Best Debutantes Poems
"Tease for Two"
“Ein bisschen Zucker
mit Ihrer Sahne, Sir?“
German accent
smoky toned
she purred
Periwinkles suavely winked,
then played with his -
cufflinks
“Not now Schvee Tart”
he said holding his attache tight
looking across the room
grinning Lupine Blues
a slight smile on his lips,
bemused,
“Service calls,
her name is
"Q”
Across the dance floor
all eyes turned
Parting tall bus boys, handsome waiters
matrons with their peach blinis, their tart apple martinis
flustered debutantes
all poetic unsure
first time daters
dilettantes
rubbed their -
eyes again, they blinked
made way, made room,
for Q's
sashaying soliloquy
serious multi tasking
sensual stiletto Hell-on-High Heels
slick Scarlet lip-glossed
VaVaVoom
As it should be
entertaining control,
further into the room
across the dazzling polished dance floor
no pastie tasselling girls
on well-oiled silver poles
The Special Agent
slinked
The Old Boys
raised their drinks
He stands
She sits
"Ist das eine Waffe
in deiner Tasche,
Special Agt Schmidt?"
She glances at her
Bulgari Serpenti Incantati
and in English says,
"This better be good,
Now is not the time to quit"
Like a wolf
Periwinkles
grins
"Q," he low growl says,
"I propose a change in destination,
I've taken the liberty to buy you
feathers for your wings -
tickets Q...."
then flirtatiously adds,
"Simply adore your bling"
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
1. lupine/wolf
2. lupine/lupinus, genus blue flowering plant
3. Libertango
Sautéed scallops on the skirts of Italy
Debutantes of a chardonnay shimmy
Mediterranean terraces of broached stars
Gucci wallets moonlighting baroque hearts
Manolo Blahnik legs lavishly luring
High heel sculptures of effusive Etruscan art
Olive ties stirring perfumed Sicilian thighs
Inhaling fragrant glasses of jasmine jet eyes
Rosy secrets saturating burning blotted lips
Fiery fertile plumes of Pompeii's fresco kiss
Vesuvian silence preening suave sable hair
Folded napkins of toasted Venetian affairs
Starlets tender their heralded names
Just another pretty face; another superficial dame
Brokered pawns in tawdry, transparent game
Bartered tinder is their trite acclaim
Stars that twinkled then imploded in combustible flame
Fickle lives; filthy lucre their singular aim
Pleasing the masses with articial drama their claim to fame
Egotistical debutantes who proudly gilded their shame
Fealty and familial bonds with pleasure they did cripple, mame
Fading memories that inspired more of the same
Burnished symbols remembered only by their surname
"kamikaze"
Isn’t it odd
how you always gravitate back to me,
I circle your mind like a helicopter
you watch me
like a moth
attracted to flames,
lit in succulent tender air waves
the others will state their absolute grievances,
it’s a force majeure for preconceived
unaccountable and unavoidable catastrophes
but We,
persist, We,
kamikaze
all artificial
and unintelligent,
other side of the wall
reasoning
bows,
to Love,
always
Love,
gravitates,
persists,
calls us all in
just as debutantes,
there We are,
our insides shining out,
illogically
semi-public
so un-upperclassed,
We are, barefeet dancing
under eye-glass boiling,
serious insects
quartered illogically
'neath microscope petri'd
kamikaze
Love
calls Us all in
debutantes
illogically
troped
“Juliet is the Sun!”,
espouses Romeo;
little does he know,
She is more
than a
soft black-holed velvet galaxy
She's a
Universe, diamond sharp
turned inside out
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Have we opened up Pandora's
box
That we can't now seem to
close
Secrets don't stay on the block
The price of progress I suppose
We have become a world of
voyeurs
Engrossed in other peoples
dreams
Debutantes celebutaunts
posers
Athletes, actors and queens.
Enemies, frenemies bffs
Who crave the madding crowd
Who appear to live with no
regrets
Except no negative vibes
allowed.
Alluring, beckoning;
brushing each droplet with his tantalising golden touch.
