Best Tramp Poems
They enter the strip
joint like the last
flurrie of flakes.
She hears the music,
hears the voice of the
D.J. Wind, enters on cue.
Her cold poles await her
as she moves to the beat.
One south, one north.
She works them both.
They call her Storm
she is the feature act.
Drawing her minions
in for months now.
Quickly the starkness of ivory
starts to melt off her body.
The long blanched gloves
covered those particular
patches are the first to go
revealing the fresh lustre of
bare skin once again exposed.
Sexy,
she's a professional!
She stares out
noticing the skeletal
frames once only
shadows,
now with a glimmer
of light.
She knows her time
is short now
feels a hint
of life in her
domain of
dead stares.
Hears sounds
that are telling.
Was that really a chirp
or just a whistle?
The pulse of warmth starts
to pump through her veins.
Now her shiny robe
falls to the ground and
you can sense the smell
of want in the air.
The flow of liquids
previously frozen stiff.
Storm the stripper
slowly teases the crowd.
Down to her Victoria Secret
garb she tugs at our groins
knowing her audience craves
more.
In this case that also
means less.
I personally will miss her
in this present form.
Her tidy white lingerie
against her tanned skin.
Covered peaks,
rounded mounds.
You just want to
ride up, and maneuver
your way down.
The timing is wrong.
I know she will strip bare
as first the top goes then
down to a G-String of snow.
Naked,
winter stands
in front of me.
She will meander a bit
shake with a breeze
of perfumed cold.
Slide onto the floor as she undulates
with her come ons that near a finality.
She saunters off the stage
and me I watch winter's end.
Spring, on winter's barren
ground starts to peek from
around the curtain,
with her touch of green.
Warm breezes.
Her array of pastel colors.
Ladies and Gentlemen,
Winter has left the building,
Spring is here!
01~19~2015
Sponsor: SKAT A
Contest: Winters End
"I wandered lonely as a cloud"--- By William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a tramp,
Far, far away from all human habitats
Away from all prying eyes
Following the bent
Of my vagrant inclination;
Into Nature’s sylvan pockets
To places studded with trees
To the tranquil bosom of the woods
Onto the heights of bald headed hills
Where shrubs struggle to strike root
From the cleft of rocks and ledges
Where in hollows, wild bushes grow in clusters
To watch the shreds of hovering mist
To gaze upon piles of sailing clouds
To shout loud and whistle long
And to listen to the hills
Mimicking my own sound
There I will hop and jump,
Like a sprightly forest fawn,
As I don’t fear
Either the silently gliding streams,
Or the clump of swaying trees,
The host of wild flowers,
Or the monstrous mossy rocks,
Either the birds or the beasts
Never will they watch my cranky pranks
And call me a loony
As here my own men might do!
September 19, 2022
Written for the contest, I Wandered Lonely As _ Challenge
Sponsor, Natasha L Scragg
Judged on 9/24/2022
The Tramp Persona
Who was this boy, a pauper born?
Existing in despair and continual forlorn
Scandalized, accused of communist sympathies
Encompassing both adulation, and social controversies
Charlie Chaplin how can I take you seriously?
Chucklesome slapstick injecting tragedy
Awkward, little mime tugging at the heartstrings
A cathodic empathy he brings
of all those around him, a famous clown
A wiggled walk, a cane, a grin, a frown
The Great Dictator, as plain as black and white
In the struggles against misfortune, the tramp persona typified
A virtuoso kid he found at a hall by chance
A four-year-old child, he saw him dance
A gift he gave to us, a sharing alliance
The Tramp who mastered the power of silence
I was hardly aware of a crisis because we lived in a continual crisis; and, being a boy, I dismissed our troubles with gracious forgetfulness. —Charlie Chaplin, on his childhood
Marylin Monroe “She was a tramp.”
Without her contracts at 20th Century Fox and Columbia (which had both been dropped) who were hungry for denial and headlines. Instead, Marilyn said this:
“I was broke and needed the money.
