Best Whore Poems
I’M FULL THANKS AND DON’T WANT ANY WHORE
I am a transient with words unspoken
I am a soul who’s been damaged and broken
For years I lived someone else’s life
Being my son’s little league coach and picking up a drunken wife
I’m an unrighteous man who’s weary and far too tired
And cannot find my way out of the muck in which I’m mired
I yearn for consistency yet find only daily different circumstances
A mortal who is always and forever taking chances
All I want is one place to live until I live no more
And in essence I have become Jesus Christ’s finest whore
I am a troubled transient
© 2011.….Phreepoetree ~free cee!~
I slept
then I slept some more
dreaming of being your whore
a kept man chained to your wall
released only for your passionate chores
I will not weep nor beg or succeed
I will pillage and mangle
attacking each need
and when you want more
this little ol whore
will excitingly feed
on your graces with greed
Comforting self destruction
Ice thawed by blood
Soul torn apart
Heart trampled in the mud
Innocent little life
Trying to find its way
Child with no father
Cries the day away
Love without reason
Life without hope
See the blooming soul inside
Smell the burning dope
Pain that's been felt
Many times before
All because of one
Skanky little whore
Form:
I'm a briny whore
wit' reekin' drawers
me honor ter make yer acquenchance
th' skipper's maid
me port's decayed
one doubloon, yer seafarin' urchin?
Yer scurvy rat
a-crawl wit' gnat
orf seadog scourged wit' rabid
yer cannon's immense
'tis cocked 'n tense
yer cutlass be yearnin' me scabbard
Yer stench o' sewer
me bits'll chew yer
bumps 'n boils 'n rottin' flesh
yer britches singe
yer helm unhinge
ter boot yer hornpipe thump 'n thresh
2013-11-20
You're a dirty skank whore
You're a dirty skank whore.
Skankin' around the neighborhood,
Everybody knows you're up to no good
You're a dirty skank whore
You're a smelly dishrag
Yeah, you're a smelly dishrag.
The boys know to go to you
When they want to cure their blues
Cuz you're a smelly dishrag.
You've got diseases
Yeah you've got diseases.
When you spread your legs at the clinic
The doctor said 'the f*ck's been in this?'
You've got diseases
Cuz you took a poz load.
Yeah you took a poz load.
The dude swore that he was clean.
Now you've got HIV,
Cuz you took a poz load.
You're broke with five kids.
Yeah, you're broke with five kids.
Two weeks till your welfare's done
You should've just became a nun.
Cuz you're broke with five kids.
I want to show my body off
Oh so naked and free
Watch those boys jerk-off
Showing skin high above the knee
I want to feel their touch
Feel love in those minutes
Get to kissing and such
Here there are no limits
I want to be an icon
I want that spotlight
Be played like a pawn
Even if it's not right
I want to see their eyes
When they slip inside
They'll treat me like a prize
I'll never become a bride
This is my fantasy
I won't be a bore
I'll learn their anatomy
I want to be a whore
*Written on May 7, 2012*
Got a crack whore next door,
sleeps with men for her fix,
constantly off her face,
she really doesn't give a shyt.
I see her quite often,
roaming around the streets,
always looking for her children,
because they have been misplaced.
Her kids are only babies
they roam when the Mum is high,
only once she starts to come down,
does she actually start to look around.
Her man is in jail,
for bashing her around,
her children are violent as well,
as the circle goes round.
I did talk to her one day,
she said she gives her son his own space,
he's free to roam as he pleases,
the issue I have is he's only 4.
Why she became a mother,
I have no idea,
she doesn't deserve her children,
for only crack does she care.
