Best Socialites Poems
Socialites
those was good days.
sneakin' out the bedroom window
tryin' harder not to wrinkle our frocks
than not to wake momma
runnin' down the dusty road
with pointy-toe pumps in tote
hopin' we didn't miss too much
of the party.
greeted at the end of the road
by three cats
in they daddy's shiny black Bonneville
waitin' to give us a ride.
they'd be justa skinnin' and grinnin'
thinkin' they might just get some ass
before the night was through.
some nights,
if them cats was slick enough,
they would.
we'd Slide all night at the juke joint.
eatin' pickled pigfeet and
gettin' high off of stump-hole liquor.
tellin' lies 'bout how
we was gonna go to New York one day
and how we was gonna go to Coney Island
for hotdogs at Nathan's.
and then go over to Queens
to find us a soul food joint
for a taste of collards and cornbread.
from there,
we would just follow the crowd to Harlem
and take us a place in line
waitin' our turn to
bow at the feet of Apollo,
god of the Chitlin Circuit.
soon,
he would entertain us with
his dukes and his queens, and his godfathers
and, boy!
that palace would be smokin'!
'course
all eyes would be on us-
the socialites from the sticks-
all dolled up in our fitted skirts
with can-can slips underneath
and the cats in they pencil suits and wing-tips
and all us thinkin'
if only the niggas back home could see us now-
snappin' and tappin' in Harlem
with dukes, and queens, and godfathers.
I am not who you call me if that's what you mean
I do not flatter egos
With glitz and glamor of words while the obscene
Condition of people's lives tell
In front of our eyes there is an invisible hell
I want this poem to be a soldier then
Searching and killing in human hearts
The terrorist poverty that cankers men
I want this poem to be a social worker
Bringing the homeless into the shelter
Of the love of men, I want this poem
To be like Jesus doling bread famished mouths
I want this poem to be a healer mending
The broken health of citizens
Forgotten by a narrow minded wealth
Of technology in earth's richest country
I am not who you call me if that's what you mean
My language is not a party
For intellectuals looking for new leaves
Meaning, this is not a ball
Of words for socialites and celebrities
And I do not want to read again
Poets lost in private pain
Unless their pain connect as a metaphors
For the suffering of the world
If poems do not have compassion
They should cause compassion
And then as one army
Let us march to right history
And voice the cause of the downtrodden
The oppressed, depress
The wretched of the earth, distress
The lonely, broken, forgotten
I am not who you call me if that's what you mean
I am poet of the people, the people's poet
A poet's words are bombs, missiles, bayonets
Do not read these poem
Holding my words too close to your eyes
3 polished oak fans,
Swirling in robotic unison
High maintenance socialites,
Sipping on Merlot fallacies
Lemon yellow coated walls,
Flat,
Like their smiles
Comparisons of dangling Porsche & Bentley keys
A glorified day care center,
Pacifiers included
The muted virtuosos speak softly in hymn dialects.
Courtesy laughter in snob’s octave
Their heads twitching side to side,
Left to right to left
An equilibrium facing assault charges against self
They slow dance to cello dreams
And E minor dividends
Two-step monotone, sway
Against platinum lacquer foundations
…
But, it was then.
These same socialites,
Made of recycled candle wax
And rubberized, hedge-fund confidence,
Began to stare longingly at the party host’s 70 inch plasma TV
Proudly imported from China
“Attention uptight snobs of Mecca!
The city zoo has imploded!
The monkeys revolted!
The zebras were tired of being racially profiled!
Run for your LIV…!”
(SMASH!)
And before the reporter’s frightened inner child could finish’s his clause,
An elephant crashes into the decadent room
Filled with Crisp linen scents of Febreze & judgmental fear
It stares at the socialites,
Laughing heartedly as it playfully stomps away into constellation’s onyx night
As tears waterfall from the snobs’ sobbing eye sockets
As if they just listened to another Celine Dion song
The real newsflash
Metaphors played hooky today
©Drake J. Eszes
I Don't Understand ?
why do some people get away with things and others don't
people are people so why should it be you and I appear awfully
no one questions anymore no one has a voice
it's the blind leading the blind soon will fall into a ditch
all the hero's and legends I knew as a child turned into idols of clay
don't you believe in what t.v. or the radio says about you
many seek for solace amidst the inner plight of silence
death is there doormat they squeeze all the love out of you
some seek to drawn there sorrows in a bottle like no tomorrow
the impulse of a hug takes a back seat with cheap lust
why does one equate logic for fear ?
