Best Dry Rot Poems
Puzzled by your measured liftime,
Much confusion you equate,
Knowing, as you grasp a lifeline,
Schedules show a drowning date.
Set upon by weeds and thickets,
Shuttered windows hide the veiw.
Then to find out-dated tickets,
Missed events concerning you.
Sit and mull this worn location,
Weakened walls that lean askew.
Houses' weary avocation,
Fighting Dry Rot seeping through.
Lived a life with doubts it happened,
Births and deaths and in-betweens.
Witness to a chaos bastion
Passers-by would deem serene.
Ghosts, convinced they still are living
Fool themselves with false vignettes.
Soon the messengers will give them
Peaceful crossing to their death.
Gene Bourne
06-08-14
.
A bedroom should be pleasant
a place where futures are conceived
where wonderful dreams in their effervescence are woven and believed.
when dreams aren't loved, supported and nurtured,
they are cast aside along with the future.
weeds now grow instead of flowers,
rhapsodies of life to be,
has lost all of its wondrous powers.
it is at that time the bedroom is changed.
where windows once stood with freedom's form.
steel bars are now in the window frame and
the factory for dream weaving has been transformed.
the mill of fabrics has been shut down,
the thread has dry rot and can not bound.
there will be no more sewing of seams,
for love is dead, and so are the dreams.
imaginary, ha you think so?
steel bars of betrayal, oppression & humiliation ....
believe me because I know.
imaginary... ha.. you think so?
steel bars of heartache, tyranny, anguish and disbelief .....
believe me because I know.
imaginary ... facsimiles .... replicas.....
do you believe these steel bars not to be true ?
they are there ..... believe me, i'll give you a clue.
bedroom walls which could tell many tales,
now bleed and cry.
smashing freedom as do all jails,
with its boarders wondering why?
a million pieces of devastation...
dreams of love are now only mutilations.
a retardation of two hearts and souls.
hearts once joined are now at opposite poles.
so the bedroom turns from a happy place to sad.
with bars of steel that are eternally had.
bars of steel that destroy and breed hatred.
bars of steel that satan deems sacred.
victory can be gained over those bars of steel.
to conquer that demon, love must prevail.
dream dreams of love,
and sew with the strongest of thread.
weave your fabric of love,
the dream mill must be started again.
make room in your heart, soul and head......
for the dream weaver........................
the dream weaver returns triumphant again!
"Rolled Oats"
Age shall not weary
trolls counting strange fruit
golden apples rolled
Lord Laden put to sleep
on an alter Hippomenes
there Atalanta lights a candle
underneath the dry rot
Ovid’s oracle prophecy not far wrong
3 golden apples racing along
Hippomenes
strange addiction was outshone
the race never to be won
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
love is so hard to requite
when sin has killed desire
where there was once a desprite need
now the smoke of an extinguished fire
the empire where there was a throne
that sparkled with streets of gold
crumbled into disrepair
a slum of dry rot, mildew and mold
love was an idol truely a god to behold
a million promises to ones self
over and over told
dilusions of grandure
and hopes that lured the way
a blindness created
that explained iniquities away
an unselfish giving as love would endure
a life style of living
with a dream soundly secured
writen in stone this thing so pure
proteceted by my love so sure
until that day... until that day
yet i have never stoped loving you
with all my power
i cannot pause my affection
for one single hour
mine is to suffer endlessly
and to never forget your name
from this day forward
I'll always feel the same
i'll always take you back
no matter what you do
it's a given fact
that i'll always love you
no matter what you are to me
you'll always have my heart
no matter what you do to me
you'll always own a part
so with this wounded heart
i still give my life to you
with a foolish heart
i swear my love to you
love is so hard to requite
when sin has killed desire
where there was once a desprite need
now the smoke of an extinguished fire
the empire where there was a throne
that sparkled with streets of gold
crumbled into disrepair
a slum of dry rot, mildew and mold
love was an idol truely a god to behold
a million promises to ones self
over and over told
dilusions of grandure
and hopes that lured the way
a blindness created
that explained iniquities away
an unselfish giving as love would endure
a life style of living
with a dream soundly secured
writen in stone this thing so pure
proteceted by my love so sure
until that day...
While out driving, I couldn’t help, but stop and explore an old Victorian manor on a knoll. The unkempt courtyard was barred by a rusty old gate that had a chain and busted padlock to keep intruders out. My curiosity over took me as I gazed at the ivy and brush covered decaying building. Seeing no harm, I walked up the broken creaky steps on that silent eerie, deafening evening as a cold chill raced up my spine, even though I had a warm winter coat on.