Charmed by his searching warmth,
dewy debutantes
eagerly follow, rising effortlessly from a
field of naive dreams,
giving their virtue to his
heaven sent heat.
Innocence is lost, as
jewels of youth and inexperience,
kissed by his fiery passion,
levitate in brief rapture then disappear,
mourned only by carefree bare feet on a morning stroll.
Narcissistic, he admires his reflection,
over and over,
pearlescent on a gossamer haze of
quivering souls,
replaying the pleasure of a
selfish sacrifice
to satisfy his own thirst.
Unquestioned by nature,
victory is his alone, and though
whispering branches sing softly of
xanadu,
yesterday’s dew knows it never existed.
Zephyrs bring a cool twilight air, laden with tomorrow’s oblation.
APETEEN SEVENTY NINE
I don't care if it doesn't matter to you
but it means a whole fuc**ng lot to me
you want to treat old black Jim as if he's a gorilla in a zoo
while I want to set the human being free
his grandfather spent years picking cotton in the field-
for a pittance as payment and a beating if he was late-
his grandfather ended up with scars that never healed-
and they aren't from a whip but rather from hate-
that cotton went to make debutantes look pretty on New Year's eve
with crinoline, ribbons and a tall dark and handsome beau
while Jim's grandpa was freezing in a cabin he was never allowed to leave
and the same went for Jim's black buddies Bill, John and Joe
they worked their fingers to the bone for payment in bread and a bit of rum
while Debbie the debutante looked lovely in her pink and purple gown
Jim, Bill, John and Joe tilled the soil all day long while crawling for a crumb
and if either of the four defied the master they were kicked and knocked deleteriously down
I know this all took place a life time ago
and that's the reason I have such hostility toward you
long gone are Debbie the debutante and her beau
but I will not allow you to keep old black Jim behind bars in a zoo
© 2012.....PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
Through forded streams, nostalgia seems, to be a sense of Nordic Dreams
The pathways to yesterdays, appear to retreat to ample schemes.
Broken nails and nightingales lighten up your brooks and streams.
Take a lock of broken stock to see what truly seems.
Lilt repose in lily throws, is knocking at my silken chair
Through the slits, the moonlight sits, its gaze upon my flaxen hair.
Opportunity flaunts as debutantes, in appearance gracefully debonair.
Gentle words floating from the birds, act upon me without a care
As a white dove from above, with beads of honey running wild
I withdrew to be with you, for words that are Coleridge styled.
They come in turn, to gently discern, and then gather into a pile.
In a continuum, within this kingdom, they come at us all the while.
Though they seem as in a dream, to be of pure fantasy;
if I believe, I may conceive, to have them become reality.
They may seem far as a distant star, but may be in propinquity.
Permanence in ascertainments, can be a hallmark of destiny.
They address as they coalesce, the storefront pretentiousness
in giving description, within inscription, with literary prowess.
Words convey, contained in a foray, upon the domain of impressiveness,
they are contained as they remained, as acknowledged in cohesiveness.
All the rhymes during the times, taste as sweet as butter creams.
As a scribe would inscribe, the essence of moonbeams
In our yesterday, and today, written on papyrus reams
Both fantasy and reality, within the nostalgia of Nordic Dreams.
Enough
Haven't you done enough?
You power mongers, you elitist psychopaths.
You monarchs and you debutantes,
You insanely wealthy, self centered idolaters.
You war lovers, mass murderers,
You military-industrial exploiters.
You are cheaters and liars.
You think you have purchased and worked for ownership,
But you have not.
You have committed crimes against Humanity.
You have expropriated an entire planet.
You enslave and oppress.
You are genocidal maniacs, totalitarian, feudal, fascists.
You have no shame, void of compassion.
You are not human.
You cold blooded, emotionless, cartel of destruction.
Haven't you done enough?
by Robert Denton (August 11, 2015)
VIOLETS IN SPRING
Violets in funereal sleep,
bonnie beneath Winter’s crust.
Breathless debutantes,
preparatory young virgins,
putting on pretty purple petals.
