Best Bordello Poems
When asked to write Limericks about ladies
I said, "Oh, no. There's no way in Hades!"
Too many are my friends
I'd have to make amends
Not even for a brand new Mercedes
Then, I gave the matter a bit more thought
And chose women closest to my heart
The ones in Milton Creek
Five who are quite unique
All lovely women who are very smart
Jan holds ownership of the Manx Saloon
Where two lovely ladies sing a fine tune
It's where Milt played poker
But do not provoke her
Jan has been known to throw a mean spittoon!
Tania now runs the bakery in town
Her Whiskey Whoopie Pies are world renown
Come to Kitchin's Kitchen
She might let you pitch in
to help her make the best pastries around
Deb manages the Manx with extra care
No outlaws allowed, so you'd best beware
If you're packin' a gun
Or maybe on the run
She'll call the lawmen and they'll be right there
Two recently hired ladies fit right in
Caren tends bar, pouring jiggers of gin
Anne-Lise is the town flirt
Servin' drinks in ruffled skirt
Fine ladies, living at Aces with Lin
There's a few others at the Bordello
I hear one's sweet on a certain fellow
Maybe just a rumor
A tale told with humor
The Creek's calm enough to hear cows bellow
Residents will keep it free of all spats
No bad hombres who'll be wearin' black hats
More ladies will arrive
Our little town will thrive
Mayor Tom will have more to say 'bout that
Homeless, destitute with nothing more then a backpack and cigarettes
down the rabbit hole she went, no linen tablecloths just stricken wood,
in a house of ill repute;.
She could not refuse the hunkering of a horny man who lived by threats
so she counted her bills and tucked them in her brassiere with a tear
She cringed when glass smashed and grinded her teeth when she was cold
it was a bordello made surreal by alcohol mellowed Johns who were so old
A bawdy crib, (bagnio del innocente) bath for the innocent...
a knocking shop that foiled the linen and gave shiners to young girls,
no one cared
in this disorderly place, where the stew was watered down with whiskey float
Then came the raid that brought everything to a halt,
in a gestalt moment she found freedom, perhaps her prayers were answered?
Down to the river she went for a bath and a rest,
it was then that she remembered her first time, it was incest *
The wild caged bird had no other place to hide but in this fortress
she slept for days on the grass beside a great big boulder, ,
all the wild animals in the forest thought she was a Princess.
They let her sleep, and fed her pine nuts from the trees. Until this day,
Gianna never mentioned the brothel to anyone, no even herself.
Feb. 20, 2021
Don’t be buffaloed it’s not Pancho Villa he’s dead
Just have’n a fling before what lies ahead
I respect Soup Creek and its laws
Although some have their flaws
There are no guns allowed where I am headed
Anaya’s Steak House, sure like the ring to that
A place of my own, where I’m no one’s door mat
On my way to the bordello
And then soon the rodeo
Mis campanero’s, I’m bringing my charro hat!
He plied the Mississippi River on the paddle wheeler 'Dandy Dame'.
Gamblin' was his profession and three-card monte was his game.
He became very creative at palmin' that elusive ace of spades.
Such dexterity and sleight of hand he had practiced for decades!
He embarked in Saint Louis for a cruise to the town of New Orleans.
On his arm hung one of his gaudily dressed bordello 'queens'!
He wore diamond rings on each finger and impeccably tailored suits,
A homburg hat, pearl studs, gold-tipped cane and alligator boots!
He toted a concealed derringer just in the event there was trouble,
And he took a table near the door so he could lam on the double!
He ordered Jack Daniels bourbon for the dudes he was soon to con,
And sized up the naive and hapless victims who dared to take him on!
The gambler let others win a hand or so to make them feel at ease.
His shill closely watched as the gambler, his moment was to seize!
His winnin's piled up as bettors tried to locate the shiftin' ace.
Losers dropped out of the game and other suckers took their place!
One astute monte player saw the scam and called the gambler's hand.
He drew his forty-fours, chairs toppled and folks fled to beat the band!
The gambler drew his rod but he met his God, blood oozin' on the floor!
His sobbin' 'queen' clasped him to her breast to know his love no more!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 2 in Paula Swanson's "Pick A Card, Any Card" Contest - Jun 2011
I am out here on the strip.
Making men look at how I sway my hips.
I know many are in search of a relief (with)
No significant relationship in the mix.
No money
No sex
I have to take care of myself.
I am not just a piece ass out here.
Many I let pass by.
I am looking for the right guy,
In that I have a certain success rate on how I get paid.
The ones with the wife are always the smooth operators.
No money
No sex
I am not just a piece ass out here.
I am captivation of my existence.
Respite I felt, but then he stops to ask me was I available.
I said yes and asked what did he have planned.
His reply was a good time.
