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Anson Decker Poem
Blank white paper
Infinite hope, endless promise
An inspirational instrument
The artists canvas and lawmakers device
How an absent lover expresses love so precise
So much to say, I’m intimidated by its potential
Fearful to express my true self to you
Or to people exponential
Fear is a disease
A disease impeding me from being me
Blank white paper
A horrifying shrill to action
Blank white paper
My call to create
Channel your optimism
Divorce your pessimism
Summon the courage, others will follow
Allow your new future to begin today
Reveal your dreams hidden by white ink on
Blank white paper
Copyright © Anson Decker | Year Posted 2017
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Anson Decker Poem
I swear there’s no heaven
I’m just twenty seven
Two toddlers, never married
Two fathers, my life far too harried
I bartend and wait tables
My life doesn’t resemble storybook fables
I live stressed out with fatigue
I often wonder if I’m out of my league
The speed of life too fast
So many responsibilities have me gassed
Two young lives depend on me for their future
Keeping my job, paying my bills, where’s the adventure
Just a short escape every now and then
A shot, hit or bump
Anything to rescue me from this slump
No one will know
I’ll be smart, I’ll start out slow
A surefire way to bring relief, a moment of peace
The mayhem of life will begin to cease
My son taunts his sister without meaning
She sits, face flush, tears streaming while screaming
Five or six bumps, eight shots of whiskey
My mind, slowly overcome wanders dreamily
Standing only in bra and panties
I run my fingers through dirty hair
Glancing vaguely at my children I become unaware
My eyes sparkle, forehead dampens, jaw slackens
I pray for a priest to hear my confessions
I stumble sideways
Colors blurring becoming only grays
I hear my little girl sobbing
Her brother tormenting
The grays become white as I stare in their direction
For me, this crisis is a holy moment of inflection
An outline takes shape in blinding white light
I’m at peace, without feeling fright
Eventually I see myself when only eight, a humbling sight
I watch as my memories flood the room
Such peace of mind as if back in the womb
I see my childhood past, so innocent
A time before being subjected to judgment
No responsibility
Everyone loved me
Life so simple, joyous and free
So simple I revel in staying up past eight
So simple a bubble bath is my best playmate
Such vibrant fairy tales my mind would create
The days before school when learning brought glee
When thunder scared me and lightening dared me
When grandpa's beard was a scruffy toy
When my teddy bear meant great joy
Look there, I’m playing with my dog, pretending to be one
And there, I carelessly dance under a summer sun
I remember how I felt and now openly question why I need
A bump and shot enabling the next day to proceed
Lying prone upon the floor
I must have passed out
Complete silence, nothing close to a shout
My little girl, my little boy, sitting at my side
Each having my hand in theirs, wishing all of us could hide
Both with a single tear slowly streaming from an eye
Somehow I’ve returned
During my pilgrimage, there’s so much I’ve learned
Nothing will take me from my children
I choose to mend my life that has been broken
I’m no longer a child
But I can believe life’s simple pleasures are no less wild
So many little things can set me free
Sending me upon a different life journey
Elusive happiness just might be found, by things like finding
Comfort in a cookie
Copyright © Anson Decker | Year Posted 2017
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Anson Decker Poem
I nestle a tab under my tongue
At just twenty eight, I’m still quite young
Before too long
I feel it coming on strong
Dreamily, lazily
I see my past with new clarity
Every question now answered amply
I see nearly three decades filled with so much regret
An eternity before I’m permitted to forget
I lead an unremarkable life
Few advantages, laden with strife
Only now can I see the failure of MY choices
Surrounded by better options, my compassion convulses
I can do so much more
So many different ways to create joy galore
Menial tasks needn’t be a chore
It’s always been my choice
Is it OK if I choose to rejoice?
I can find ways to enhance my self respect
With others in need I choose to connect
What I have I can celebrate
What I want needn’t devastate
It’s always been my choice
Is it OK if I choose to rejoice?
I can
Live without disdain
Lost friends I’ll regain
Feel pride when sought-out comforting others in pain
Embody excitement, accepting the occasional mundane
I can
Teach
Convey hope with new found reach
Channel empathy through innovative speech
It’s always been my choice
Is it OK if I choose to rejoice?