Why deny it? Tom Kelly’s racy nudes of me
You can get one [a calendar] anyplace.
Besides, I’m not ashamed of it, I’ve done nothing wrong
I was a week behind on the rent and it’s here where I belong
I’d never have done it if I’d known things would happen so fast in Hollywood for me.”
Her candor and honesty charmed everybody
You have this sense of having met a wounded little canary not a peacock. Only when you pick it up in your hand to comfort it … beneath the wounds, vulnerability, and innocence, you find raw strength, and a big heart—I Am Anaya
Lady And The Tramp
A warm and loving story
For dog lovers, in the sense of humor
A carefully nurtured cocker spaniel, Lady
Born in New York City a Baby boomer
Natural beauty overwhelming, a pedigree no vamp
And a rakish, debonair, freedom-loving wanderer
of a dog who wares no man's collar, Tramp
Yeah, that's my old nickname,
From my old band "Tramp",
As well as my occasional irresponsibility...
My friend and ex-sweetheart,
Rosie...called herself "Lady"...
The Lionel Richie song inspired...
"Lady and the Tramp" we were,
And shall be forever...
For my last birthday
She sent me a
"Lady and the Tramp"
Cartoon artwork cell,
Quite expensive..
I'd expect...
She's already had
A star's name registered
for me...
Another impressive gift,
Even if ultimately,
meaningless...
Not so to me...
And once, way back when...
She had a bunch of
my poems written,
and bound....
Wonder where I put it....
Must be around....
Probably with my remote,
The two did elope...
I gotta just cope...
Yeah, I'm acting the dope...
And you can...
Gauge the scope...
Of my insanity...
Tough Nookies!!!
,
Shuffling, shuffling, the tramp shuffles.
One shoe too big, one shoe too tight.
Shuffling, shuffling, from dawn until night.
Pausing at bins, fingerless gloves.
Searching for scraps with a hungry eye.
A few cold chips, a half-eaten pie.
City gents pass, avoiding a glance.
Afraid they might see,
A glimpse of things of what could be..
They told him to buy, to buy a house.
To buy some shares, riches to seek,
to tread on the scum walking the streets.
He lost his job, the shares went bang.
His wife left him for a richer man.
He had no family to lend a helping hand.
So he shuffles, wearing his home
close to his body just to keep warm,
shuffling the streets, night until dawn.
He helped himself up to the wind's foremost blow
On a hillock where the moon searched his impecunious pockets,
Waking a flood in his eyes like swelled teats.
He opened wide to receive the Lady, this Endymion cheats,
No worm-wood virus but sweet philtre phials.
Finishing, he is a lover...
He sought the bosom of Erebus in her wildest glow.
He moved and with him, his bed
And time moved.
A scavenger cat clawing a bushman's billy-can
Some hard laid by in his work, purred with surveillance
In disgust over him turning tins over in the bin.
Together he cast the lid by to biltong and raisin:
The cat devours, he abandons the prandial dance.
Pausing, he is a server...
He ate them all like yams those starved seamen.
He moved and with him, his bed
And time moved.
Over the mellowy orchard, for a while he blotted,
Down the glen he skied on the mossy rock
And rubbed clean in the steamy fume of the fall.
Clambering on the paddock, the love-grass over him gall
His rag-patches, bee-combed, mock.
Swearing, he is a dreamer...
He tore tearfully through the palliasse of touch-me-not.
He moved and with him, his bed
And time moved.
Now upon the road of life, he chanced
And espied himself the mutest spectre dust,
Cruising his hour in the propelled sleep of night.
He saw himself waft from this mount to that bight
And saw it was not wont or just.
Laughing, he is a god...
But this infidel purpose of man be countenanced.
He moved and with him, his bed
And time moved.
(c) T. Wignesan - 1948 in Tracks of a Tramp. Singapore-Kuala Lumpur: Rayirath Publications, 1961.
This guy on the boardwalk is basically a tramp.
