My mouth is full of decayed teeth and my soul of decayed ambitions.
quote by James Joyce
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Abandoned and Decayed
Abandoned and decayed
Springfield lunatic asylum
It used to be where she laid
It used to be her home.
Ghosts of her childhood past
Still scream in Anger there
But silence the sounds, she must!
Or they might incarcerate her.
Shhhh! Do you hear her beating heart?
Fear does not make a sound!
Can you touch the Pain she imparts?
In rage all her Hurt can be found.
Abandoned and decayed
Who found solace in the dark
What a price for her life she paid!
Such a broken Soul there to mark!
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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On the Edge of an Old Water
Dark interpretation of the water: stars in the mouth of the night,
Sighing in black pillows the rosy shadow of man,
Redness of autumn, the rustling of the maple in the old park,
Chamber concerts which fade on decayed stairs.
poem by Georg Trakl
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Own Way
I sat down again, knowing the brightened sky,
Returning the exceptional wisdom to the grave;
Full of it I was, when this episode crept on the excitation,
Making it happy, in myself.
I sat at home before the medicine could arrive,
An ambulance adventured far too hard,
Into the territory of a sweet-tempered man,
His illness crept up on him, and took him away.
This sky was devilled, this ground decayed,
For we were in a hospital of disgrace and confinement,
The correcting happened, and we were away,
Like a happy soul my life became its own way.
poem by Naveed Akram
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In every pomegranate a decayed pip is to be found.
In the Evening
A blue brook, path and evening along decayed huts.
Behind dark shrubbery children play with blue and red balls;
Some swap the forehead and the hands rot in the brown foliage.
In bony stillness the heart of the lonely one shines,
A small boat rocks on blackish waters.
Through dark woods hair and laughter of brown maids flutters.
The shadows of the old people cross the flight of a small bird;
Mystery of blue flowers on their temples.
Others sway on black benches in the evening wind.
Golden sighs quietly expire in the bleak branches
Of the chestnut; a sound of dark cymbals of summer,
When the strangeress appears on the decayed staircase.
poem by Georg Trakl
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I Was A Bustlemaker Once, Girls
When I was a lad of twenty and was working in High Street, Ken.,
I made quite a pile in a very little while - I was a bustle maker then.
Then there was work in plenty, and I was a thriving man
But things have decayed in the bustle making trade, since the bustle making trade began.
I built bustles with a will then, I made bustles with a wit,
I made bustles as a Yankee hustles, simply for the love of it.
I built bustles with a skill then, surpassed, they say, by none,
But those were the days when bustles were the craze, and now those days are done.
I was a bustle maker once, girls, many many years ago,
I put my heart in the bustle maker's art and I don't mind saying so.
I may have had the brains of a dunce, girls, I may have had the mind of a muff,
I may have been plain and deficient in the brain but I did know a bustle maker's stuff.
I built bustles for the slender, I built bustles for the stout,
I built bustles for the girls with muscles, and bustles for the girls without.
I built bustles by the thousands, in the good old days of yore,
But things have decayed in the bustle making trade and I don't build bustles any more.
Many were the models worn once; but mine were unique, tis said,
No rival design was so elegant as mine; I was a bustle maker bred.
I was a bustle maker born once, an artist through and through,
But things have decayed in the bustle making trade
And what can a bustle maker do?
I built bustles to enchant, girls, I built bustles to amaze,
I built bustles for the skirt that rustles, and bustles for the skirt that sways.
I built bustles for my aunt, girls, when other business fled,
But a bustle maker can't make bustles for his aunt when a bustle maker's aunt is dead.
I was a bustle maker once, girls, once in the days gone by,
I lost my heart to the bustle maker's art, and that I don't deny.
I may have had the brains of a dunce, girls, as many men appear to suppose,
I may have been obtuse and of little other use
But I could make a bustle when I chose.
I built bustles for the bulging, I built bustles for the lithe,
I built bustles for the girls in Brussels and bustles for the girls in Hythe.
I built bustles for all Europe once, but I've been badly hit,
Things have decayed in the bustle making trade
And that it the truth of it.
poem by Patrick Barrington
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Dead Silence
Not the one
Souls are gonna burn
You're the one
Coming down the dead
Thru the darkness
Skies are gonna shout
Pray for lies
But who's the one to go
Streams of blood
Flow into the streets
Feeds the need
Of the decayed rotting means
Fires breeds upon
The weary young
Evil tales
Sold his only son
Life no longer
Fills the need
Dead silence
In which to feed
Fires breeds upon
The weary young
Evil tales
Sold his only son
Life no longer
Feeds the need
Feeds the need
Of the decayed rotting means
song performed by by Obituary
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mesmerized By That Saccharine
You may be mesmerized by that saccharine,
And over-the-top pre-sweetened presentation.
So alluring and false.
But not a tooth in my mouth has been decayed,
By chopping down on what is rotten.
I've already had my share and taste of it!
That's why I offer no opinion,
To anyone who believes...
What they are eating is delicious.
Since I at one time thought the same thing...
Until I discovered that addiction,
Was the reason I stayed sick!
And I wish you knew how much it hurts me,
To see you defenseless licking your lips!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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No joy to die
At the time of death
The most decayed one
Is your conscience.
