Best Piercings Poems
~
Winter breathes in sepia tones along a lonely two lane street
divided amongst the sweeping frozen dunes
now forced into shouldered amnesty
Street lights shiver in snowcapped bonnets
while sidewalks sleep ‘neath blankets of flittering flakes
The air, frigidly crisp…moves of tiny chiffon sparkles dancing
Rooftops, plump and soft, show off their frosted padding
as evergreens find alabaster fingers tickling their branches
in chilled teasings and frozen dustings
Footprints, once there are gone, covered and recovered again
all evidence of life is erased beneath pearl clouded skies
and faint outlines of distant thoughts
White on black stripes drape in glacial wanderings
spanning the slush of asphalt weavings
in straight line piercings across the wintry landscape
January reigns brutal, subzero ponderings swirl
from high above the icebox wasteland, once brimming with color
now opaque in its arctic seasoned disguise…
~
Written from memory…no winter here. : )
Gangs are here
And their here to stay
Going about their day to day
Harassing me
Harassing you
Infidels in our Human Zoo
Triads, Yakuza
The Wild West
Terrorised townsfolk
With their gangland zest
Mafia, Nizari
Guys like Al Capone
Persecuted the innocents
Never leaving them alone
Identification through various ways
Communication
Street says
Tattoos, piercings
Dressed sense too
The Gangs of our Human Zoo
Members are many
In certain cities
Victimise the weak
Pick on the pity
These are kids
Of mums and dads
What makes them
Turn out so bad
Brothers, sisters
No questions asked
Shot and knifed
A Gangland task
It makes them no better
Than you or me
We are the difference
A different sanity
Know you not, that I live in pain?
With features that drives me insane,
No matter, how much I try in vain,
I am a girl in a body for men!
To the world I am a bit *****,
That makes me a victim of bully and sneer,
For my piercings in my nose and ear,
And those pretty earrings that I love to wear,
Is it a sin to dress in a skirt?
And my blouse frills that I wish to flirt,
All for an organ that makes me; part,
With my identity deep in my heart?
How I wish, I could walk in my heels,
And seek attention of men with skills,
To shower me with loving care and will,
And presence that provides me a joyous feel;
My passionate desire is to have a friend,
Girl with whom I could delightfully spend,
Moments discussing fashions latest trend,
And secrets to keep unto our lives end.
The world impedes me from breaking my shell,
And my desire to be a belle,
Yet there are moments I live in a spell,
Know that I’m stuck in hell!
In recognition of the plight of Transgenders in our society!!
Lies glamour gossip and Earl Grey tea
turbulent tales boiling in China cups
elegant sacraments of blue-haired ladies
pinkies stuck up in the air, hiding their
anger or boredom or feeling their own
despair.
Crimson glass roses feathers and jewels
crowned with wide-brim hats, trimmed
gloves, lace fans and perhaps some pearls
are appealing to these extravagant, fast
and proper old girls
The guild does not approve of
cola,
tortilla chips or
piercings of the tongue.
Invitation is by Tea Bag only. merely
a device to project the status of a
proper and affluent wife.
Shaved legs polished nails and GiGi’s
Brazilian waxing will enliven you as a
part of the crowd, but may be a little
bit taxing.
The Holy Spirit is like the wind which, comes and goes
Cascading diamonds of Light....
Swept into the breeze; met by Clouds of comfort
Cherubs, whom disperse its Bright ~
Guardians and Messengers, sent, from the Glorious Throne upon high
Close your eyes and take a ride, to where and from; this Telling through Time....
Now standing at Sanctities threshold; those delicate Deliverers; Sublime
Idylically Endowed as the Psalmist; composed ~
By Passions loving Palms; this, the Pen of a ready Writer
To gaze upon the Stars; to bow before the Stone; a Cloak of many Colours....
A Fragrant perfume; as Oil dripping from a Honeycomb; gently
Such Sweetened myrrh of, Opulence ~
Beggers and Sojourners, sitting by the wayside
Wayfarers, now dead unto this World yet, so very Alive....
Myoptic vision, washed from priceless Souls and, Branded upon their Hearts
Piercings slicing through the night; Blessed Blades ~
Pantheons panes; Transcending, this Mortal glass
Revelations upon the Wings of Deliverence from, these Tales once told....
Rubies and Sapphires and Amethyst to hold; azimuthic Amulets
This Holy Spirit as the Wind which comes and, then goes ~
Cascading diamonds of such, Heavenly Light....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"The Anointing"
Note: Smile ~ "'Joyous & Happy Holidays,' to All; 'Love & Warmth,' Always," John!:) ~
Beggars of California
With their tattoos and their piercings, I don’t give money to beggars in California. Up on the Haight with his honey, not really in need, this beggar of California.
At least in New York you get some song and dance, perhaps the tickle of a tenor sax ?and they’re out in the rain, not just when it’s sunny, like those beggars in California.
