Best Decline Poems
Like maggots they simply crawl from the grave
Nothing seems normal or abnormal they just live on
As if the stars shine for no reason out the what once a man gave
Simple dots out in the sky appear for never known reason
They are the coexistence of our soul
Asking were and why for no optional existence
I know is something that may be too tall
But in this era what kid which knows nothing knows were to lay with presence
I know is hard to fall
But once in the sand the snow is just a corrosive pillow of dreams
To lose yourself out in the dark
Is all a matter of a doll
Only a matter of a darkened shark
Is a reason to exist
As the same beast comes to devour the dream of your own believes
I know how thick and how much it shift
I do believe in the presence of a well known man in balance that willows
For a time I was much lost
Yet I live hanging on the edge for god knows how much more
For a lifetime only with twenty one I wonder how I manage to be frost
Is a rare find is just a rare balance for
For the devil to take over me
But I decline because is my blood to let flow
I accept because it gives me so much more with my wonder of knee
Is a forevermore flow and a forever changing glow
God made me and I doubt that so much
God held me high and let me fall and I feel that with much rush
I declined the very existence of what humankind uses to say we exist
I know no more what to see, hear, smell, touch or perhaps think
But one thing is certain and I must move before the devil moves me from this room so bright
I will not fall just yet from the edge I still hold on to so dark
This is my eyes placed on some words
This is my fall rewritten by the world so full of flaws
BOXER
The late October day
marked the last of the tragic
encounters framed by the ropes
he preferred to the streets where a
journeyman boxer needs more than
taped hands for the troubles he sees
There had been no title shot, no top
ten ranking, just fifteen years of blows
to the body, to the head, to the soul -
volcanic eruptions, fissures and
earthquakes, myriad tremors in the
plate tectonics of the fist-pummeled
brain
He needed sixty more seconds of glaring
bright lights and a bored, bloody crowd
in a small-time arena in a town far away
Sensing his moment, he slipped to the
right, flicked two stinging jabs, bobbing
and weaving, then three quick strikes and
a pivot to the left that put him flat on his
feet for a violent combination with a
killing uppercut that soothed the roar in
his head, reduced the blur in his vision,
sent the menacing shadow to the canvas
for the count then left him out on the
sidewalks working, breathing hard,
dancing and pivoting like a big circus
bear, punching the air on a cold
afternoon before wary passing
strangers who tried not to notice,
in a town far away!
The Moral decline of Norway
What I find when reading the comment pages
in a leading Norwegian newspaper, is the absence
of charity and the arrogance of entitlement,
they will not be sullied by people fleeing famine
and war, they have themselves to blame why
should we get up from our armchairs and offer help?
It was not always thus, Norway was a small country
with a big heart and they believed in equality.
Then oil was found near the coast and everything
changed and not for the better, it is about getting
rich quickly and those who makes it are extolled
and the losers, forgotten. The rich have always been
egoistic – that is why they are rich- but this immoral
has infected the working class people who suddenly
get the idea that a workers union is not needed. and
I ask myself why do we do what is detrimental for our
well being and long term future
My daily drive; today through pouring rain,
Behind road fog snaking towards me from the truck ahead,
Slowly approaching the cloud-shrouded glass and metal,
Framed by downtown's bustling highways.
Graffiti on walls and overpasses define the city climate
Testimony of a divided space and time
Obscenities litter the viaducts and road signs
Racial slurs and sexual innuendos graphically apparent.
Beggars crowd each corner light.
Wheel chaired homeless; missing limbs and teeth,
Huddled beneath layers of sweaters and tattered jackets,
Mumbling into their private cyberspace of unreality.
Parking lots crowded with brown skinned men,
Waiting for one day's employment to wander by,
Speaking a language that is becoming the norm,
Twelve deep clustered in one room flats.
Sirens wail as the babies cry,
Crack head infants abandoned to a depleted system,
Children birthing children into a burdened structure,
Seams bursting in the waistcoat of mankind.
The windows fog as I look outside,
Confused, so many tears I’ve cried.
My house, my home, unfamiliar to me,
Unable to recognize what I see.
Wondering around late at night,
Scared, and feeling things aren't right.
All the things I knew before,
No longer familiar anymore.
Friends from many years ago,
With names I no longer know.
Fully aware in a way,
That I’ve changed, I’m not OK.
In shadows cast on amber streets,
The American Dream is fading fast.
Once a beacon and why it now wanes,
A tale of loss, of silent pains.
Industry roared, cities grew tall,
But inequality cast its shadowy pall.
Corruption crept, unchecked and sly,
Dreams thus fractured, our hopes left to die.
In the land of plenty, hunger grew,
As greed's poison tainted the red, white, and blue.
Education crumbled, a broken bridge,
Opportunity lost, but for the privileged few.
Wall Street whispers, a haunting hum,
As the dream succumbs to the beat of the drum.
Political storms, a tempest's tide,
The American Dream, lost, set aside.
Climate crisis knocks at our door,
Nature weeps, a world at war.
In the wake of choices, heedless and blind,
The American Dream fades, left behind.
