Long Decker Poems
Long Decker Poems. Below are the most popular long Decker by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Decker poems by poem length and keyword.
Architect of an archetype
patterns made of missing pauses
Shapes that form unformed shapes
and lies that never hold their heads in shame
The world a distraction from the vapid interaction
Past present and future
not linear
but coexistence
The triple Decker bus that wraps itself around our lives
Reality bubbles sworn my path
no large red buttons never to be pressed
have missed my fingers caress
all the lines lie dormant in my shadow
Fearful of the time without fear
Just a thought mid verse
am i the only one that hopes for nuclear war
to see if i get superpowers
My preamble was a ramble
And my point
the futility of the futile
and the sickness of this universe bile
Your human race makes me smile
I ponder whose hands concertina time.
Sometimes my brain wakes up 40 years younger
for a few moments I am vital,
perfectly formed and a smile for every eye.
Other times though, I arrive in the world
already clawing at my coffin lid.
I'm riding a double-decker London bus,
there's a girl beside me
and she is rubbing the inside of my thighs
while she talks of Kafka.
Now I'm in a train, liver-spotted hands
trembling, as I myopically read a book
about bloody Kafka;
I am gonna have to read some of his stuff one day.
It’s another morning,
and I am hill running with my 10 year old son.
Breathless we get to the top
he is laughing and I am winded.
Now I recall Kafka's book, 'The Metamorphosis',
still don't have to read it,
I understand perfectly well
that the hands of time
are always squeezing us into what we were
by what we became.
Let us walk in winter's snow
Wander through a soundless space
Footsteps whisper a hush embrace
Beneath the veils of nature's lace
All white like down
So soft, serene
As silent prayer
Earth white and clean
With crystals new
Wrapped in fleece
To keep it safe
With tranquil peace
We shall walk
A windless pace
Dressed in wool
With velvet grace
Tomorrow there will be no more
Our foot steps gone,
To be erased,
And earth will wear
The peaceful face
It once had worn before
Inspired by the Masters.......Velvet Shoes* ...Written by Elinor Wylie
Contest Sponsored by Tracy Decker
By the wayside
A story-teller charms;
Exquisite tale of old
~~~~~~~~~
Path of uncertainty
Change springs a cast;
Innovative ideas hurl
~~~~~~~~~
Loiter and linger
Upon these lonely shores;
Waves crash the beach
~~~~~~~~~
Listen for a glimpse
From unknown scenes;
Mellow music hints
~~~~~~~~~
Heavy mall traffic
Sea of faces swirling;
Waiting the sales kill
~~~~~~~~~
Bus number 197
Double decker sighted;
Bound for Alexandra Village
~~~~~~~~~
Bazaar book stall
Old leftover tomes;
Weathered lessons await
~~~~~~~~~~
Talk of war again
Outbreaks somewhere again;
Spirits rebellious
~~~~~~~~~
This weary world riddled
Such fiery war-mongering;
Profit for the arms trade
~~~~~~~~~
If you must ask
You do not know;
Poetry wears intent well
~~~~~~~~~
Dreamy dispositions
Watch the falling rain;
Cold clearance coming
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
12 November 2014
Singapore
[written for ‘If I Were’ contest, but not entered because, well, I just couldn’t help myself]
If I were a seagull, I’d sit in a tree
I’d poop on the flower that sits beneath me
(A pretty good shot, I think you’d agree)
While humans decide what to give me for tea
Those humans think I belong close to the sea
And yet they all give me my supper for free
It’s real easy pickings but I have one plea
Don’t keep all the good stuff for your family
Your BLT sarnies inspire in me lust
I let you come near me, I show so much trust
It’s always the same, it’s not fair and not just
For you eat the bacon and I get the crust
I sing my song for you, you cover your ears
As though I awaken your primeval fears
And one tiny poo in your lunch leads to tears
But while you’re distracted, I sample your beers
***
If I were a flower beneath a tree
And some f*cking seagull sh*t upon me
I’d scatter my pollen all over his tea
My name’s Deadly Nightshade, I’m wild and I’m free
***
If I were a tree and my seagull got sick
From eating the pollen from some little pr*ck
That grew in my shade where people picnic
I’d say that somebody was taking the mick
But why should I care, I’m a tree, the name fits
I stand here and get to see so many t*ts
And when a bus comes, it’s a big double decker
For people have heard that I've got a wood pecker
Pursuit of Happiness
‘I just want to be happy..’
‘You make me happy….’
‘Are you happy…?’
‘Why can’t you just be happy…?’’
‘Other people are happy…’
‘She’s so happy…’
‘Happy as a day in May….’
We’re promised it at birth
and taught to seek it at all costs
Happiness, happiness,
it’s our right! our due!
why can’t we find it, where is
it hiding?