It has alone stood
The brunt of your life
Throughout its course.
That is why you find
No joy when you die.
12.02.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Deliriums
[1 is missing]
2
Dark interpretation of the water: forehead in the mouth of the night,
Sighing in black pillows the rosy shadow of man,
Redness of autumn, the rustle of the maple in the old park,
Chamber concerts which fade on decayed stairs.
3
The black excrement, which runs off the roofs.
A red finger dips into your forehead
Blue snow sinks in the attic,
The deceased mirror of lovers.
poem by Georg Trakl
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Soul-Sickness
How many of the body's health complain,
When they some deeper malady conceal;
Some unrest of the soul, some secret pain,
Which thus its presence doth to them reveal.
Vain would we seek, by the physician's aid,
A name for this soul-sickness e'er to find;
A remedy for health and strength decayed,
Whose cause and cure are wholly of the mind
To higher nature is the soul allied,
And restless seeks its being's Source to know;
Finding not health nor strength in aught beside;
How often vainly sought in things below,
Whether in sunny clime, or sacred stream,
Or plant of wondrous powers of which we dream!
poem by Jones Very
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things. The decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks that nothing is worth war is much worse.
quote by John Stuart Mill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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After the War
A songbird on a decayed pole
shivering and woebegone.
nothing remained
everything has turned to dust
except a pauper's inn.
In the darkness
he was searching out of the debris
Alladin's wonderful lamp.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Dentist’s
Your mouth hurts inside for the pain comes from the teeth,
Pain is destructive to the teeth, its gums are bleeding;
Must we learn further help and admiration, or just weep?
First, the aching stops and then the dentist stops,
We all feel murdered, but why?
Firstly, mouths are meant for munching, fully chomping
The food residing in the head, feeding the brain as fast as it can;
We are not dentists, but full doctors, but full nurses,
As hospitals go, we stand firm on our teeth chattering away in the cold.
We felt absurd knowing your teeth.
The main worry was when it made me squirm, and then burn,
Too late, the drill was performed, with too much work,
And that was purity and goodness in the process,
For me, for me, and for those who call themselves the dentist.
We do find teeth a chore, always to be restored.
poem by Naveed Akram
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It's In The Boom Boom That Fades
It's in the boom boom that fades.
It's in the boom boom decayed.
It's in the boom boom,
Mistakes made,
Are...
Erased away.
And...
Too many laid off to stay.
Too many losing their faith.
Too many complications suffocating dedicated people...
Gone unpaid.
It's in the boom boom that fades.
It's in the boom boom decayed.
It's in the boom boom,
Mistakes made,
Are...
Erased away.
And...
Too many laid off to stay.
Too many losing their faith.
Too many complications suffocating dedicated people...
Gone unpaid.
Shakened are the people,
Who are turned away from locking doors.
Shakened are the people,
Who are turned away from locking doors.
Shakened are the people,
Who are turned away from locking doors.
Shakened are the people turning backs on their beliefs.
And...
Too many laid off to stay.
Too many losing their faith.
Too many complications suffocating dedicated people...
Gone unpaid.
It's in the boom boom that fades.
It's in the boom boom decayed.
It's in the boom boom,
Mistakes made,
Are...
Erased away.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet XXV
Before I loved you, love, nothing was my own:
I wavered through the streets, among
Objects:
Nothing mattered or had a name:
The world was made of air, which waited.
I knew rooms full of ashes,
Tunnels where the moon lived,
Rough warehouses that growled 'get lost',
Questions that insisted in the sand.
Everything was empty, dead, mute,
Fallen abandoned, and decayed:
Inconceivably alien, it all
Belonged to someone else - to no one:
Till your beauty and your poverty
Filled the autumn plentiful with gifts.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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Greed (Cinquain)
Vultures
Perched in office
Feed on bloated paychecks
Decayed people not carrion yet
Fight back.
----
(June 24,2009 Tarlac City Philippines)
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I have seen one shrike occupy himself for hours in sticking up on thorns, a number of small fishes that the fishermen had thrown on the shore. The fishes dried up and decayed.
quote by John Bachman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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HOW many of the body's health complain,
HOW many of the body's health complain,
When they some deeper malady conceal;
Some unrest of the souled, some secret pain,
Which thus its presence doth to them reveal.
Vain would we seek, by the physician's aid,
A name for this soul-sickness e'er to find;
A remedy for health and strength decayed,
Whose cause and cure are wholly of the mind
To higher nature is the soul allied,
And restless seeks its being's Source to know;
Finding not health nor strength in aught beside;
How often vainly sought in things below,
Whether in sunny clime, or sacred stream,
Or plant of wondrous powers of which we dream!
poem by Jones Very
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Forgotten Dead
In this city of death
Sculpted stones lie prone or tilted
Like crooked teeth much decayed.
Fallen markers and forgotten names.
The RIPs of the dearly beloved
Lie here muddied.
No floral tributes laid.
The forgotten dead.
Laid here by the equally forgotten
Man's construct de-constructed.
Scattered.
Demolished.
Marble words once carved deep
Now weather worn or greened with moss
Are muddled, becoming a problematic script,
No translation,
An undecipherable code.
Soon the words will be dust.
Erased from memory.
Mixed in earth.
Lost.
poem by Paul Brookes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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