To be what you think I should be
Your definition of poetry
I’m sorry
But I respectfully decline
Write like Shakespeare, Frost or Angelou
Emulate what all other poets do
I’m sorry
But I respectfully decline
Copy, pretend or try to be
Anything other than Kimberly
I’m sorry
But I respectfully decline
Live my life by what others say
Change any part of me today
I’m sorry
But I respectfully decline
Sudden, surly, vicious words
shake them to their core
the bear's awake, they must not make
their lord and master roar
Spitting, snarling, diatribes
make them fear his growl
the bear's awake, they must not make
a noise while he's a'prowl
Slowly, sadly, bitterly
the years and decades passed
the bear's now old and they've grown cold
and yet their fears still last
How does an old man as old as me
Keep up with the changes in society
Men can be women, old men can be girls
Pronouns can be mx or they, or hers
Abortion is healthcare through faces proud
Is said by the bearer who echoes the crowd
The word “marriage” has changed from the ancients
Is nothing pure? Is nothing sacred?
Positive and negative no longer are compliments
Now we’re the same cos no need for supplements
Sport now reflects the querying of boundaries
Like robots obeying we are and non-binaried
All whites are oppressive without a choice
Everyone else sings in harmonic voice.
The floodgates opened in 2014
Homosexual marriage the new morphine
All institutions now deceitfully captured
So called progressives buoyantly enraptured
The decline of the west has left me behind
But eternal truth is on my side.
I’m so excited about this election
about America and our direction
We’ll trust old men
to make big decisions
elderly men
of compassion and vision
Men who were there
when the work was done
when we went to the moon
and warred in Vietnam
A glorious age is at hand
we’ll be safe in those trembling hands
One who launched a murderous insurrection*
Another who can’t even follow simple directions
They will grasp what needs to be done,
our land will be free and efficiently run
We’ll trust old men
who think with precision
to keep us safe
with complex decisions
Men who were there
when the work was done
promoting corporate advantage
and environmental damage
A glorious age is at hand
we’ll be safe in those trembling hands
I’m so excited about this election
about America and our direction
.
.
Officer, Brian D. Sicknick was murdered by rioters, beaten to death with a fire extinguisher. 113 other police officers were injured trying to protect our capital on January 6th, 2021.
A twilight full of bitterness,
A dull and gloomy existence,
A deadly routine on the highway to nothingness.
The dictatorship of time has bound my lamentations,
Condemned to follow the hands of my decline.
Face to face with my failures and my excesses,
No victory will ever be celebrated.
To walk straight to the gates of hell,
To endure trials to harden my convictions.
A spiritual language before proselyte unbelievers,
The universal force in the periscope of my fate.
To play the slave for scraps of fleeting vanities,
An impossibility for my divine spark.
My tears have dried before the flames of the abyss,
Flashes of horror embedded in my memories.
To sing the symphonies of my oppressors’ imposture,
Like those alienated, docile, servile sheep,
Will never turn my aptitudes into a celebration.
The sun still does not rise
In the sky of my destiny.
The train of my life will never have wagons,
I have always traveled very light.
The journey has had only one direction since the beginning.
My priorities are reduced to my well-being,
I will rebuild my world with the shreds of pain
That have transformed my weaknesses into weapons.
I still have no time to devote
To the victimized lamentations of my entourage.
The glossary is murderous,
For humanity swallows celestial magnificence
Only to spit cruelty upon the face of the universal force.
At the shrinkage of the page
Expressions plead for length
Inhibition imposed on lines by columns
Words already accustom to scarcity
Pieces find focus in incompletion.
Thoughts flutter toward temples
Ready to leave prints on a canvass
Diving into ink, drying before depart
Leaving smudges with hints of beauty
Never a portrait to hold high.
Love found constancy through infatuation
Appearing in every attempt at honing
Shadowed by past excellence's remembrance
Exposing an unguarded diminishment
Appeased by external validation.
Truth distilled through repetitition
Emotional trials shared in nude
No longer enigmatic, too foreign to own
Complacent with the ease of flow
Mentally stalled by comfort's opposition to growth.
Time contriving towards finality
Longevity could not be imagined
A burnout, seen as a destination
Pieces threaded, undoing progress
Passion puckered away by a task, too daunting.
In my old age
I thought I’d have such yarns to tell,
of derring-do when I was hale and hearty.
Looking back, I wonder now just what befell
me in those years
and did I miss the party?
Distant echoes further fade
as all the days slip by.
An aproned lady combs my hair
and tells me I should try
once more to do the jigsaw,
but I really don’t know why.
They tell me I have new friends now,
sitting in a circle, wiggling toes,
or neatly slipper-clad, arranged in rows,
we sing “We”ll meet again”
at bedtime with our cocoa,
smoothing out the pain.
But well we know, when it’s time to go,
it’s our “au revoir” refrain.
At this late stage, should retire my mind
Still designing posters, making errors is a sign
Once very sharp
Missing parts
But my poetry is still clicking, that part's still fine
By the year 2010 most of its inhabitants were paodophiles.