Virtuous violets gracefully glide
through the rich soil,
burgeoning intoxication,
the world’s first tantalizing taste
of their demure debutante smiles.
Kim Rodrigues © 2017
Chandeliers glow beneath golden cherubs
Highlighted arches; adorned the great hall.
Paintings of cupids by masters of old,
Watched from the ceiling as people stood tall –
Debutantes fluttered their lashes and fans.
Pastels reflected on floors and shone bright.
Shadows of elegance followed each beat.
Beautiful dresses adorning the night.
Gentlemen lusted as fragrances wafted.
Music was muted by instant desire.
Sconces on walls softly lit up the room.
High cultured guests dressed in formal attire.
Lords with their beautiful ladies soon waltzed.
Black tails and ties danced a rhythmical pace.
Crinolines swirled to the beat of the drum.
One, two, three, one, two, three, gliding with grace.
Bachelors entered the room through arched doors.
Holding their passions impertinently taut.
Glancing around at the ladies in white.
Acting like gentlemen as they were taught.
Courtiers sat on a couch near the door.
Necklines, sufficiently high, covered breasts.
Sharing their hopes as they giggled and smiled.
Lips ripe for kissing remained tightly pressed.
Magical moment when two young hearts met,
Waltzing to music the orchestra played.
There in the palace flirtations began.
Dancing all night there, new joys were made.
December 2, 2014
Originally Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Ballroom Delights
Revised (slightly) March 23, 2015 For Poetry Soup Member Contest SCREWED
There is a calm, a quiet calm, it follows
a storm, a war, a quarrel;
for example see, when the chimney-smoke
flattens, and lies above the red bricks and
hunting cats but scatters at the gull's urgent
zoom:
then there is a gentle calm, or perhaps it's grey?
yes then, a greying-gentle calm,which having arrived,
is butted by traffic sounds, and childrens' ice-cream
shouts of glee
and above all that, the cries and laughs of debutantes,
in taffeta and chiffon skirts, looking for mister "right",
or a duke or count
then of course, quizzically, there's the gray-white calm
upon your chair,(spilt sherbet), which works its way into
your trouser seat; but let's not dwell on that
and not least there is that peaceful calm, that dances,
resolute, upon the bouncing bed of love; so settled now,
its promises rarely kept
thus then, the dipping, scattered chimney-plume, trips its
last gay gavott, from stage to stage, alighting on the poet's
page;
then with addiction, and literary affliction, mounted broad on
sword and pen; will skip the mordant wind, of gray and calm,
quietening the alarm; for the grey, and the peaceful, lie hand
in hand; to rest.
She once asked me why I had never painted her, pale dress and lips rose red, framed by misty sunlight green
For a multitude of others had tripped and floated in my studio, spinning, laughing and posing like they were young again
So many, and yet so few that were real, pretending that I was the one, eyes fluttering like debutantes first seen
Canvases coloured with what they wanted all to see, saccharine coated with what I had to add, sunshine instead of rain.
I never painted her because she was the one, for to use brushstrokes would diminish her tangible reality
Not only was she real, but she existed, showing sides that diamonds could never possess
The others were loose with their rampant affections, hard as rusty nails, pretending to have perpetual fragility
But, ah, my love was true, is true, will always be true, and I miss her so much, my lovely pure and ever sweet Duchess.
I want to see the clash of the classes
The dichotomy between the debutantes and the downtrodden
wallow in the welfare
scream at those who don't care
soak up society
revel in the rivalry
step on the suited
smile at the smart
vilify the antagonists
snore at the soporifics
bleed in the gutter
be saved by another
turn out the lights
smile at the night
experience the extremes
of a midnight's dream
By Robert McDermott
Sunday morning sardines
Sing trademarked sermons
No gain, guitars must be clean
To harken out the predetermined
Donation cards in cursive fonts
A prayer for a new patio to
Crosses finished like their countertops
Their fair-weather faith up for review
This is for the poor Diet Coke debutantes
In Burberry scarves with lipstick grins
Money isn’t everything but it's all they got
Life is just so hard for those who always win