Best Courtesan Poems
Woo the woman
Love the lady
Mellow the maiden
Manage the maid
Garnish the girl
Dazzle the damsel
Bar the bimbo
Latch the lass
Silence the siren
Moor the mermaid
Net the nymph
Madden the madam
Tame the tart
Court the courtesan
Nudge the nurse
Null the nun
Shun the spinster
Strap the stewardess
Venerate the virgin
Vex the vixen
Vacate the vamp
Curb the coquette
Con the concubine
Whack the whore
Whip the wench
Pooh-pooh the prostitute
Slam the ****
Harem the harlot
Screw the shrew
Dally with a divorcee
Eschew the enchantress
Wallop the witch
Garb Godiva
Jail Jezebel
Lambaste Lilith
Dump Delilah
Gore the Gorgons
Harness Hecuba
Xpunge Xanthippe
Wed the widow!
~03/08/2013
~Contest: Your Personal Favorite #2
~Sponsor: L Milton Hankins.
I ran into Shakespeare the other day.
Told him I too am writing a play.
He asked about the premise, which was a reeler.
I had no idea he is a big premise-stealer.
I told him the plot, and he took a few notes.
I was excited when I saw him put them into his totes.
What will you do with them? I asked him, truly awed.
He would not tell me, because Shakespeare is flawed.
Just one thing, he asked, what is a hooker?
I thought that was funny, he's quite a humorous cooker!
A harlot, a whore, a rounder, tart, courtesan, I said.
"Oh, a strumpet!" he guessed, and his face turned all red.
So the next time you use the word strumpet remember to thank.
The guy who reintroduced this word to me - I call him Hank.
It's a fun word for sure, and will get some attention.
But don't use it if you are haughty with high needs of pretension.
Her name was Anarkali,
an eloquent carnival of legendary beauty.
a dancer in the court of Emperor Akbar.
Deep russet rouge blushed her red,
a silky smile on her rosy peach cheeks
rich, sensual and seductive...
With the sweet scent of jasmine, and
festal moonlight of crystal starred sky,
the damsel danced her way to Salim's heart.
A charmed Prince reverberated in her dreams
in rhythm of a daisy swaying in his breeze.
Entranced in her emollient ecstasy
Captured in the cage of her beautiful eyes.
Love blossomed like a dazzling wildfire.
But a sinister callous world, was eager to kill.
Passion handcuffed by shackled royal ego,
Anarkali was sentenced to be entombed alive.
Behind a wall of stones and prison bars,
Blood still throbbed her myriad unseen scars.
As vibrant colors of a sunset blurred,
An enslaved moth danced to flames of death.
As chimes of Ghungroo* muffled in mutenes,
An enslaved soul emancipated in darkness.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Anarkali in Urdu means Pomegranate blossoms
*Ghungroo is an ornament of bells worn as anklets by dancers.
The love story of Prince Salim ( Mughal Emperor Jahangir) and Anarkali is legendary.
Anarkali, also known as Nadira Begum, was a courtesan from Lahore in modern-day Pakistan. According to one of the stories, Anarkali had a relationship with the Crown Prince Jahangir and the Mughal Emperor Akbar had her enclosed in a wall where she died.
4th July 2019
Sponsor John Hamilton
Contest Name : Slave to love
Shall raw and bleeding wounds gape wide for thee
and overcoat each new parchments’ page?
Are thee foul succubus seeking a sage
undead and living vicariously?
Shall another’s soul flow unbound to thee
like a courtesan released from her cage
each tomes rich with crimson text overlaid.
So alone, thee can dine veraciously?
Shall life come a courting as thy subject?
Nay, lance the ripe boil of lassitude.
Purge thy barren cloister genuflect.
Author thine own life thee are not destitute.
Expand into the world, let life project.
Arise, pale spirit and the sun exude.
She comes to me impalpable.
A courtesan of crimson red dreams.
Her words fall from her lips in ethereal melodies.
Pulling my twine to seal the seams.
The nature of her existence,
Whispering along the hue of my suspended form.
Her voice becomes substantial to my eyes.
She recreates images of a thunderstorm.