To my surprise the weather-beaten door opened slightly when I knocked on it. After peeking in, I slowly stepped inside to a musty smelling great- room. As I started walking across the creaking rumbling floorboards, a warm breeze blew pasted me and slammed the front door shut. I jumped and let out a tide of nervous mumbling as I moved farther inside. There was a barren feeling of life as I eyed the dark musty, rundown old neglected house.
Dry rot had taken over the ceilings from being empty so long. Rats had run across the decaying dirty floors, huge fly filled dusty cobwebs in every corner. Despite the decay of the old manor it somehow retained a profound grandeur with an old run-down grandfather clock even though it had stopped living years ago. Making my way upstairs I thought I could hear low sounds of screaming, weeping crying of terrified voices. I couldn’t shake the niggling that something was amiss when I heard a loud noise coming from the attic that sent a chilling cold feeling down me. Hearing a door squeak open, I turned and raced back down the stairs.
Stopping in the great-room to catch my breath I jumped when I felt something rub against my leg. My head jerked down only to see a black cat purring and rubbing my ankles. As I looked up the old clock started to chime and with a click the front door swung open. Reaching down I scooped up the cat in my shaky arms and ran out the open door to my car.
With the cat curled up purring on the seat beside me, I raced toward home wondering what caused me to stop. I could be sitting in a nice hot bath or curled beneath my warm down comforter.
8/17/2018
Fragile as alabaster white dry as your sin
so sweet I want to caress to cradle and suffocate.
I feel that dry course texture of alabaster
and sin, the skin you are in, I feel the sand in my teeth…
The tang of its bitter taste the smell of parchment
dry as desolations rage, I recoil at the touch of your alabaster skin.
I feel the bones without and within brittle as suicide of time you sit with that sinister grin n that hellacious light in you inner eyes, spin!
I figure you are the one to be waiting before the son with the blade as sharp and keen slicing your alabester skin.
Slicing away your dry fragments of sin I keep it all in the dry rot of my mind the turn of my stomach
I want to cress and suffocate…
Your candlelight…
The lies that the eyes tell, that watch me caressing your delicate skin all alabaster and white dry as stone and l...
Fragile as alabaster white dry as your skin
so sweet I want to suffocate all, within!
as fragments of you drift
over and around
like the sand
thought
the hourglass…
Alabaster Skin
here i am in the flesh
no victim levelled in scope
22 catches im cashing
not selling the dope
i watched the sunrise
used to pray sometimes
kids thatd played outside
tho fate did seem unkind
chased a better understanding
even struck with fear
i snuck the beer
tried to duck my peers
i followed a different meter
nothing a solid measure
chosen to conquer pressure
everything a destresser
heart holding me hostage
molted to honest
i bolted the hardest
when the weather was modest
a mouse a giant in microns
goodbye to those by gones
dont question my sigh wrong
my glance isn't sidelong
grapple like pyslocke
i baffle this time slot
id raffle what i got
if the apple had dry rot
a value subjection
the cowl of perfection
the now in dissection
with an owls direction
i mirrored reflections
considered my being
chose service of special
situations im seeing
putting words to the onset
throwing curves in a concept
praise a merge of the object
from curse to the prospect
You've been told.
Dirty laundry doesn't go on Facebook especially if
You don't want to get caught.
This was cold
By a thousandfold
You two blocked a family member from a family
Function. Then when confronted lied and tired to
Cover it up as an afterthought.
You've been told
Running your mouth about family and friends on
The internet will get you scolded.
You got what you sought.
This was cold
Your souls to the devil you sold.
When you took time from a family member who
Suddenly died and the person you blackballed
Is over wrought.
You've been told
Family is more precious than gold.
The sad part is you guys now have lost all of
Your family on this stupid plot.
This was cold
There is no way for her to be cajoled.
You both are filled with dry rot.
You've been told.
This was cold.
On A White Stool
You know there is no turning around,
no pausing in any way, because the path to the woods,
where the sky demons make their homes,
has been flooded by the blue rivers there,
which flow by like glaciers on fire,
with life clinging to the whims of God almighty,
we first saw the downcast stares of fear,
made while sitting straight-backed on a white stool,
your troth of insanity, your refusal to bend or talk,
but it keeps going forward, this life, that never ceases to teach,
never decides to open the windows
when the blustery news reaches forth
from the darkest place downstairs beneath the dry rot.
Under the Lampshades
You are hurriedly racing your crazy Cadillac,
looking to squeeze in more time at the yoga salon,
and have a relaxing conversation under a set of palm trees out back,
with sandwiches of desire mixed with sardines and mustard;
this person you are racing to is the one
who knows the right buttons to push.