I have more control than I know
Now is my chance to let it show
There can be more laughter
With humor, I can be an injector
Mastering quiet, when others speak I’m an active listener
I can read more, learn more, invest in myself
Spend my time with greater purpose
Sprinkling fun into drudgery I’m tireless
How do I know,
This leads to a more fulfilling existence
A life of broad acceptance
In which I make a difference
I see all of this with great clarity
Only now
Because
I died,
Twelve minutes ago
Copyright © Anson Decker | Year Posted 2017
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Anson Decker Poem
Sitting atop a large flat stone in an open field
Brushing aside his long silver locks
Bringing to his lips a long clay pipe
Steadying for a light, his gnarled knuckles make this a fight
His sandals dusty, brow wrinkled and damp
His eyes, an odd milky hue of liquid blue
A group of younger men sit to his front
Some on a stone, several on a log
The moon crescent
The breeze light, the dusk hot
The earthy smell of horses dancing across the night
Rising from the burgeoning rye fields wafts a hopeful promise
A younger man stands to be recognized
He is tall, lean, well muscled
Wavy brown locks cascade across broad shoulders
A leather band binds hair to head
A strong hand resting atop the pommel of sword in scabbard
Tell us wise stranger
We know great success
The fruits of our labor are bountiful
Behold endless fertile fields of rye and stores of meat
Our stomach’s are full, our trade is rich
Our enemies at bay
There are none better
Yet we are unfulfilled
We have not mastered the most important art of all
One final achievement and we will be truly rich
Yet the road ahead is dark and unknown
Love – what is the secret of enduring love
Why are we cursed to know only hollow carnal pleasures
Slowly rising to his feet, leaning upon his walking staff
A scowl overtakes his ancient face, pointing while chanting
I have learned many things in my time
But what you ask is the most sought after secret of life
The very grail of love
I have spoken of this with many wise men, kings, queens, warrior’s and merchants alike
And I have learned this my sons
I have learned this
A life together flourishes only as well as lives apart
Yes you confide secrets that bind as one
Yes you share danger, thrilling and chilling
Yes this forms bonds of trust, in which you must
Yes you share pleasures of flesh yet this alone doesn’t endure
Certain to leave your love vacant and poor
To this, I know there is more
You seek everlasting intimacy, so listen to my prophecy
You must allow her to grow
To realize her full self
Do not attempt to control her way
Enable her to blossom separate from your union
If you fail you will pay
Unless you dare to be alone and together
There is more my sons
Hear this and make it tribal lore
Never stop learning and trust her for the same
Share your fears, your self doubt, your failures
Reveal your weaknesses and you will know love everlasting
Celebrate your individual successes as one
Help her to achieve what is hers and ask the same
When she speaks succumb to attentive silence
Fix your gaze upon her eyes
Listen to the rhythmic song of her breath
If you can, your love will know no death
The young man strides forward
Could it be so simple wise father, is this the grail of love
What I describe is far from simple, he declares with a glare
His voice booming thunder, a new wind kicks up dust
The dusk turns crimson red filling hearts with dread
There is one last commandment I must share and I do so with great care
This golden rule is your precious jewel
And if you choose, your love, you will never lose
In a hoarse, hushed whisper he imparts
It is laughter my sons
Together you must laugh
Laughter is the elixir for which you search
Laughter is the highest perch from which may will see heavens dove
Foreboding the arrival of endless love
Laughter is to love as blood to body, as air to life, as tree to air, as hope to humanity
Laugh together and you will find what you seek
But I lament, most of you will leave me in torment
Destined to plant your bastard seeds through lifelong meaningless deeds
Write these words so they are preserved
You must choose love eternal
Laugh alone and together and you shall both live forever
Copyright © Anson Decker | Year Posted 2017
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Anson Decker Poem
I’m sure you don’t remember me
Yet forever branded upon my memory is your evil spree
I was far from your only victim
You and your pack bullying ever so gruesome
You first noticed me in the 7th grade
Only late in high school did your interest fade
I was vulnerable
The sight of you made me fearful
I was admittedly awkward
Emotionally, you sent me needlessly backward
I only wanted a chance to grow
To let my emotions openly flow
I gave no thought to living amongst a foe
I was overweight, too smart for my own good
I had few friends, none from my hood
Even few in band with whom I played
Each confrontation with you, my mind further decayed
I played the flute
It was my only voice, the other having become mute
My best friend looked like me, dressed like me
She was smart like me
You called us gay when we were straight
Bullying with so much hate
You bark ‘shut up’ whenever I begin to speak
Treating me as if a freak
Your text messages make me sob
Unraveling inside, I become increasingly macabre
You cause me to feel isolated, alone
Depressed I lie in my bed, prone
Feeling hopeless, is this my destiny
My life – so empty, I stare blankly
I think about cutting
As my emotions are convulsing
I didn’t deserve the anger cast upon me
What was wrong with me
Why did you choose me
Will I ever be set free
You made me sick, I began to pray
Yet it was I who had become a preyed upon victim
Now, just two years later
From a bench in Washington Square Park
I recall those days ever so dark
I hoped you were in jail so you could inflict hurt no more
I wished you the sadness you had made my personal lore
I soon found your story and trembled fiercely as I read:
The body of Dylan Robinson, a 20 year old man, was found among the ashes of a seven story high rise in the Hunt’s Point section of the Bronx this morning at 2AM.