I smiled and these were my lines.
No money
No sex
I am not just out here as a piece ass.
I have to care for self.
Let’s go to my bordello to fulfill the rest.
This is my startup business.
Now, what's your name...
______________________________________________________________|
Written December 21, 2015!
nineteen-sixty-five
forty second and San Pedro
backroom of the barber shop
racking pool balls for pennies
or whatever them players
saw fit to handout
hustle in some folk’s eyes
scripture in others
Gandhi or Elijah Muhammad
Jesus over Iceberg Slim
a world like a bordello
filled with pimps and Johns
and the only ho' in the room
was me
EPA is not the fellow
Who made the Animus yellow
All that toxic waste
For mine profits has laced
Our bed which becomes a bordello*
"we are being screwed (I would be more blunt but certain curse words are not allowed here). This happens all the time.
Also, if any of this bothers you, check out Bernie Sanders on youtube. I came up with a great campaign slogan: Bernie Sanders doesn't BS you.
If heaven is a rest for the imbeciles,
the banes of hell my portion must be.
If cloud nine is a bordello,
and the streets of gold are carved along the red-light-district,
then god must be a panderer.
Am I not already rewarded?
My woman is: an orange, perfect in the sun;
a watermelon, succulent;
a mango with sweet nectar;
a passion fruit, freshly plucked.
One woman is ecstasy,
two is hell’s gate.
A saphead is a glutton for pure virgins.
Lives foolishly forfeit for peculiar sayings.
Let not this bird fly,
for the two that is promised?
When god became a sexist,
it came to pass that man recreate himself, a lunatic,
and the woman he objectified became the dominant sex.
Covet not the splendor of paradise,
where the mansions in my father’s house are brothels
perfumed with the scent of intercourse.
A gift of seventy-two maidens
is an everlasting punishment.
I ran across a recipe book
Called ‘Cuisine For Clientele’,
On the cover was an unchaste cook
Making prosti-soup and broth-el.
On the back it stated that ‘Eating
Is the most human obsession.
Bar for the one that bears repeating;
The world’s oldest profession.’
At first look I was taken aback,
But placed it in my hand cart.
Then at home found it was amply stacked
With cocottes and luscious tarts.
In no time flat, I got courageous
When I summoned up the nerve.
To prepare from the worn pages,
A plate of red-hot, whore-d’oeuvres.
Followed by the main course of shell fish;
A meal fit for baronets.
For ours and the books paramount dish,
Are fresh trollops on strumpets.
Sure it’s true that most of the recipes
May seem sexist and campy,
But don’t fear, coz two of its specialties
Are beef cake and pimp scampi.
For dessert we hope our guests have fun
When they wrestle for Jello.
They say it’s the best under the sun,
Though born from a Bordello.
Aroused guests always leave satisfied,
Although some try to be cute.
Yet failed no matter how hard they’ve tried
Matching my book of ill repute!
Is he absurd to appreciate the abnormal?
Is it admirable to accept her appreciative acrobatic antics?
He's a cool cat, she's his celestial canary caught.
A kept creature can be clearly quite costly.
Young Brandon builds her his best beastly bordello.
Every excellent engineer emits erotic emotions.
Thankfully she is gorgeous, genial and generous.
Golden feathered gown shed, she's gracious and gratuitous.
Perfectly broken she's bouncy bendy and bodacious.
He puts her in his bird like cages, pays her his hurtful wages
She somehow helplessly hopes his hands will heal her.
As her inner Iris increases an iota, he explains why he's irritable.
Cock block knock stops the clock...,
she can't console him with candle lit canary kisses.
No more kink or cum cuz un-kindly doc chimes "she's contagious!"
Out the door on an orange overly dark morning.
He hungers for eggs over easy cause his mind is storming,
worrying about going back to a life that's boring.
But soon a sexy new sparrow with opal eyes is his to order!
Written July 5th 2016 for a July contest.
For Broken Wings' I got Zero, Nothing Nada contest 2.
I thought about it for one day, wrote the next day and edited and revised on the third day.
On the morn of the eve of infinity
Saw the eyes of a stranger I knew
As she danced to the tune of the Devil
By the silvery light of the moon
I said " Lady I came here for drinkin'"
But her burning gaze finished my sentence
She said " Sir! Won't you tell me your secret
And I'll be your queen of repentance"
So soldier or sailor live life to the last
Believe in the truth of expectance
For in some dark tavern or shady bordello
You may meet her the queen of repentance
Then her hand held mine like a grape to a vine
With a promise of pleasures untold
And this angel or wraith was to replace my faith
And shone light in a soul turned cold
So soldier or sailor come tell her your secret
For she's your last chance of redemption
Let the black in your soul be replaced by the light
Where no sin is too great for exemption
- Echo in Gloom-
Lost in the dark bordello of doom
Only a plop echoed in gloom
Cathedral of crystal
A cave become tomb
The bats and the owls
Hold the keys to these rooms
As saline tears keep falling drop for drop
Silently forming crystal chandeliers
A quarter of an inch
Over millions of years
Spikes and thorns or bishops and pawns
Decadently clothed defiantly posed
Dare to expose challenging those
Pillars of salt crusty old stalactites
Formed by a river of tears
Ladies of the night
Silently drop - quietly stop
Ploppity plop - ploppity plop
alternately titled: breast damned fallacy hi-jinxed!