I sit again in the silence alone,
minds that plug for bitter destruction in their brain washed minds
how it rains on the just & unjust...
a tug at the heart will light the inner spark to what I've been waiting for....
man has constructed living pyramids to honor their dead,
the notion of no atheists in fox holes
I don't debate them anymore only choose to love them instead
the walking dead having viscous hanging fangs that bite...
dot the i's and cross the t's
we resign as living socialites in our miniature soldier war
a toast of friends only to discover there is no love in their hearts
there are heads in the street for a burning cause but for what ?
they all claim its a banner of love but its hate in disguise
a lover in life is not the sinner
weak willed tyrants feeling a funeral in their brain
Why is love cheap lust these days get back to the basics
we choose to hide behind the false garb of compromise
Can't we see through all those twisted Satanic lies ?
We all need it
Some feed on it
people are not what they seem
I do not fit well in the social scene
At least that’s what I think
Social standing is in the sink
In reality all is fine
Yet for greater acceptance I pine
Are the socialites so cruel
Is it by humility that they rule
Is there something wrong with me
What is it they can they see
I am blind to the futility of my path
The pointless endless graft
Its just for acceptance that I search
Don’t leave me in the lurch
Dear Leonardo,
To begin, I know that you are use to girls who are socialites from well to do families. I didn't answer you last night because I couldn't and although it will be difficult for you to follow this letter, it's important that you read it.
Unlike you, I am not ivy league, nor class President. I don't have fancy clothes in fact, I don't even have a car. Sometimes I wonder what I'm doing here other than my grades afford me a scholarship. I know I should be proud of that and I guess I am in a way but .........
Truthfully the only thing I could attend was your picnic, knowing that my shoes were perfect for volleyball in the sand. I mean......
How could I ever invite you to my home? Not wanting to make this an epistle and simply put, I feel that I am not good enough for you but please know.....
I wish you well and hope that you meet someone like me who as you said, races your heart..
Love, Judy
My name is in the ID,
but I assume many personalities
of celebrities and socialites,
some who seem to be lost in utopia.
Speaking of utopia,
I believe in everything Hollywood
says about aliens being green,
with big heads, lasers and all...
I'll enjoy burger fries and milkshakes everyday,
and pray that God will somehow
cleanse my body system.
Sex, partying and raving are the philosophies
I live by; You Only Live Once (YOLO).
Sometimes I'm tempted to sell my bed on eBay,
because sleep is not my friend;
I joke and drink all night with my friends.
Oh, back to my name!
Since I have multiple personalities,
you can call me a "Weapon of Mass Consumption".
1/20/23
Continually facing struggles
Remaining puzzled
Going too hard straining muscles
Punks always out making trouble
Many in labs out to clone, attempts at creating doubles
So many shell-shocked
Others being fools while well off
Too many people quick to tell lots
They either say truth or sell crock
Had to change this
Less of the same
It took an occasional lane switch
Problems incoming, I took on and faced quick
Regardless if you understand the main gist
A lot of phenomenon and this world can't explain it
Don't be an ignoramus
It's not conspiracy or about getting famous
Why do continual acts occur that are heinous
Times were very far from the greatest
I was headed towards the grave if
I didn't get wiser and become one of the bravest
It's been difficult on a daily basis
I need to jump into a lake
Take a break
Gosh dangit
A heart of gold or soul cold like polar ice
To this day, so much is overhyped
And overpriced
Just not the same as prototypes
On top of that we got all these socialites
It never has been so polite
When it came to voting rights
There have been at least two people in our church who have committed suicide. A gentleman; a lady; both of whom were more acquaintances than friends. As I recall, their death occurred within a couple years of each other. I know both of their families well and see them often.
Their families are now real friends of my family.
The young lady had two surviving minor children, a boy and a girl who are being well cared for by their grandparents. The gentleman left behind a greeving wife who had also lost a son to drugs less that a year prior. Her husband, the father of the deceased son, overwhelmed by the death of their son, took his life at the son's grave site. It is very difficult to think about, but the surviving wife and mother is such an inspiration.
I have never studied anything about suicide, and have not directly done anything to prevent it. Regular attendees of our church, both parties mentioned above were very loved by their families. Our membership is about 700 people consisting of many small groups who gather for study, prayer, and fellowship. Somehow, they fell between the tracks; we failed to prevent it; nor did we even see it coming. I do not sense that there was insensitivity nor an insufficiency of love. So often 'life and death' are filled with complexities and complications. It is very difficult to prevent something you have no idea is about to happen. My experience in this area is very limited. Would to God there was more that I could say or bring to this table of despair.