Mr. Robinson lived in the building with his mother. The unemployed auto mechanic died of asphyxiation resulting from a fire that started in a neighbors apartment. Firemen on the scene cite Mr. Robinson for his heroism in saving the lives of Dom and Maria Cromartie, ages 5 and 4.
Mr. Robinson passed both children to a fireman positioned on a ladder outside a fourth story window. As Robinson passed the children to the fireman, the floor collapsed, consuming him in flame not to be seen alive again.
Of Mr. Robinson, the fireman said, “Strangely he smiled as he passed the children to me, as if unaware of his danger. As I motioned him to step onto the ladder he said something just as the floor gave way beneath him. I don’t know what he meant, but he said, “one good deed”, then he perished.”
Mr. Robinson’s father is in prison for domestic violence and armed robbery. His mother, unemployed and a reputed alcoholic survived the blaze and is resting comfortably in Bronx Lebanon Hospital.
Trembling harder, gasping, as if again 12 and he with me
I see something in this moment I had not seen before
He endured pain at least equal to mine own
His response to the mayhem of his life was to bully others
I don’t condone his chosen course
Yet I now have perspective from an unexpected source
That in itself is a joyous revelation
My sense of self experiencing rapid elevation
Relieved, overjoyed, I scream - It wasn’t me
It was never me, I was convenient, nothing more
I stop trembling, breathing steadier
A chapter in my life’s book quietly closing
I now realize, both he and I were
Preyed upon victims
Copyright © Anson Decker | Year Posted 2017
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Anson Decker Poem
Alone, surrounded by seventeen million humans who call New York home
In a rut, depressed, searching in pain and in vain for hope
A crisp fall day, I venture north to play
The Adirondack valley, mountains borne from bursting glacial fountains
I drive alone to see the big balloons, clearing my mind as each mile clicks behind
A festival, forcing myself among people, children virtually tattooed with a brazen sense of hope
Children burst with joy as balloons begin to rise, they seem so wise
I watch a young girl, perhaps only three, she scans the balloon field so carefree
My big city worries left miles behind, self-discovery and inspiration I'm here to find
Forlorn, scanning rainbow colors and lollipop grins among the scenes
A light breeze, crisp fall air, clad in pink sweater and jeans
My Louboutin’s at home, I blend in easily
Letting my mind drift, confronting myself bravely
I'm young but school lingers in my distant past
Do I have what it takes to succeed and to last
I'm not as gifted as the best yet with plausible potential
I try I fail
I cant seem to get the elevation to improve my station
I veer off course, unable to remain focused
I'm human - a warm air balloon - am I too destined for a hopeless meager flight?