Lightning cracked as she portrayed,
A landscape engulfed by dark clouds with no rain.
Beneath the canopy people danced a masquerade.
The music played on as they stepped their sin.
Entering among them, a mask upon my face,
An aching search ebbing within.
There through the crowd soft brown eyes met my gaze.
She swam through the dancing sea taking my hand.
We began to merge our steps; souls ablaze.
There adrift the violin of the forgotten land.
The reason for our creation became known.
As we held each other in such a caring way.
Something between us had secretly grown.
We would remain dancing together. Forever and a day.
This night they were lions
sleek and powerful
entangled in the equinox
of midnight and morning...
Then came the sun
ending a night in which
seduction was her only intent
she the lover
the courtesan
dark as night
he the crazy poet..
Prompting each other
to do what to them pleases
unconcerned with darkness and light
damp white sheets
covered heartbeat rhythmic...
A feast of tongue and touch
the sounds of gentle moans
such soft slow love
where none existed before
he was hungry
she was hungry
they fed each other...
From her dominion
she was lovely
she was precious
wrapped in silence...
They loved
they slept
then came the sun
gone was she
slipping away between the barrier
of dusk and dawn..
Back to the secret place
of refuge and whispers
she was not meant to be
with her new found lover
in the daylight hours..
Leaving behind
two tiny holes in his neck
perhaps she was
a vampire...
From devadasi in temples to women of the streets,
Form hooker to harlot,
From courtesan to call girl,
Whether a paramour in the hands of wealth,
Or a Whore engaging in promiscuous sexual intercourse,
So many names and so many fames,
Above all I am a human being too,
Often referred as the lady of the evenings,
People forget that I also have mornings,
I use my body for lewd purposes,
But this is my job may be the worst of all,
This is not for pleasure, greed or money,
I am trapped to this vicious world,
These callous men turned me a used good,
Now whom to be blamed?
This society calls me ‘Characterless’
Because I pledged my dignity for this profession,
May be the oldest of all,
I never dreamt of marriage,
I am an impoverished cultural outcast,
I am excommunicated,
I work in darkness,
And that’s why people fail to see me in light,
But Menaka, Rambha, Urvashi, and Thilothamma,
The celestial demigods – who are they?
Indian mythology says this as high-class prostitution?
This is the harsh reality,
I spare myself for making you elated
But you brand me the “curse of this society “
I never look at my mirror with joy
My own reflection titters at me
I see only destation and revulsion around me,
I scream in agony and excruciation
But for people they are pleasure sounds and sex noises,
I have dissolved my high spirits in the ocean of Hedone
Where my conventionality and morality have gone invisible,
Now I stand before this society as a misanthropist,
An elite lady – who changes her boy friend every now and then,
I love my John just for few minutes,
I eventually break up for the next John to stay,
When I walk down the streets I never look up,
For the eyes of women fend off,
For the eyes of men fond off,
They rate me based on complexion,
Being a black seducer I am paid low
But none discovered my hearts white glow,
From a lad to a gray man,
All try to touch my skin,
But none so far have tried to touch my soul
For them I am a doll – without feelings or pain,
But for me no pain no gain,
I can never change this world,
Or the way they treat me,
Likewise I can never change myself,
Or the way I treat my men.
I am searching my bright future in the night,
And I call this my nocturnal life.
BY,
MADHUPRIYA SHANMUGAM
Inside a bamboo garden, where I followed a red-crowned crane
an exotic treasure of another sort held me spellbound
seated upon the lawn, a courtesan beauty there did reign.
Guilty, I stood beside a Lychee tree, expectations of arraign
but she smiled with cherry lips, in pale blue she was gowned
inside a bamboo garden, where I followed a red-crowned crane.
A delightful scene of refined Chinoiserie, created quite urbane
Lotus flowers, Jin of bonsai, beside the paragon were found
seated upon the lawn, a courtesan beauty there did reign
Exquisitely she sat, blush on her cheeks, fragile as porcelain.
I longed to caress her coifed hair, cascading and unbound
inside a bamboo garden, where I followed a red-crowned crane.
I feared death, for when she beckoned my heart was being slain.
