its onetime splendor.
His children got scattered far and wide.
They went to hoard fortunes abroad.
But grand uncle refused to move away.
One day he left the house orphaning it for ever.
Now the house is sadly left to total decay.
Its life gone, its soul frozen,
A fragment of an old memory.
Though once I thought I had escaped,
The compulsions of the past
Now I discern, I am still pinioned by it!
As I stand before this house, my ears perk up,
For the lovely sounds this house once produced
And pine for the love
That once so luxuriously bloomed around!
Fleeting light streams through the broken window pane.
Flickering, as the only movement trying to bring life in vain.
The stillness is dense and dust lays thickly as all is grey.
The old house utters the softest moan, resisting evident decay.
There is an aura of shame, that it has been discovered this way,
Yet a distinct welcoming can be felt, its coupled with dismay.
The peeling paper on the walls, its former charm subsided,
The floorboards dry and cracked, beliefs of safety are misguided.
A yearning can be felt, a plea to resurrect it to its former glory.
Neglect has cruelly buried many a wonderful forgotten story.
The old house stands defiant against the storms the wind and flood.
One hundred years ago it was built with sweat, tears and even blood.
From its eaves and rafters to its foundations, it was built with pride.
A murmur comes from each empty room, heard faintly from deep inside.
Tears of its soul are felt. Whispers “rescue and restore me” it implores.
Gone are the wonderful stories, as the oncoming bulldozer roars.
Real men of courage fight for Truth,
Truth that's so pure, without dilution.
Dilution grays sight, blurs the Light,
Light so blurred can lead to Confusion.
Confusion sways to and fro like fickle waves,
Waves that leave the shore to flow with Doubt.
Doubt has no solid ground, it lies in graves,
Graves that are for the passive....in Silence shout.
All rights reserved ~~~~Cynthia Buhain-Baello~~07.25.15
Anadiplosis (/æn?d?'plo?s?s/ AN-?-di-PLOH-sis; Greek: ??ad?p??s??, anadíplosis, 'a doubling, folding up') is the repetition of the last word of a preceding clause. The word is used at the end of a sentence and then used again at the beginning of the next sentence. (wikipedia)
loving and caring
words spoken without thought
heart turns hard as rock
Show Me Contest Of Brian Strand
3rd Place Winner
When churches of honor decay
Mired in cynicism's wet glue
She splints the feet of hobbled faith
To believe as the unbroken do.
9/27/20
For 'Writing Challenge - Decay' contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
What causes a relationship to fail?
Decay sets in when thoughtlessness persists,
when selfishness extends beyond the pale,
and chances to show love are blindly missed.
Vacated houses crumbling with decay
once teemed with life and families with dreams.
Now in the wind, these spindly structures sway,
not willing to give up the ghost, it seems.
But Nature’s life-renewing power leans
upon decay of plants. Like night and day,
these opposites, decay and growth, are means
that lead to all Earth’s glory on display.
Each year Spring plants and flowers grace the Earth,
for God decreed that death results in birth.
The dead tree still stands totally decayed
Could be modern Sodom and Gomorrha
Babylon that Revelation's story told
The dead tree still stands totally decayed
Vision of tree came to me and stayed
What...is that tree ..America that I love
The dead tree still stands totally decayed
Could be modern Sodom and Gomorrha
(Genesis 19, 1Kings 14:24, Isaiah 13:1, 14:22, Revelation 14:8, 16:19 references that could
apply.)
Shu and Chu are both remote and desolate areas
Where I have lived in exile for twenty-three years.
Nostalgic, I couldn’t help chanting the Reminiscent Song;
Now I return home a weathered man absent for so long.
Passing by the sunken barge, countless sails are seen;
In front of the decayed tree, numerous trees turn green.
I’m honored to listen to your melodious song today,
And empty a glass of wine to refresh myself as I pray.
(Tran.)
Coldest mountains, sharpest peaks
Lonely, quiet there does lie
A better end it still seeks
Body under light blue sky
Its corpse has flown far and wide
Glassy eyes and foggy skin
Tumbling through river tide
None are there, no next of kin
The valley has mountain walls
Forever trapped, a ravine
So far down, echoing calls
None can hear his shadow scream
Water cold, it runs solid
Spirit wanders far away
Body kept almost flawless
Tired corpse is here to stay
Freezing water so no decay
Slowly comes the summer melt
Maggots gnaw his hope away
Hardened face begins to welt
Winters coming fast again
Who he was, none can tell
Here a hiker now and then
Body, now, just a symbol
Only few pay respects
Helping others escape his fate
Tourists, with different dialects
Though for him it’s much too late
Till this day the cold has trapped
Valley, his coffin he’s made
In a mountain, quite unmapped
A man, but only half decayed
one-time betrayal of trust
taints pristine relationship.
there's nothing worth salvaging;
not much to cling to.
they gave it a fighting chance
sadly, it was all for naught.
too strong, the stench of decay;
their love couldn't last.
"I thought I'd feel comforted by walking through my childhood home. The only emotion I felt was melancholy that it had been abandoned and left alone to die." ~ by poet
I sat in sorrow as tears salted the coffee in my cup
while I recalled the crumbling house of my youth.
I drove by yesterday and found it in need of repair.
The front porch planks had been badly cut up,
old wavy windows were all shattered. Forsooth,
the decayed look of it left me filled with despair.
Balustrades broken; paper peeled from the walls.
Ceilings sagged from many years of leaks in the roof.
The antique canopy bed where I once laid my head
was in ruins, along with Persian carpets in the halls.
I shook my head and clicked my tongue in reproof
upon seeing the fireplace mantle painted brick red.
The lovely flower garden had not faired any better...
Our well-tended heirloom roses had been left to die.
Mama's clippers and trowels were corroded with rust.
Gone was the swing where I wrote my first love letter.
I could not bear to look and turned away with a sigh.
Cobwebs adorned corners, covered in layers of dust.
I couldn't say fond farewell when it was time to leave,
nor did I turn for one last look, what could I have said?
I felt the need to hold my memories and a glass of wine.
I remember it the way it was then, and I began to grieve
for a house that had once been my own; the homestead,
and started humming the wistful tune, 'Auld lang syne.'