Just as a tear streams down my cheek
I elevate my face skyward, catching a breeze to behold a bright rainbow of twenty balloons
Red, yellow, orange and green - cotton candy puffs dangling, banging against the baby blue sky
A kaleidoscope of color, different shades of hope
The young girl, propped in her father's arms, pointing skyward admiring the candy store colors
Her blonde curls bob in the breeze
I see one she chooses to ignore, drawn to it from deep within my core
The one balloon, flying below the others, no one cares to see or to be
It goes unnoticed, it won't win
This lonely balloon's flight mimics my own plight
An antagonizing allegory screaming my true story
Alone among the crowded field of onlookers, hands drop to my sides
Jaw slackens, eyes glaze, mind drifts, I become this balloon as if a character in a cherished childhood cartoon
I watch the others pass me by, they soar high, fast, bright
I fall behind, not good enough yet choosing not to despair
Or to myself, be both blatantly and subtly unfair
I avert finding fault, cursing my fate or my failure to elevate
Hovering over truth's razor edge
I entrust myself a new life pledge
Stay in the race, soon I'll keep pace, eventually the one they'll chase
My belly burns with fire of desire
Yearning to achieve, not for wealth, not for fame
My ambition is for those I love
The gift I pursue is to be my best but not compared to the rest
My best future self, my vision for the one I want to become
"Look Daddy" cries the little girl, pointing skyward to the drifting balloon
I blink, shudder, return to the moment
I follow the little girls finger pointing skyward and I see it too
What the pilot does differently is a mystery but the lowly balloon rapidly elevates
Joy flashes across the little girls face, experiencing the balloons success
She doesn't care how hard it was or how close the crew came to giving up hope
The little girl smiled, reminiscent of me as a child, a moment mutually transcendent
I make way to my car, returning to the city of seventeen million balloons
Top down, cool air whipping through my hair
Shades on, concealing moist eyes
Vibrations from the road rearrange me emotionally
My trust in hope rising from toes to nose with a sudden warm rush gently settling in my heart
I promise myself never to forget the plight and successful flight of that one
Warm air balloon
Copyright © Anson Decker | Year Posted 2017
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Anson Decker Poem
An ordinary young man in his twenties
Working by day, alone by night
Routine lulls him to feel forever serene
Never a new dream or fantasy
Living an obligation
Making his parents proud yet nothing causes him to become too loud
Drab clothes
Make him an easy target for his many foes
Friends don’t know his name
Except for those who know him as Mr. Cello-phane
Multitudes cross his path yet all see right through
To ignore him is nothing new
He yearns for love yet learns the mundane
At times he cries in solitude, wailing profane
He’s not funny
He can’t dance
He wouldn’t dare take a chance
Never a thought to take a risk
Fearing it may end with a police frisk
He has no vice
His purity will have to suffice
There is no vodka or casual sex
No gambling nor the audacity to bounce checks
Never a spontaneous trip or even a sarcastic quip
He won’t even call in sick
His excuse could never be sufficiently slick
He’s ever so wholesome which leaves him so lonesome
He won’t smoke nor tell a funny a joke
When a gorgeous woman does pass
He wouldn’t dare turn to check out her ass
He won’t masturbate for fear of the guilt he would eventually subjugate
He’s neither priest nor pastor
Not particularly religious or prodigious
His hair is straight and teeth are white
His clothes are neat yet invoke fright
He’s not articulate nor original in thought
He’s paralyzed by the fear of getting caught
Dull, lifeless and only in his twenties
He’s nearly dead, living a life he would rather shed
Strolling in the Village heading east on Bank
Measuring his paces as if walking the plank
Now turning onto Bleecker, emotionally he’s never felt meeker
A pause and a glance interrupts his trance
An unfamiliar energy encourages him to chance
In the shop window, white suede wing tips lure with magic
Spending his last dollar could be fatefully tragic
He dons the wing tips, they are so in vogue
Giving him an edge to become so rogue
Deliberately knotting the candy apple red laces
A surge of confidence he sees reflected in others faces
He strides through midtown, pacing toward Central Park
Noticing a difference in himself that’s shockingly stark
His bold choice of shoe has led him to a personal breakthrough
Could it be that it was he
Living all this time without a shine
A living dead yet not a zombie
How could he have lived a life so glumly
He chooses not to look back with remorse
For today he has chosen an invigorating course
A simple catalyst thrust his status to protagonist
White suede wingtips with candy apple red laces
All his demons his new spirit chases
A small, seemingly innocuous purchase drains his sadness
Building fresh momentum, his fulcrum enabling brashness
Find your catalyst, small or large
And assume your role to take charge
For him it’s white suede wing tips with candy apple red laces
For you, never surrender hope or eliminate its traces
You may find your trigger in the faces of unknown races
Don your white suede wing tips, gently kiss her lips, firmly grasp her hips then create a never ending stream of personal championships