In her “60 Minutes” interview aired
Sunday (March 26th, 2018),
the **** star known within red district
as Stormy Daniels bared
her "naked lady" version
swearing oath of honesty,
she emphatically dick cleared
on a stack of video nasties,
and x-rated 'zines
now she can live rest of life
guilt free offloading
hush money endeared
a posteriori into infinitely
jesting bordello loop
with calmly enchanting bug eyed,
drooling media hounds,
whose nostrils flared
squelching the trumpeting Don,
who maliciously glared
for traitorously breaching
“genital man's agreement”),
playing the (sock it to him role
of goody two shoes)
christened Stephanie Clifford)
shaggy long haired
pseudo Mayflower madam averred
to right justice in sought after
condom free nation,
where the turkey
ought tubby national bird
mandating free codicil
to second amendment as of furred
thus, that ass hide from right to bear arms
premature sea r man ejaculation
of Peter ought to be heard
where sudden sound
sans pubis seams burst
jock strapped unseen bulging Johnson's
onslaught hail of expletives cursed
out the mouth of salty sailor spewing Prez,
hook halled for a recess first
and foremost before
questioning resumed
automatically immersed
within tawdry tabloid pulp pit
whore sing Bacchanalian refused to quit
particularly when groin
set zipper (flimsy – obviously,
NOT put thru linkedin
locked down rigorous paces
realized, when pry vet eyelit
of trouser snake split)
yielding singular (nada so sterling)
gamut gallimaufry variegated erector set
with singular bulbous
ram rod rocket like trivet.
Red power mode
White digital
Blue logo
My, oh my ...
sweet apple pie!
Patriotic American cheese is turning sour Kraut commie
Democracy is Wisconsin curdling ... penicillin shot
needed between the ailing ballot box,
sho’ ain’t Louisiana Purchase forthcoming
Lady Liberty is bowing face down, Kansas Toto-style,
to Kremlin oligarchy ...
didn’t take much to bend with Washington wavy subservience
It’s an Idaho russet Ruskie crying shame
Couch the Benedict-ion omelette breaking news:
Missy Freedom done Alaska huskie hussy sold herself
to be a Soviet satellite skirt muzzled tramp mule
Red power mode
has taken cyber control of all voter confidence
White digital bar-code
activate the Manchurian self-destruct sequence
Blue logo brand ruble sold,
keeps the general populace straddling the fence
As they reality TV see their loose Lady Liberty
make a Texas loan star barracuda bow face
Proud North Dakota woman bending her knee,
acknowledging her Bolshevik bastard place
It’s a Kentucky bourbon crying shame
Democracy kissing the Politburo Czar ring
Bluegrass filly ruling class
selling the masses out for the Balaam green
Capitol Hill Star Spangled silent gag,
money mutes on a Pavel dog Con-stitutional prostitute
Wavy anthem cloth used as a snot rag,
Molotov noses following the Red Pied Pier booger flute
My, oh my ...
Marx Twain subversive tweet sweet apple pie!
Collaborator citizens being called patriotic comrades
Eating the Stalinist straw buries,
spit sprinkled with
Chernobyl pyramid scheme
propaganda whipped cream
Traitor taste the Taps Blue Fibbing beer,
free-market funeral dirge price gouge overflowing,
in the white Lenin toe-tag black body bag aisle
While the Ukraine lobbyist piggies
are covetously Crimea coffer crying
Oh, Nevada bordello bosom alligator weep ...
let the Alabama tick tears leech flow
down those Florida lemon-squeezed cheeks
It’s a New Mexico caliente green chile crying shame —
Them neo-Anazazi, gun-clicking squatters
getting a Wounded Knee ice gulag reservation claim
Lady Liberty doing an Independence bow face,
it’s a thirteen stripe, Siberian mongrel disgrace
Resurrection
Then he died
As everyone must
And he entered a tunnel
Pink light
Like a boudoir
Sliding on soft silk
Well, I never!
Pity he cannot write
About it
Doctors resurrected him
They told him
He had smiled
So sweetly when they
Struggled to bring him
Back to life
Crucified
Surrounded
By Roman soldiers
Sigh!
His death had been so banal
A dream of a bordello