Best Bouncers Poems
My driveway is packed with the cars
of friends and family,
chips put out, and the little ones
are running joyously.
A cooler filled up with bag ice
keeps cold soda and beer,
I think half the folks I know
were able to get here.
I stand over a charcoal grill,
today it is my thing,
propane may work in a pinch,
but briquettes remain king
Coals seer some discount longhorn steaks,
bought from a friend of mine,
will turn the meat ninety degrees,
get perfect grill-mark lines.
My vegan niece sits not far off,
always looks thin and ill,
ready to tell everybody:
“It’s not okay to kill!”
As if the plants she likes to eat
didn’t go to their death,
some day she might see how it is,
but she ain’t got there yet.
The youngsters go high on the swings,
I hear metal chains squeak,
one even gets up far enough
to brush against some leaves.
Every few moments one flies off,
and lands half-stumbling,
turns back to his cousins and cries:
“That jump was amazing!”
The older kids are further back,
shagging some fly-balls down,
they mix it up with fast bouncers,
racing across the ground.
Inside men sit and watch the game,
share opinions on sports,
each convinced they know the deal,
which players to exhort.
Not a word of work goes around,
and to me that’s just fine,
Boss-man gets five days of the week,
but these two? They are mine.
Wives and sisters sit on the deck,
indulging in girl-talk,
it may be a stereotype,
but lordy, how they squawk.
Then again, maybe it’s just me,
the introverted type,
gossiping in a big circle,
not something I would like…
Take off the ones medium rare,
three more minutes—well done,
plate them up, then give a shout:
“The steak’s on, everyone!”
Do people think you are sleazy and bad,
since the day you replied to that want ad?
The words were in black and white, and plain.
“No Experience Necessary, We Train”.
This job is not what most women would like to get,
However, it pays the bills and keeps you out of debt.
You live in a nice house, and drive a Corvette.
Of all the occupations anyone can seek,
there are not too many paying two grand a week.
They hired you for what came naturally.
Men easily discover your great beauty.
You have the looks of a centerfold in a magazine.
Your dancing in the club makes quite a scene.
A fight with your old man made him pack and go away.
He left you and your child unexpectedly one day.
You were desperate and needed a job right away.
It seems nobody was impressed with your resume.
Other employers apparently could not be convinced.
So many places only wanted experienced.
When you are dancing in the club each night,
men from all over think you are a delight.
Scantily clad, you erotically tease.
This is how you gather your gratuities.
Some men get obnoxious, and a bit out of hand.
Enforcers appear to take a stand.
A small team of bouncers comes out to greet.
The mashers land in the middle of the street.
Never mind what people think is wrong or right.
Many men like me will be seeing you tonight.
A story in The Times about
Admittance into clubs
Discussed the people who’d get in –
No luck for average schlubs.
You have to dress in certain clothes
And have the right cachet;
If not, you’ll not get past the rope,
No matter what you say.
What really got to me the most,
Describing women’s dress,
Was mentioning the shoes they’d need
To guarantee success.
Of course, they must be “Christians” -
That’s Louboutins, soled in red;
Or else Manolo Blahniks
May be strutted in, instead.
In either case, the shoes should have
No less than five-inch heels!
I wonder if the bouncer at the club
Knows how that feels.
‘Cause even in my younger days,
When cool styles I’d embrace,
If I wore five-inch heels, I’d end up
Flat upon my face!
I hate the whole idea of clubs
Where bouncers pick and choose
The patrons they’ll allow inside –
Based solely on their shoes!
Glitterin' gold wuz struck along Alder's Gulch in eighteen sixty-three!
Potential prospectors came frum as fer away as Knoxville, Tenn-o-see!
Hordes uv soiled doves and gamblers migrated to the Gulch as well,
Along with platoons uv ruffians and barkeeps, their potent booze to sell!
Fellers labored hard all week pickin' and a-shovelin' at their claim.
But Sundays wuz set aside to raise 'oly 'ell, much uv it to their shame!
Baptist preachers thumped their Bibles tryin' to preach above the din.
There warn't no churches so they preached in saloons aginst the wages uv sin!
Hurdy-gurdy gals roamed about 'neath the steely-eyed gaze uv their 'madam'.
Guns and bowie knives wuz rife and wuz brandished by the dudes that had 'em!
Brawls erupted resultin' in blackened eyes and numerous bloodied noses,
Leavin' heaps uv rowdies sprawled on sawdust floors in grotesque poses!