Is it time for another epoch of stranded conveniences,
required by society as solemnly as a funeral with no body?
We know there is a hidden pain not felt,
not until a rain of shredding years find their progressions captured,
inside old rooms down hallways of musty time,
with apparitions of giggling girls walking back and forth,
looking for aroused embraces in the burning night,
Come with me now, is there no time for lazy hours under lampshades,
after we gather up red nectarines at the Uptown faire?
We can gaze at the old faces and wonder if they knew anything.
But inside this 1956 Cadillac we all knew where the flashlights were hidden,
And we all knew where the silver keys to the pink hearse were located.
Shh, don’t make a sound! Try not to make a clamor within these green tiles.
There are witch hazel bottles half full in the medicine cabinets, and
There are asbestos catchings in the dry rot, and ancient cobwebs made of beard,
Collapsing here with us in this dead basement of cement and lost whispers.
Shhh, she is tiptoeing down the creaky steps now wearing brown skin;
My breath is taken away as with all spirits ascending upward face-first.
I'm Bald headed-have piss yellow teeth
don't use balm or whiteners to appear young again
every scar is a jagged path to a novella called living.
Cursed and blessed with a good heart
wild horse temperament that's bucked most riders off.
Loyal to a fault for the few who've stuck it out
through all the ups and downs.
I could blow out of here at any time
but for now everything's just fine..
I've crash landed on a cay of calm..
Quite proud that I've made it this far
more than half way to a hell, oft mistaken as a star
At times slipping into the murky waters of mundane,
just another battered face rooting through a discount bin
Always on the fringe of a spinning tassel of content
Everywhere there's mounds of glitter glued to plastic bags.
covering up the dry rot-I've no interest in any of that
Shocking I can pull it together at a funeral
but not when I'm putting down a pet-
I want to be a whirling dust devil
outside this hollow town
not inside the plastic masks
of all the dead hearted clowns.
LES MISERABLE
Leslie was happy was Les
Bought himself a sweet little des res
Though it’s quaint it’s got
A bad case of dry rot
Les now miserable, his res ain’t so des
In the land someone forgot
I found my Camelot
On a cal-de- sac on a corner lot
In a tree filled plot.
It's my beauty spot.
Probably to a lot
It doesn't look all that hot
Even with blooming forget me nots.
This place has oak trees that have over shot
The driveway some what.
I am thankful there is no dry rot
In the place I bought.
I will plant apricot
And kumquat
Trees in the back of my lot.
The coyotes, eagles, owls, boars, hawks,
Turkeys, and so much more all come for
A visit to the land someone forgot
That I bought.
It's no wonder this place has my heart.
Who would of thought?
This baseball diamond was what I sought.
Purgative debacle debilitated me December 18th, 2020
Hoop fully adequately explains
source of odoriferous dry rot,
ye possibly smell, I jot
within this reasonable rhyme
without putting Johnny on the spot
my absence NOT attending fellowship,
today December 20th, 2020
albeit remotely, cuz off to bathroom
I frequently needed to trot.
Athwart porcelain goddess
at aforementioned date
bare with me rear potty talk,
I profusely apologize
concerning offal topic
wasting proctology boilerplate
nevertheless, quite a disaster
concerning mine excretory freight
said irritable bowel syndrome
necessitated I hydrate
and fast, thus yours truly
spent no time to judicate
nor analyze why rectum
severely overactive of late,
but aside from
lower gastrointestinal discomfort,
I also experienced linkedin symptom
namely upset stomach felt nauseate.
The power of mind over matter
slowly emerged inside anguished pate
physical unwellness across entire body electric
essentially, laterally, and unstintingly did radiate
and sucker punch ground zero i.e. solar plexus
fall out on par with mushroom cloud trait
unleashed courtesy nuclear warhead
without a shadow of doubt ability to function
even on primal level unwellness did vitiate.
Impossible mission to implicate
predilection to experience panic attack
whereby mine entire psyche did crack
blowing major fuses analogous to ENIAC.
In 1942, physicist John Mauchly proposed
an all-electronic calculating machine.
The result was ENIAC
(Electronic Numerical Integrator And Computer),
built between 1943 and 1945—the
first large-scale computer to run
at electronic speed without being slowed
by any mechanical parts.
Yours truly entertained no mood
to jump figurative gun
taking no time to think and brood
and shoot from the hip
(perhaps while partially nude)
(regarding sharing his antithetical thoughts
within break out groups)
virtual bodyguards escorting out this dude
possibly unintentionally antagonizing
listeners buzzfeeding misinterpreting
weaponizing commentaries assembled crude
easily mistaken for flak, I sincerely eschewed.