Near my apartment in Pacific Heights, know them by name. It’s funny; frown when they see me: two brothers, one on either side of the street, these yuppie beggars of California.
I offered to pay the pawn on Runny Nose’s instruments out of hock, but his sign was a true ploy. Another’s sign: “Sailor needs a ship”; it’s war time!? Beggar of California!
I offered one a berth and a meal of tunny. I still see him, but he begs no more.
I think he’s on the dole with a cot. His words were foggy, this beggar of California.
I begged Jackie Paper, since the eighth grade: run for California, head west young man.Education was free. Was I cunning or just another beggar in California?
I GO THROUGH THE DAY ALWAYS FEELING LIKE SOMETHING IS MISSING
A VOID THAT NEEDS TO BE FILLED
I CAN'T SEEM TO FIND ANYTHING OF SUBSTANCE
I GET TATTOOS AND PIERCINGS
I CHANGE MY HAIR OR MY CLOTHES
EVERYTHING ABOUT ME SCREAMS THAT THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG
BUT NO ONE IS THERE TO CONSOLE ME
DO THEY NOT CARE, DO THEY NOT WISH TO BE INDULGED IN MY HEARTBREAK
OR HAVE I JUST BECOME SO CONVINCING IN MY FAKE SMILE
MY FACADE THAT RARELY CRUMBLES
MY GENUINE INTERIOR ONLY REVEALING ITSELF AS I CRY IN THE SHOWER
WATER CRASHING ON MY FACE
OR AS I TOSS AND TURN WHILE I SLEEP...WHENEVER I CAN SLEEP
DREAMS AND NIGHTMARES FILLING MY UNCONSCIOUS
WHEN I WAKE, FEELING SO SAD USELESS
MY BODY FEELING HEAVY...DRAINED...HALF HEARTED
What can be fairer and just then,
the beauty of your plush pink skin.
In the moonlight, your beauty glimers in pink
as does the moon,
over the tripping waves of the peaceful sea.
In sunlight, the light catches your skin
and flirts with my eyes,
as does the dew in the sunken meadows,
with the first kisses of the dawn
Now how do I describe your endless beauty!
It is innumerable as the petals that share your name
My heart bleeds for your love
as your veins pump the finest milk,
that radiates your beauty.
In all the splendor and glory of Queen Cleopatra,
were she to bath in your milk,
she would be immortally present.
Your fully thick and impermeable lips
plague my dreams
as my eternal spring of youth.
Your hair, the only breeze that soothes my delicate skin.
As seasonal as this love may seem,
it does endure the scorch of heat
and glacier of frost.
Oh! To rest upon your golden chalice.
No, this cannot be lust. I am certain.
This must be love, even if it feels inclined.
There is no other light but the bright
piercings of your smile upon my heart.
Your laughter is the sweet smell of the exotic gardens of Budapest,
the nectar of my own ears.
See how your petals have bloomed,
the light hits your petals like snowflakes.
Lies, glamour, gossip and Earl Grey tea,
Turbulent tales boiling in china cups.
Elegant sacraments of blue-haired ladies,
pinkies stuck in the air, hiding their anger
or boredom or feeling their own
despair.
Crimson glass roses, feathers and jewels
crowned with wide-brim hats… trims of
gloves, lace fans and perhaps some pearls
are appealing to these extravagant, fast
and proper old girls…
The guild does not approve of:
cola,
tortilla chips or
piercings of the tongue.
Invitation is by Tea Bag Only merely
a device to project the status of a
stunning, affluent wife. Shaved legs,
polished nails and GiGi’s Brazilian
waxing, will enliven you as a part
of the crowd but may seem
a little bit taxing.
Every earlobe ever pierced, minus non-pierced lobes, without exception
Quantified by head size, quality of piercings, and variety of earrings worn
Under ultraviolet light, utilizing reflective space, sound waves and distance
At appropriate intervals, measuring cut, clarity, carat, color and character
Totaling to a six figure sum, then divided by US bonds withdrawn from IRA
Increase the risk of screaming in agony, up to, but not more, than 50 decibels
On an operatic stage, bursting glass objects, as per fat lady singing, wherein
Numerical miscalculations of damage, therein, must be subtracted from the
Sum, so that all of said variables will not exceed the confusion of the bystander.
Written on 3/9/2016
Ever watch the man pull into wheelchair parking,
get out of his car and walk into a store.
Ever watch an obese woman eating at a buffet
and you think there is just no excuse,
Ever see a teenager with piercings standing in a store,
you quickly move to another aisle.
Ever stand in line for a cashier and tap your feet
while the elderly woman counts out her change.
Ever look at the woman wearing a hijab
and think she is different and cannot be trusted.
Ever want to sit down on the bus
but some young whipper-snapper does not give up their seat.
Ever consider that you may be prejudice
and need to carefully examine why you feel that way.
Consider this;
The man in wheelchair parking has heart disease
and cannot walk long distances without developing angina.