Suicides; can we prevent them? Some, we can; most, perhaps not; but we must never cease to try. In the darkest places, there is somewhere a light. Somewhere, there is a spark to ignite a troubled soul, and to shout out the love to ignite the light.
The one suggestion I offer is that we dare to engage and connect with people of all types and persuasions, whether they are socialites or loners. Nothing fights and conquers fear and loneliness like love; and although love indeed projects emotions; it is 'an action word' with far more 'prevention power' than any other word in existence.
09152017 PS Contest, Suicide Prevention Month, Laura Loo
Listen clear, Listen here, Listen. Hear!
Terrible terrorists terrorize our homeland,
With nice suits that smell of money
they emasculate a grown man,
New plan? What Plan!?
Only a handful understand,
Changing taxes has its limits
with no jobs for the common man,
Banks are emancipated youths
They do what they please,
Devouring the penicillin
which empowers the disease,
More money for the rich
No money for the poor,
Force the heart of America
to beat upon the vault door,
Profit is the game's name
To the strongest goes the spoil,
Foreigners work for mere pennies
so jobs belong to foreign soil,
Big business is still BIG,
and with unjustified fears,
CEO's protect their lifestyles
blowing their noses with sweat and tears,
Of others! Even self proclaimed
Christians protect their brothers,
Praying to a god nightly for
a change within the mother,
The mother being certain politicians
who swear by virtue of democracy,
Which was her maiden name
Until she married into mediocrity,
All has become a fight for self
Self survival and self elation,
Locking their doors with full stomachs
as tempers flare across a nation,
Violence erupting in the streets
With few stories making the news,
Violent protests from those with
less than poor I.Q's
The blame game, pointing fingers
during this moment of duress,
At black duct tape in the white house
who brilliantly fought to win a mess,
Instead of taking remarks to heart,
Instead of following the steps of banks,
He has honorably chosen to clean
shxt, from the deepest septic tank,
Socialites are reaching out
Celebrities are reaching out,
While government officials
save their asses by speaking out,
But not too often,
Avoid living on the news,
News coverage makes them a
target for the gunshots and boos,
Do we even blame ourselves for
meaningless wars the majority supported?
Money could have been saved
had stupidity been aborted...
But hindsight is too ugly and
most choose to see the misleading,
While America becomes The Home Of
The Crazed, and The Land Of The Freely Bleeding...
Listen clear, Listen here, Listen. Hear!
Terrible terrorists terrorize our homeland,
With nice suits that smell of money
they emasculate a grown man,
New plan? What Plan!?
Only a handful understand,
Changing taxes has its limits
with no jobs for the common man,
Banks are emancipated youths
They do what they please,
Devouring the penicillin
which empowers the disease,
More money for the rich
No money for the poor,
Force the heart of America
to beat upon the vault door,
Profit is the game's name
To the strongest goes the spoil,
Foreigners work for mere pennies
so jobs belong to foreign soil,
Big business is still BIG,
and with unjustified fears,
CEO's protect their lifestyles
blowing their noses with sweat and tears,
Of others! Even self proclaimed
Christians protect their brothers,
Praying to a god nightly for
a change within the mother,
The mother being certain politicians
who swear by virtue of democracy,
Which was her maiden name
Until she married into mediocrity,
All has become a fight for self
Self survival and self elation,
Locking their doors with full stomachs
as tempers flare across a nation,
Violence erupting in the streets
With few stories making the news,
Violent protests from those with
less than poor I.Q's
The blame game, pointing fingers
during this moment of duress,
At black duct tape in the white house
who brilliantly fought to win a mess,
Instead of taking remarks to heart,
Instead of following the steps of banks,
He has honorably chosen to clean
shxt, from the deepest septic tank,
Socialites are reaching out
Celebrities are reaching out,
While government officials
save their asses by speaking out,
But not too often,
Avoid living on the news,
News coverage makes them a
target for the gunshots and boos,
Do we even blame ourselves for
meaningless wars the majority supported?
Money could have been saved
had stupidity been aborted...
But hindsight is too ugly and
most choose to see the misleading,
While America becomes The Home Of
The Crazed, and The Land Of The Freely Bleeding...