White suede wing tips with candy apple red laces
Copyright © Anson Decker | Year Posted 2017
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Anson Decker Poem
A young dark haired girl playing jax upon a sidewalk
The Bronx, 1930’s, oozing ethnicity and a strange sort of talk
Wrist cocked, jax spew, red ball bouncing, bouncing
If time stood still, we can see her rejoicing
What happens next is the only matter
No thought of anguish should Doris or Joyce choose to scatter
A young woman finds her man, her narrow purpose becomes clear
A family of four, suburbia, a job without a life, yet there is no fear
The tumultuous 60’s see her blossom, wanting to flourish
Yet never discovering a path she could nourish
She enjoys friends, she gives love, she lives stress
Short of patience, delighting in ignorance, accepting of less
Yearning for more but with no clear vision
Accepting her destiny without derision
Her grandchildren revitalize, oh what treasure
Exceeding rewards felt from her own, by a measure
Years skip past, they never seem to last
Life advances at an increasing pace, carving long weary lines upon her face
In her son, she leaves a legacy of confidence, pride and hunger to achieve
All because it was her who did believe
She has earned our love
A gentle caress, never again to feel distress
As the end nears
Stripped of her dignity and her fears
She has our love, through any imperfection
At this moment of inflection, she should go
Each of us will pray, for your time is today
Youth n-Age-a
Copyright © Anson Decker | Year Posted 2017
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Anson Decker Poem
I stand awkward and unsure
So different from the rest
Unaccepted and rifled with ridicule
Uncomfortable yet hoping to conform
A fate that feels so wrong
I struggle to fight the urge without intent
A path I forever lament
My tribe will love me if only I can find
Those common attributes they say will forever bind
Yet, there is a different path I pursue
Bold and true to myself I burst through
Realize my destiny and prove to be great
Never looking back but only within
Being different without fear for its my fate
There are no barking birds
Unless I choose to be first
I so choose
To be a lone barking bird
Copyright © Anson Decker | Year Posted 2017
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Anson Decker Poem
He’s called the Eulogizer
He reluctantly accepts this moniker as our elder
A name for which he feels disdain
Since it conjures memories of unspeakable pain
He's lost a father, mother, sister and son
His nights sleepless realizing his duty is not yet done
I sit among those assembled, feeling anxious
I know his words will bring a measure of solace
His face stone, voice strong, steady
Fighting his emotion
Carefully crafted memories are his calming potion
As anyone, he’s averse to this task
How long will he fool us with his mask
Conveying the spirit of those lost, their idiosyncratic ways
He's reluctant yet seemingly could speak for days
Rigid at the podium stands his six foot four frame
After this day he will never be the same
Face stricken white, eyes without color, eyebrows raised as if asking why
Pushing on, he must try
Unaccompanied by notes or written speech
Each of us welcoming, wanting, needing his outreach
As he speaks, his grieving words encircle us from above
Settling to impart a healing salve of love
He speaks eloquently of his many memories
Figuratively, bringing us to our knees
Hopes and dreams of those gone, now only casualties
Many sit trembling, sorrow decomposes their composure
He executes his chore
Foolishly hoping there will be no more
He doesn’t question or complain
His love precludes feelings of disdain
He is eloquent
His plain spoken manner brilliant
Evoking warm memories of those lost, so elegant
Now standing before his mothers grave
A ceremony for the soul he hopes to save
Engulfed by dead winter cemetery silence
Ghosts of father, mother, son and sister stand in reverence
The sergeant at arms, face cast in steel
A strong soldier, we wonder if he can feel
His stout frame encased in military blue
Highlighted by medals and awards casting an ominous hue
Flanked by motionless men of lesser rank
For their presence our country we thank
A half step forward
He leans in toward
To the Eulogizer the sergeant utters in hushed tone
As if family and friends have left them standing alone
The folded flag resting between white gloved hands
The Eulogizer firmly stands
“On behalf of the President of the United States, the Commandant of the Navy, and a grateful nation please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one’s service to Country and the US Navy."
Then a moment forever frozen in time and memory
For those standing close enough to see
The steely soldier contains himself no longer
A tear upon his cheek swells, becoming stronger
More invisible souls gather upon the hallowed ground
The millions lost since the first musket cracked with sound
The lone bugler standing under a mighty oak
Red, white and blue his eyes, gloves and uniform
He Taps, long sorrowful notes inciting emotional storm
The sergeant holds a long salute, and when it’s done
We disperse, each pondering a private question
The Eulogizer’s words deliver comfort and peace
Enabling a mourners pain to cease
There’s no need to live in fear
While waiting until you again will hear
From the Eulogizer
Copyright © Anson Decker | Year Posted 2017
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