Pie-aner players added to the din beltin' out their bawdy songs!
Preachers gave up and said to 'ell with it and joined the festive throngs!
Poker games wuz proceedin' in ever' saloon, usually endin' in a ruckus,
Since there seemed to be an excess uv aces held by some cheatin' cuss!
Fallin' down drunks wuz nuisances that bouncers simply booted out the door,
But they somehow meandered to another pub to imbibe a little more!
On Sundays they had their spree - on Mondays though sick and broke,
They panned fer 'dust fer another Sabbath frolic - the aim uv ever' bloke!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
This mental scene came over me while finishing my abnormal psych final:
A pack of about 12 guys all wearing
Sweat pants and no undergarments
**** stars
No white dwarfs here...
They are headed into the strip club for a little fun.
I can visualize the suprise of the bouncers,
the patrons all have a look of protest,
but what are they really going to do?
The wads of cash in hand almost match their...
Oh, you get where I am going with this.
The next sequence for these guys is to chase some viagra
With a few tumblers of jagermeister.
Some of the strippers are going to have more fun
Than they've had since the Harlem Globetrotters were in town.
But poor Lil' Bunny;
It's her first night up there on the swirling stage,
And it's moving like an event horizon.
Her legs are stiff and they're not the only turgid things in this
Flesh arena.
The guys sense her freshness like Crocuta crocuta to the recent kill.
Earlier in the day,
The other dancers told ol' Lil' to really grind on the costumer's lap
In order to keep the money flowing-
"It clicks off the nerves in their brain and transfers all thought
South of the equator."
Yay!
Well, now she is has 12 overzealous guys waiting in queue
With big suprises for her,
And thin veils of cotton covering their junk.
...
I lightly chuckle in class, and then realize
I only have 20 minutes to finish this wonderful test.
heaven knows we need more competition
I say we move to hell and give it a makeover
we kick out the devil
and hang up our “new management under” sign
we replace fire and brimstone
with never ending happy hour
we invite all the angels and saints
to our nightly hell raising celebrity kickoff party
finally, we put little green bouncers at the gates
and make everyone wait a lifetime
Cricket is a game of love
Full of puns and innuendo
As a lass I’d love to bowl you over
By having you a maiden over
A couple of opening googlies
Spin balls should do the trick
Middle of the over adds
Two chesty bouncers to the mix
Fifth could be an angler
To draw a lovely catch
Sixth ball to earn a maiden over
What else but a full toss
Just to finish me off
Now all I need to know
With a six dot ball over
Have I won my maiden over
10236 Charing Cross Road
Holmby Hills, CA. 90077
To go where young rabbits frolic and dance
Would be a sweet treat if I had the chance
To swim in the water where famous cottontails get wet
Where champagne bubbles are spilled by the elite jet set
Maybe I might win a million dollar lotto
That could be my ticket to enter the grotto
Past muscle bound bouncers, inside velvet ropes and stanchions
To ogle, google and spill my own bubbles at The Playboy Mansion
To escape normality and alter reality before I grow old
Playing with Playmates and Bunnies and this months Centerfold
10236 Charing Cross Road, Holmby Hills CA. 90077
Without a doubt this is the address of Heaven
Thank you
Mr. Hefner
Heaven’s to Mergetroid, what dire straights had the moon men gotten themselves into this time? Lunar craters were filling with nuclear waste and there was not a friend to be found at the convention. The UFO (Unified Foreign Oscillators) team was too busy singing itself silly in the far corner around the Hammond organ. It was a regular wine and dine of vacuum salesmen with dozens of oxygen masks, slamming traditional medicine and promoting laughter, pushing the sucking of gas vapors through a straw! Each new sale brought forth new tid-bits of bad breath and gafaws. The Listerine soaked tissues drifting in on silver trays from the kitchen were bound to quell the stench! Rosie the robotic maid yanked the club Presidents spandex boxer shorts up so high he squealed with pleasure! The robot bouncers had to launch wormholes into the raucous crowd to thin them out. Those still standing after that gig would have the dislocated jaws from laughing after having taken their medicine.
I stayed above the
Shandygaff,
a sports bar
down an alley
off College Avenue,
State College, PA
Penn State.
The happy valley street's
were a nightly
swarm of milling
students.
Masses inebriated
Heels clicking
between Cafe 210,
Zeno's and us.
Downstairs served
one dollar drafts.
Fifty cents on fridays.