The obese woman gained weight when she developed arthritis
and is no longer able to work-out as she had when she was well.
The teenager is kind and thoughtful and was about to ask you
if you need help in reaching an item on the shelf,
The elderly woman worked hard all her life and is just trying to make
the cashier’s life easier by giving her the exact change.
The woman wearing the hijab is a kind and caring person
who is about to become your physician,
The young whipper-snapper on the bus has just been diagnosed
with cancer and is too weak to stand for the ride,
Ever think that you are making judgement
without knowledge or the full facts.
No more prejudice,
Ever.
Written September 9, 2012
For Debbie Guzzi’s contest
“Stand”
Mr. Wiggles the stuffed “punk pig” , he wasn’t always this way. Before the safety pins in his little nose and “Dead Kennedy’s” patch on his soft, fuzzy, pink back, he was a loving, clean, attractive piggy who was afraid of the dark. He sewed black and red string into his adorable little ear because he thought it would make him look like a rebel pig, then he got experimental with sharpie, permanently drawing stitches on his non-existing lips all because of the music he flooded into his head. Then after the piercings, he got into tattoos. He has a black and red “C” on his chest and a black dotted “C” with a little black heart on his hip. It’s pretty sexy huh? He got it for someone but that someone loved another. He has big, child like eyes that can mesmerize you. They aren’t blue or green or even brown, They are black eyes that just stare deeply into you. He is also very small, not like the other kids. He used to get beat up when he was a little piglet, Maybe that’s why he tries to be all tough now. He’s a bubble gum pink, maybe that was a factor in him getting beat up by all the other farm animals so much. He had low self esteem and a eating disorder, that's why he is so skinny for a grown man piggy. He hated the way he looked, he was ashamed for being born a pig because they have such bad reputations of being dirty, sloppy, and lazy. He didn't like his feet most of all because they were ugly and gross, pig feet are the definition of this but his are abnormal they were disfigured and very, very pink, not like the other animals with smooth hooves or webbed feets. His are piggies feet that no one will end up ever eating. They look like something Ariel would collect under the sea. Mr. Wiggles wasn’t always a bad piggy, under his thick, fuzzy skin he is soft and plushy pig. One thing that never changed is that he loves affection such as hugs, they are comforting and secure. He smells like a warm breeze and something sugary. He may act tough but there is much, much more then meets the eye.
THE DIVORCE
Your stinging absence from us dad
Has for us kids been very bad
Coping with our fatherly loss
Has really been, nothing to floss
Picking all the pieces broken
‘Cause the children you have forsaken
All just trying in our own way
To make it to a better day.
Joy tries to keep it inside
All that sadness she tries to hide
Relying on parties, so much beer
Her false happiness is very clear
Strange boys coming in and out
Enough! I really want to shout
Trying not to face the rap
That you left a very big gap.
Jamie tries to change his looks
Hiding always in his books
Tattoos, piercings, dyed his hair
Darkened room is now his lair
Football player he is no more
All those posters he just tore
Trying hard to bury his hurt
It’s just turning him into a nut.
Little Zoe just withdrew
She really loved you, thought you knew
Pretending that she’s not visible
Her healing sadly is not feasible
Whispering to imaginary friend
Wetting the bed, her new trend
Trying really not to cry
Your departure struggling to justify.
For me it’s been so much worse
Although I really hate to make a fuss
Trying so hard to keep happy face
As first-born boy to take your place
Helping mum to be all strong
But knowing this is all so wrong!
Praying this sadness is just a tide
Soon you’ll be back here by our side.
Lies, glamour, gossip and Earl Grey tea,
turbulent tales boiling in china cups,
elegant sacraments of blue-haired ladies
pinkies stuck up in the air,
hiding their pain or boredom
or unleashing their
hidden affairs.
Crimson glass roses, feathers and jewels
crowned with wide-brim hats and trim,
gloves, lace fans and perhaps some
pearls, are appealing to these
extravagant young
and proper
old girls.
The girls do not approve of:
Cola
Tortilla chips or
Piercings of the tongue…
Invitation is by “Tea Bag Only,” which is
merely a device, to project the status of
a seriously affluent wife. Shaved legs,
polished nails and Gi Gi’s Brazilian
waxing, will enliven you as one of
the crowd but may
seem a little
taxing.
Rejoicing tongues taste a tripled fortnight of psalms.
Parched throats anointed with vintage myrrh
commemorate a solemn departure.
Hands reflecting no piercings -
Feet devoid of spiked reverence and divinity
expire within the jackal’s private Calvary;
a dark abyss strangled with misguided beggars
blindly choosing a Dante's purgatory for themselves.
For they shun not the light dispersing absolution - selfish claws
steal this lambency to illuminate the plight of their own wickedness.
Fiery angels rarely dance atop fraudulent tombs drowning in self-worship;
they are quietly reborn between clasped palms praising a resurrection.