He makes as much money as a pickpocket in a nudist camp.
Since his last bath or shower, it’s been at least a week.
Don’t get too close to him. He certainly does reek.
This bum will ask you for change for a cup of coffee.
In desperation, he will do just about anything for money.
Whatever the guy says to you, it’s bound to be mendacity.
He may ask you for a few bucks to go back to New York.
To tell the truth, the dude is just a local dork.
If you give him a few dollars, do you know where he will go?
The tramp will take your money and run back into the casino.
She’s a whore of life, this woman of man,
she sits at a throne, and summons commands.
Her beauty is insatiable, all lust her creation,
they covet and desire her timely flirtation.
She’s a tramp of joy, she’ll steal your pride,
few escape her brutality, many have tried.
A vixen so beautiful, rare and unique –
she preys upon you; the weak and the meek.
She storms with violence; grasp her dedication,
she hails the glory of this blustery castration.
She soaks her conscious, with your admiration,
pouring down chaos, on the winds of frustration.
This Trollope of beauty, has flooded the minds,
of these foolish men always searching to find,
a tsunami of ecstasy too grand I ensure,
for the whore of the universe; Mother Nature.
When I fell asleep
I felt a light breeze
While fluttering somewhere in the sky
I was someplace very high;
I saw the world from the other side
With snowflakes covering the ground
And a lonely tramp
Freezing like a hound
Sitting on a sidewalk
With a candle in his hands
Staring in its flame
Memories were burning away
About friends, about chores
About the wet pavement
Getting to his bone
About warmth long gone
Then I felt cold and knew that
Space grew between him and me;
Away from the breeze
Far from the place so high
He was now out of sight and
People surrounding in a crowd
Forced me to shout
Awake on the sidewalk
With Mercedes petrol and heels around
I had to get myself in safety
The night had worn me out
This street now looked obscene
I was the tramp, there is no doubt
BEING A TRAMP IS GIVING ME A CRAMP
I am a transient and I like it that way
I am a philosopher with intellectual utterances to say
I can’t remain in one place for a very long stay
Because I owe too many dealers money I cannot pay
So if you hear that I’m at someone’s house SIMPLY call me there
Right now I’m at Sophia’s so you can call me here
So tell me brother, what’s the word on the street
Is it safe for Big Black Bruce and I to meet?
“are you crazy man, why not just hop into a fire?
Big Black Bruce thinks you’re a thief and a liar”
Well how about coming to my defense bud?
“hey look, if any is spilled its going to be only your blood”
He’ll let me stay there, but only for a few days
And she’ll allow me to crash there but she has very odd ways
She thinks because we’re together under the same roof
That makes me something I’m not so I act aloof
I have to travel about looking in all directionS at once
I suppose it’s called once a dunce always a dunce
If I had to tell the truth it’s getting tiring to roam
But what do you do when you gave up your family and your home?
© 2011.…~.free cee!~
To Whomsoever It May Concern,
(It concerns me nought)
This is just for me to keep
A track of the tricked mind's inmost--
A gist of sufferings I ever got--
All Happiness I discern.
I never stood for a loss--
I'm moving everyday--
Those about call me a 'Ruffian',
A 'Mongrel', a 'Vagrant',
A 'Tramp', they say
Who's lived a life of low for a no-fair cause,
But I care not:
Care not I, 'cause I am free--
Not bound like everyone
Of these 'Worldly-wise'
Caged and tied-up
In their own misery...
I go about living this life
The way it's meant for all to live:
Often taking( I never stole )
What I need, from where I can--
Giving when I can give...
And I say, I may not have
A house to own--
A dwelling place sojourn;
I may not have brand-new clothes--
The shoes I wear are worn;
Even so, I may not be
A grand face to look at--
Far from the gentleman-ly acts
With branded stick and hat:
It's a fulfillment and content for me,
Just being a street rat..