See, I try to make sure my facial hair is
symmetrical on both sides of my face.
It’s not. I know it’s not. You may not be able to tell, but it’s not.
I don’t get much chest hair on the right
side, but there quite a bit on the left, so I just end up shaving it all off
because, well, who wants one hairy peck?
I switched to boxers in the 7th grade
because my high school actually had changing rooms, and I figured briefs were
embarrassing.
I’ve never hit anybody outside of a martial
arts class, and even then it was mostly me getting hit. Well, that’s a lie. I
punched my friend when I was three because he pulled my sister’s hair. I still
feel bad about that. Also I don’t know martial arts.
I don’t like to hurt people or kill things;
I’ll follow a spider around forever with a napkin or a box just so I can carry
it outside. This one time I accidentally drowned a daddy-long-legs and it
ruined my whole damn day.
I like to feel things. I like that I’m so
easily moved by other people’s suffering; that I have to bite the inside of my
cheek in the movie theater just to keep it together sometimes, but I don’t like
that I feel the need to keep it together.
I am... a man. Am I?
Who sets the beat to which I must
Align my gait, my stance, my stride?
Who draws the lines of should and shouldn’t?
These lines embedded in my grandfather’s
forehead
As he furrows his brow to scold my
shoulder-length hair
See, I come from a land of chivalry
Where all men are (men men men men manly men
men men)
Where gender roles are rooted in fear and
insecurity
And every man is a threat because I am not a
man without a leash on my woman
How low must this bladed pendulum swing?
How long my beard? How trimmed my hair?
How unchecked must my rage go?
How low must this pendulum swing?
No, how low must my scrotum hang?
See, I come from a line of angry men
Old and hard, with saddened eyes
Men of principle and veracity
Traders, merchants and builders.
But see, I come from a line of free-spirited
women
Socialites, teachers and artists
Who look their best and speak their minds
And hardly age at all
I am not a creature of honor
Shame brings with it the comfort of my own
fallibility
I am not a creature of honor
I am not a creature of lineage or conquest
This is Public domain. COPY&WRIGHT 2009
This is pubic disdain.
Give ME a nickel every time you say it.
frankfurters and tin foil are also mine.
black love incense, no that is mine as well.
If I could own a gluttural mouth noise you bet your buns I would slap a
ringed 'C' on that baby and make you pay me for
saying it.
I would have you pay like you pay at the pump, baby.
So, answer this; why don't more arousing socialites do as I say?
March some of those dimes my way!
Fill the golden alms cup, if you will,
so I
can buy
more Alcohol!
A night of bad decisions and blurred memories
can lead to an awkward morning with a dash of a consequence.
At least that’s what I tell myself, but
I’m enjoying the excitement of the now.
These drinks complement the wood grain bar.
The strong fumes of alcohol drift into the air-
A burning sensation!
It sedates the senses in a blissful jubilation.
My friends join strangers in social connection.
Tsk! Simple gratification among vain socialites.
I survey it all through my observant eyes;
it’s all the same dance.
Rhythm and steps are all simple.
Anyone can learn-
Drink and mingle!
However, I glanced at a woman.
Our eyes locked on each other.
Her luscious red lips;
one kiss from them could tell a story.
Her smile full of innocence;
she was coyly seductive.
My thoughts linger about her warm embrace through the night.
An early wake up to her voluptuous curves.
My hands caress her delicate areas,
and my lips explore every inch.
Imagination gets the best of me.
I became the prey of love at first sight.
Despite my foolish fantasy,
I grabbed a couple of balloons lying on the floor.
They were lonely and discarded.
Yearning for a companion or someone for the night.
These balloons and I shared the same forlorn heart.
With a mixture of whiskey, wit and balloons...
I approach to attract her affection.
Whinging utterly pointless, act
To change the perception you project
Cursing utterly uncouth, exercise tact with the contact
Whom you desire to reject with the respect
They least expect even when they suspect
Their exploitative tendencies piss
You off big time as you ought to protect
The best asset you own even if you don’t diss
Repellent contacts from whom you gain
Pain and strain as they pursue self serving agenda
But claim they’d do their level best to regain
The trust you once offered despite their utter disregard of the gender
Balance which in the new millennium
Projects fairness and awareness
Of the high premium
Socialites put on the happiness
Parties to a social contract deserve
In the way they die for each other
Sacrificing without reserve
Ensuring on each other they lump no sea of bother.