We chase after it like it is a piece
of gold, an all day sucker,
a triple decker ice cream cone
The reality of it is that happiness comes in
little chunks, little moments, sometimes
lasting a day, sometimes a week, and
if you are very, very lucky, it lasts a few years
The trick is to enjoy the rest of the time, the time
that doesn’t feel so happy, the time when we think
something is missing, the time when life is just okay.
Think of the alternative.
Trisha Sugarek
Moths and Machettes
i'm talking world war three blues
and how the baubles resemble the planet neptune
one kid has trashed the grotto
flameless LED tea light candles on the mantlepiece
another exclaims, 'can we stop talking and just take
the photo?'
a girl says she wants a telescope
a boy says he wants a crane
another says a fraggle stick car
helicopter parent and coo coo bonko
my daughter doesn't recognise me
tears of a clown stuff
a kid claims the beard is fake and i say, 'look...',
i tell a family from germany
we can take a hundred photos, i don't mind,
i will get the son that red double-decker bus
you're wonderful people
they leave
the boss pokes his head round the door and says,
'brilliant, boy.'
Mom's photo album (in the attic, somewhere?)
Ah! Found it by an overdue book (from a library, somewhere?)
There's mom with a Mountie (in Canada, somewhere?)
Mom by a natural spring (in Maine, somewhere?)
Mom in the kitchen (at Aunt's, somewhere?)
Mom is saluted, holds a folded flag (Vietnam memorial, somewhere?)
Mom at the church (outside, somewhere?)
Mom playing the church piano (inside, somewhere?)
Mom waves her hands by a sea (in Israel, somewhere?)
Mom eating souvlaki (in Greece, somewhere?)
Mom on a double-decker bus (in London, somewhere?)
Mom and the grandkids (in Honolulu, somewhere?)
I know there's more of mom's albums (in the house, somewhere?)
I'll finish this cake, whilst looking at pictures, until the nighttide bears, for this day is her birthday, and I know that she's with dad and they both are smiling, --from somewhere in Heaven, up there.
Nothing like new polished shoes,
new dress, when restarting school,
up the bus in one and twos,
warm jacket, embroidered wool!
Cackle of sounds and laughter,
words without weighted wisdom,
atop a double decker,
relish of childhood freedom!
Lessons in school, miles away,
but the journey is more fun,
here is start of a school day,
open bus under warm Sun!
Hardly aged eight or nine,
but act adults on our own,
dormant hormones like red wine,
mature well with age when grown!
Little romances still abound,
amongst boys and girls in bus,
notice my heart throb around,
in pony tail and white dress!
Two rows in front to my right,
reading a book as she does,
wish could next to her alight,
to admire her pretty tress!
Bragging boys, made up tales,
to win a smile from the girls,
Shy faces with painted nails,
do at times, flash teeth like pearls!
In hours journey to school dome,
many fantasies are spun,
then dreams are ferried back home,
for the following day rerun!
Up and down familiar roads,
The bus embarks on its way,
Heavy satchels with book loads,
Slice of life, all in a day!
2nd placement
Written 04/Sept/2020
All in a dayl
Sponsor William Kekaula
Might help explain how fruit
full this harmless poetic brute,
(a Methacton School of hard knocks
grad), who sports astute
demeanor with ample
brew netted locks,
vaguely androgynously cute,
his trademark signature hirsute
unstyled wavy hair
tell tale characteristic,
not that I care if anyone
gives rats ass and/or hoot
bummer attire acceptable since
long unemployed and
recipient with meager loot
receiving social security
disability to boot,
nonetheless can while
away unlimited numbers
of wee hours into morning
yea ideally best time to sleep,
but also most optimal,
while the missus thrashes
in bed thankfully mute
unless ya don't count
flatulence she doth toot
disrupting and derailing
train of thought
courtesy trumpeting glute.
An unexpected whistling
unlike Christopher Robin
hi ho... hi ho exiting
their wooded den
(think Snow White and
her seven dwarf men)
off to work they go to earn cents
(unbeknownst conversion into) yen
boot just enough to undergo
gastric bypass surgery
to shrink abdomen,
plus grueling boot camp regimen
guaranteeing bullseye
hit courtesy artillerymen
nsync with honing
sharp eyed acumen
joining (rather leading) civilians
carrying out coup d’etat
putsch ching aside feeble,
inept and lame
president to step up
and augment pen
ultimate last ditch effort
to halt climate change
to stave turning planet Earth
into self destructive oven.
All joking aside horrific,
née apocalyptic crisis doth loom
perhaps even unleashing mushroom,
clouds (thrown in for good measure)
encompassing entire planet
assuredly spelling doom,
where liquidation and fire sale
at all brick and mortar
stores will bloom,
(just ash at the front desk)
charcoal burnt offering skeleton crew
pointing blackened decker
index finger boom
meringue literally every black
Friday, Saturday, Sunday...
until every tomb
morrow until end of time.