I bowed before the Eastern goddess in whose beauty I had drowned
seated upon the lawn, a courtesan beauty there did reign.
Worthy of gracing a palace, she and the Chinoiserie shall remain
no longer will I find her graceful figure on the ground
inside a bamboo garden, where I followed a red-crowned crane
seated upon the lawn, a courtesan beauty there did reign.
July 16th, 2017
Between The Devil and The Sea
( Scylla and Charybdis )
Cosmetic the creature cover girl
is accessible only at night
a picture female in her temple
laying askew on an alter ego
A de lux harlot in romantic rough house
a fetish target
frivolous nymphet with a rampant phallus
And the sinister will follow strictly incognito
In her sticky sexual paradise
blond peroxide sensuality comes by proxy
No virtues abashed
a blow up doll as she lays in prostrate sultry action
her deflowering for titillation
she is said to have a thing for perversion
this ageless angelica this strip teaser
the Molotov cocktail of her own euphoria
Down in the bawdy boulevard men ape their ardour
all mouth to mouth with the call girl
a fondle or a blatant grope
She’s a clock work courtesan to keep her from destitution
to feed the kids she considers herself to be an acquisition
smiling for the gratuitous exhilaration of playing the other woman
vogue with her etiquette indiscreet in the burlesque
self esteem is held between the food the warmth
and not much else
PRINCESS OF THE UNIVERSE
I am the circular shaped princess
Men can’t approach me with gold because I am priceless
Even women can’t help admiring me
My beauty makes others envy
From a distance I bright
My beautiful robe always white
They say my magic lies in my eyes
For men can’t watch me twice
Many women hate my appearance
They call me ‘’the husband snatcher’’
My presence halts romance
It isn’t I but my charming nature
They call me ‘’the courtesan ‘’
They claim I flirt with every man
But I don’t really care
For none of them can ever dare
My beauty pierces everywhere like an arrow
Men see my light before they come out to follow
My hips they found none on land
And for my curves, they can’t stand
I lure men with my sexy smile
They watch me out a mile
When I start laughing,
They turn to run
My golden teeth they can’t watch
My 'diastema' shaped like a notch
The light of my curves bright in guises like a torch
I am the circular shaped princess.
Part Two
To have written is to leave but a mark
nothing stands for the proud rhyming syllables
more than his acquired business acumen
a Vaishya karmic hope
Now we stand aghast before this edifying monument
and verily wonder at some man
who may have in gusting wind and blasting brine
clung to his loincloth on the scaffolding
his knotted hair thick with the chimes of the Colamandala tide
the bells from Mahabalipuram to Chidamparam tolling in his veins
his sinewy rhyming muscles pulsing to the chiselling of reliefs
in memory of Kannaki and Matavi
and the liana apsara Manimekalai
in her forbidding expunging of her caste courtesan rôle
the lethal unmaking of an infatuated prince
Tied then to the creaking wooden framework
left by Ilango Adigal's epic-making epic
his stomach heaving
the low burning wicker lamp stinging his nostrils
in the stilled small hours
his eyes hardly following the olai leaf of his beaten memory
night after sleepless night
his merchant's paunch and eyes sagging
wife and mistresses in unrequited rut
while in tryst forlorn
one thought lingering under the tree in Bodhgaya
lamenting for the disciple's offering of trichinosis
he lets the dawn creep into his ears
with the kuyil's ironically teasing call
the fingertips charred with lampblack
till loaded cartwheels grind on the gravel of his spent dreams
It is easy for us now to quibble over him
and make much of when he may have conceived his poem
for at least in so doing he comes alive
only to be killed
revived
chided
praised
drowned in words
more than he has bequeathed us
© T. Wignesan- April 7, 1992 (from the sequence/collection: Words for a lost sub-continent). Pub. in T. Wignesan. Rama and Ravana at the Altar of Hanuman: on Tamils, Tamil Literature & Tamil Culture. Chennai: Institute of Asian Studies, 2006.
