Behold how pleasure seeps through to the strangest places;
as if it's effects could make a river climb a steep incline.
A pink, feathered ball with a pipe cleaner neck and an old rubber nose, stands in stasis.
Or should I says hops, where exactly do we draw the line?
It's blinding pink is no sign of flamboyance nor an ostentatious display.
Flamingos are what they eat and what they eat doesn't give a damn about their mental state in the coming months.
Smirks creep, snickers descend, what colour of lonely shall it choose today?
Grey would be great but the grim reaper is not someone one confronts.
One leg to hold on and the other dedicated to keeping up appearances.
A stand-up has no chance against a desolate land with an estranged flamingo slotted in centre stage.
Spotlight focused, eyes agaze, feed upon this barren creature and forget common decencies.
If only it could choose it's colour...red, red with rage.
Categories:
decencies, animal,
Form: Free verse
Most confining and to the decencies,
Feebled feelings and enslaved alternates,
Oddly detached, from them degradations,
Of whimpered whines and conceived illusions.
The reliance on the diminished decisiveness,
The age past then that's best in stewardship,
Oddly detached from the practice in manship,
The dependence on them downed possessions,
Of untimely prowess, times of emancipations,
But conceitedly troubled with fantasized them,
The perceived attachments to concise illusions.
#Aug_2022
Categories:
decencies, anger, anxiety, betrayal, confidence,
Form: Rhyme
I know I'm for the rest of my life
But I can find a psuedo door on the day
I know I won't be there
For once you would understand me .
Alcohol and cigarettes would appear different then
I promise to tighten up baby.
A new me will be seen
All those annoying decencies
Out of the window
Though is seems that was done long ago .
I'm not going to take it gradually
2 parts left till I'm alive
One where I stand a chance
The other where I move on
Categories:
decencies, april,
Form: Free verse
I presumed I perceived an abysmal sigh
The last time I called on my mother's sepulcher
She was though in agreeable amity thereby
Wallowing in God's vicinity and altar
No sooner had I my eyes sealed
She cropped up and resolved the zephyr
Annotating the decencies we've alas spoiled
Ascribe their soul tumult and sever.
Categories:
decencies, heartbroken,
Form: Ottava rima