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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

[...] Read more

poem by Patrick Barrington
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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.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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My mouth is full of decayed teeth and my soul of decayed ambitions.

quote by James Joyce
Added 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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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

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poem by Georg Trakl
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Looking In a Mirror

Reflecting upon their lives they sit.
Reminiscing the old days.
And discussing what and who is missed.
And how things today have changed drastically.

'It's like looking in a mirror.'
The elder says.
Of course his comments,
Go right over their heads.

And Those who sit and reflect upon their lives...
Ask themselves how and why things have decayed.
How did a quality of life,
Become one that has brought so much dismay,
And strife!

'It's like looking in a mirror.'
The elder says.
Of course his comments,
Go right over their heads.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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

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song performed by Obituary
Added by Lucian Velea
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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
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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
Added by Lucian Velea
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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
Added by Lucian Velea
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