Short Decker Poems
Short Decker Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Decker by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Decker by length and keyword.
There once was a bold picidae*
Who pounded his beak just for play
on a double-decker
bus, now his pecker
resembles a flawed fricassee
(*picidae - woodpecker)
Wildlife 8
A musical young green woodpecker,
Loved the music of old Desmond Decker,
He would sing every song,
But the words he got wrong,
So his friends called him 'Desmond the Wrecker'!
The red double-decker, is not crowded,
A late night and I am riding home dog tired.
She's sitting two rows ahead of me,
but I can see her reflection in the window,
it's easy to see that she is as cute as hell
but of course, she's an Afghan
and well groomed.
oh no
what is that caught in my beard?
a chocolate chip and some salsa dip
winter woolly coats and a herd of goats
seaside rocks and a pair of stripy socks
a large corn husk and a double decker bus
a day oh a day feeling very very weird
but how did all that get caught in my beard?
London at its best
Is on a cold rain day
Shrouded around grey
Sat on board a red double Decker bus
In search of the roads paved with gold
As Charles Dickens foretold
Great Expectations
In human relations
Are the elixir of life
But far more often truth be told
Reality is cold
Small comfort on a cold rainy day
But Hey
It cant rain all the time
I am grateful for having had the opportunity this summer
to travel with my family to London and Paris…
and as we road the tube, in cabs, atop a double decker bus,
in a punt upon the Thames,
the Metro, a boat upon the Seine
and in an plane across the ocean….
I was happily reminded how
traveling with those you love
is and always will be…
poetry in motion.
A cozy place you will find,
nestled on a sandy shore.
Dragonflies at sunset explore,
scents of iris and pine
make my senses soar.
Who knows what is in store
with nature's design.
Moss and rock create the floor,
walls papered with forest and sky,
a ceiling of moon and stars miles high.
Niether windows nor door.
Yet who could ask for more,
when the wolf's lone cry,
resounds nature's design.
Audrey Decker
I’d like to write poems beat red.
Like the color of my face
when white spit foams the lips.
I’d like an utterly violent embrace.
No pretense, nothing dishonest
about this undoctored rage.
Hold nothing back, let it all go,
tear off clothes, and punch the walls.
I’d like my poems to be suicidal.
Willing to jump off the Golden Gate,
overdose on sleeping pills,
a Black and Decker drill to the skull.
At least then I will have killed
for complete love of the poem.