Under this tree right now, and beside these rocks,
I sit to explain a life--
A life in my own walks--
Unlike a Hermit, who'd spend his everyday,
I waste not a moment
To slouch or reflect-on in dismay.
Only that I see this world and it's things
As a bait for me,
So I'm fulfilled and content--
Happy a rat to be...
So far so fine--if the World's not mine--
I wouldn't then respond
To the bait set in the Trap.
Signing--The Vagabond.
08/26/2011
There was a dog that was shy
To come out of his shell, was his aim
Since they always said, "Come here boy!"
He decided "Boy" was his name!
"Tramp" went up to Boy with paw out
In an attempt, a friend to make
But Boy just stared down at his paws
For he never learned how to shake!
Tramp told lady, "There's no pasta,"
"But would you like a kibble or bit"
"I'll just have some kibble," she said,
"But maybe a bit in a bit!"
Tramp ran off to fetch her the treat
"You're a hot dog, lady!", boy said
Lady just smiled as Tramp came back
"Boy" ran away with his face red
Lady told tramp, "maybe we should go"
As she tied the string on her bonnet
Tramp barked, "Lady, we can't go now,"
"When there's a dog gone, dog gone it!"
When Boy came back, Lady said,
"Your sweet comment I did enjoy"
"I think you were brave to return!"
And then they all said, "Atta Boy!"
He woke down the slope, by the hay
With him a thousand shrill cries
That stilled to him, yawning.
He moved with strands of hay, trailing
On his rags.
Sauntering, he is a flaneur...
The road lamps gave him away.
He moved and with him, his bed
And time moved.
Half-way on a bridge over its side
He saw a bridge in Japanese ruin
Chaffing in the hurrying waters below.
He cursed the Japs for lying fallow
Spouting his rheum.
Pondering, he is a sinner...
He knelt for those braves, never to ride.
He moved and with him, his bed
And time moved.
A gale rolled down the road in dust,
Churning it up, a regular willy-willy.
The fizzing trees corked: the shutters' hinges off.
His eyes sore: swaying he would cough.
He stood now willy-nilly.
Thinking, he is a fritterer...
He chased the trapping miasma, loping his Wellingtons' lust.
He moved and with him, his bed
And time moved.
The rains were bursting heavy on the esplanade,
A rocky splash soared with spray from the waves.
He sought the bulwark of the stony balustrade,
The waters were rising over the promenade
Like columns of graves.
Musing, he is a shirker...
He plunged into the sea, bold as a blade.
He moved and with him, his bed
And time moved.
© T. Wignesan, 1948 (from the collection: Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: 1961.)
The wind cold and cutting,
The rain razor sharp,
A lonely Willow tree drips sadly on a
Bench in the park,
The sky dances with flashing lightening,
My heart pounds as nature’s power
Begins unleashing
Thunder so frightening,
Its raw beauty howling
In my ears, my spirit crying
In defiance against this squall,
And nature’s gall.
The dark black clouds dissipate, a dull cloud
Cover appears, then as suddenly strays,
To reveal a star bright sequined sky.
Earth and its wonders intoxicating,
In my minds eye, my imagination soars,
I See turquoise turtles, stripped unicorns,
Fantasy flowing,
From my veins and pores,
Such a delightful, delicate ethereal reality,
A collection of the unbelievable, which seems to
Clash with rationality.
Spring, the most most delicious, picture perfect
Season of the year,
That brings a childlike calm and nulls the mind of fear,
Reveals a magic that seems not of this world,
Let every being enjoy this buoyant feel,
When disbelief becomes believe, and clear skies
Clear one's mind and takes the wheel.
The way you look, you appear out of order.
I would like to see you go back across the border.
I don’t care if you’re from Quebec or Ontario.
You are a woman I just don’t want to know.
So go back to your town in Saskatchewan or Alberta.
Hit the road and return to New Brunswick or Nova Scotia.
Please just leave without causing any fuss.
This town is just not big enough for the two of us.
I know after you leave, there will be better smelling air.
Whatever your destination will be, I really don’t care.