while figuratively hunting
and pecking around me noggin
force hum theme to write about
lo and behold, the solution
stared me right in front
of my little knob nub nose with gentle clout
cuz, as an avid bookworm, the dictionary,
I enjoy expending hours
to drink up etymological history
relating to the origin and
historical development of words
and their meanings.
with no shadow of a doubt
and most times, this animatronic,
the technique of making and operating
lifelike robots, typically for use
in film or other entertainment
dogmatic, enigmatic fugee dooby
brother beastie boy
(actually a mwm) dislikes to flout
his abilities, hobbies, interests,
as aches hike kant imagine being treated for gout
a disease in which defective metabolism
of uric acid causes arthritis, especially
in smaller bones of the feet, deposition
of chalkstones, and episodes of acute pain.
Boot lemme return full circle
to thematic core curriculum aye started to aim
and express gratitude
to the ghost of Noah Webster,
who gets credit yet also blame
if some snide haughty guttersnipe,
some slovenly individual feels snubbed,
and hence, living personage, said descendent(s)
of oblivion, whatever unknown
man or woman to living persons
stake a valid claim
that his/her many generations removed
heir (Harris), and or heiress ancestor (proven
with tangible researched reportage,
then cited with countless
prestigious explorers of English language),
that a daunting scrivener perhaps
even a courtesan or rich dame
rightfully ought to receive the fame,
thus such living relative might
upend the huck cult personality be game
to dare challenge secure historical niche
ambitiously held by Mark Roget (1779–1869),
British physician, natural theologian
and lexicographer. It was released
to the public on 29 April 1852.
The original edition had 15,000 words,
and each new matured edition
of the Thesaurus grew larger.
bon vivant Gaston
precocious carefree Gigi. . .
courtesan or wife
Copyright © 2018 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
Published 2018 in "Hollywood Haiku" via wattpad.com
Amid her degraded,miserable life
in the red light area,
she hummed the songs
of the Hindi films.
Looking at her reflection in the mirror
she dreamt herself as the heroine
of a romantic movie
opposite her favorite star.
Sometimes, she copying the dialogues
and gestures of heroines
from the romantic scenes
of the popular movies,
and thinking herself
as a courtesan seen
in a popular movie.
These filmy,romantic thoughts
often comforted
her youthful life
in the red light district.
Les Bijoux (The Jewels)
by Charles Baudelaire
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
My lover nude and knowing my heart's whims
Wore nothing more than a few bright-flashing gems;
Her art was saving men despite their sins;
She ruled like harem girls crowned with diadems!
She danced for me with a gay but mocking air,
My world of stone and metal sparking bright;
I discovered in her the rapture of everything fair;
Nay, an excess of joy where the spirit and flesh unite!
Naked she lay and offered herself to me,
Parting her legs and smiling receptively,
As gentle and yet profound as the rising sea,
Till her surging tide encountered my cliff, abruptly.
A tigress tamed, her eyes met mine, intent ...
Intent on lust, content to purr and please!
Her breath, both languid and lascivious, lent
An odd charm to her metamorphoses.
Her limbs, her loins, her abdomen, her thighs,
Oiled alabaster, sinuous as a swan,
Writhed pale before my calm clairvoyant eyes;
Like clustered grapes her breasts and belly shone.
Skilled in more spells than evil imps can muster,
To break the peace which had possessed my heart,
She flashed her crystal rocks’ hypnotic luster
Till my quietude was shattered, blown apart.
Her waist awrithe, her breasts enormously
Out-thrust, and yet ... and yet, somehow, still coy ...
As if stout haunches of Antiope
Had been grafted to a boy ...
The room grew dark, the lamp had flickered out.
Mute firelight, alone, lit each glowing stud;
Each time the fire sighed, as if in doubt,
It steeped her pale, rouged flesh in pools of blood.
This translation has been adopted by **** and escort websites!
The Perfect Courtesan
by Michael R. Burch
after Baudelaire, for the courtesans
She received me into her cavities,
indulging my darkest depravities
with such trembling longing, I felt her need ...
Such was the dalliance to which we agreed—
she, my high rider;
I, her wild steed.
She surrendered her all and revealed to me—
the willing handmaiden, delighted to please,
the Perfect Courtesan of Ecstasy.