I used to go early
before the students,
to sit down by myself
and watch the old
eighties television
set with the bouncers
and early bird stragglers.
"Two please"
I'd order eyeing the
vinyl peeling off
of the worn lite wood
grained bar.
Leaving my red faux
leather cracked silver
stool.
I'd wander away when the
crowds came.
Walk down the alleyway
and disappear into the multitude.
Restless rebel, control the ball on the gregarious ground
Looking within and hooking dignity to the home
Where a restive riposte resurrects the meandering mound
Detriment and its cement sediment groom
In search of answers and cancers
Growing without control and throwing mud on the room
That without mercy plays into the hands of bouncers
Primed to jettison the happiness for which you crave
At the time and in the clime where pesky pouncers
Storm forth and chide the wonderful wave
That steers stability and versatility in the home where
Your truculence and petulance dig the grave
Where your treasure trove and freedom measure dare
To resist the onslaught of seething thoughts brought on board
To confuse order and disorder in your home, slaying vestiges of care
In the wake of asinine attitudes that accord
Dignity and sanity to restlessness which your home can’t afford
As your restive riposte resurrects the meandering mound
Restless rebel, for the sake of stability, control the ball on your gregarious ground.
Away at a strip club
No clothes are on me
I misread the club rules
Now I feel silly
I’d removed my jacket
White shirt and black pants
Then off came my boxers
I wanted to dance
Two big burly bouncers
Dragged me off the floor
Though I’m still butt naked
They show me the door
I flag down a taxi
Although I’ve no cash
I’m dropped at my girlfriend’s
To her door I dash
She pays the cab driver
And gives him a tip
One look at her stern face
I’m on a guilt trip
She throws me a bath robe
And I put it on
Then I realise that
My work clothes are gone
Although it’s past midnight
She drives me straight back
And gets my belongings
Then gives me some flack
I say that I’m sorry
Won’t do it again
And if I go clubbing
From drink I’ll abstain!
08/08/23
In our establishment, we have great drinks and beer.
Many patrons come to our place for a good time here.
On weekends, there is some great live music from a band.
We have the best dancers since American Bandstand.
However, occasionally things get out of hand.
That is when our platoon of bouncers takes a stand.
When folks become inebriated and indiscreet,
we swing open the doors and throw them out in the street.
We may get rough, and open doors with their head.
In that way, they will have to go somewhere else instead.
The bottom line is we run a respectable joint.
Have a good time, but behave yourselves! You get the point?
War
Is where
Nobody wins
And everybody sins
At the unbeautiful bar
War is hell on earth
At birth
God created humans
To be better than the lions
And the other nefarious predators
That’s a given
War transforms young men
And young women
Into absurd killers and murderers
War is criminal
War is suicidal
The truth hurts. Oh! Boy. Oh! Boy
Vile foragers oppress, attack, maim and destroy
Common sense is absent in wartime
No countries are at their prime
Where they harvest dead victims, casualties
Pains, sufferings, animosities and calamities
War is immoral
War is awful
War is for crazed gangsters
War is for ireful bouncers
Death comes early for numberless youngsters
Families are worrying, crying and mourning
And don’t care about vanity, flags and flowers
Families only care about the living
Love, peace, harmony and humanity
War is wasteful
War is baneful
War is for dreadful pit-bulls
War is for god-awful fools
Premature death is unacceptable and crazy
And cemeteries are plentiful and not empty
How sad and unnecessary to be so strong
And to die so early and so young
How sad and inhumane to be so wrong
And to fail flat to unite in order to sing a fine song
Life is precious on all sides
Intolerance chokes and arrogance divides
Diplomacy is the key to resolving our current differences
Dialogue is the password to open up countless entrances
To find common ground
Better and friendlier sound
War is never the equitable answer to the question
But love is the quintessentially perfect solution
To the human or mundane equation.
Copyright © February 2022, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Physique in denial, irritating to bouncers
her numbers-to-flesh comparison on the radio is a smash hit
this ice, in a hot summer still slowly melts
making age-stunt her most engaging hobby
boys, half her age come to display lame tactics
her metabolism functions with slow engines
as the bolts of her aging are yet unscrewed
another reason for the planet to baffle, after Pharell Williams
“I’m thirty nine” the most of her answers after her name
envy suffocates her mates as they beg for her genes
faith in using the pressed oil from her skin
may be factual and never should be underrated
this adult in teenager’s skin
still feeds her organs with mama’s milk.