M.Mahauariki © 2012
I am not my grammar
My English may be poor
But I am a straight talker, woman of my word
My speech conveys much meaning and wisdom
I do not mispronounce words, I put a St Lucian twist on them
I like to drink, dance and smoke
I love men but I am not a whore
Not your whore
Your woman friend perhaps
But I am no scarlet woman
I am not my grammar or lack thereof
English is a medium of communication
And I have no problems getting my message across
I have no shame coz my grand-parents raised me with dignity
I work hard and pay my way through life
I like to look good and take care of myself
But I am not my hair, my nails, my perfume
My grammar
And I am certainly not a whore
(not your whore)
There is more to me than meets the eye
I am not a whore
I could be a whore
if I had the chance
if I couldn’t write, or I couldn’t dance
I could be a whore,
if I were in your shoes
if I had more to gain, and far, far less to lose
I could be a whore
if I had mouths to feed
if they were sick and dying, had a greater need
I could be a whore
if I knew nothing more
if my life was blood let, behind a polished door
I could be a whore
but I’m glad I have a choice
to speak for those, who haven’t yet the voice
The dark prince and the almighty Gods' darkest whore,
The prince defies God so he is going to even the score,
He's crowned with disloyalty and encouraging her lie,
Sitting by her darkened throne and views the lashings go by,
The Lord then slams and then seals heavens' eternal door.
PARIS WHORE IN THE FOG
All evening fog is settled from the ground,
not right in where it goes, nor where it's found;
the Seine makes distance to each barren tree
unmeasured from the mind to what should be,
and blended to the world that's all around.
And from the limestone walls, echos the tap
of femininity, in evening wrap;
she's hurried, lest the night finds her alone
and vulnerable to Paris she's not known;
yet she's desirous of what couldn't hap.
The corner street lamps lend their halo'd light
grotesque in their own way, as if they might
leap out of time and drag her by the throat
and cast her down into a timeless moat,
where she would die alone 'for ends this night.
She clutches to her breasts, where minds go mad,
as if it's all the love they've ever had,
but she will cry all night, when she's alone
into the pillow love has never known,
and that's what makes her tale so very sad.
Her plea's for love, that doesn't have to end,
like only poets deem to comprehend,
but all she finds are bodies falling on
what she has sold from evening to the dawn,
and not a one could even be a friend.
© Ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
WHORE IN THE FOG
All evening fog is settled from the ground,
not right in where it goes, nor where it's found;
the Seine makes distance to each barren tree
unmeasured from the mind to what should be,
and blended to the world that's all around.
And from the limestone walls, echos the tap
of femininity, in evening wrap;
she's hurried, lest the night finds her alone
and vulnerable to Paris she's not known;
yet she's desirous of what couldn't hap.
The corner street lamps lend their halo'd light
grotesque in their own way, as if they might
leap out of time and drag her by the throat
and cast her down into a timeless moat,
where she would die alone 'for ends this night.
She clutches to her breasts, where minds go mad,
as if it's all the love they've ever had,
but she will cry all night, when she's alone
into the pillow love has never known,
and that's what makes her tale so very sad.
Her plea's for love, that doesn't have to end,
like only poets deem to comprehend,
but all she finds are bodies falling on
what she has sold from evening to the dawn,
and not a one could even be a friend.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
Form:
This succubus is from our local lore
Lovely and wicked she could turn at will
Yakshi her name feared as a deadly whore
A rare talent, she got ,to dupe and kill.
She lives on top of her palmyrah tree
At the midnight hour, down to earth, she climbs
Waits for her prey, a wayfarer, weary
Closes in on him, asking for quicklime.
Cute, white-clad, exuding jasmine’s fragrance
She sweet-talks her prey to a lust-filled night
Step ,they, into her mansion for romance
Where the luckless chap is in for a fright.
Reveals, she, her real form, fearsome, ghoulish
Sucks out all blood from his chest she just split
Devours all his flesh and bones with relish
Teeth, nails, hair is all, in the morn , left.
At times her pick is a youth full of zest
In his dream she comes as partner in sex
Through nights he loses all blood to this pest
Wears thin and takes ill to become an “Ex”.
*
Like once she did, on trees, she lives no more
But could, in cartons and cans, lie in wait
In stuff that we consume and just adore
As safety-norm-transgressions we underrate
Under global brand names which serve as baits.
*
Contest:" Creatures of the night
28-08-1
Won second place in the above contest.
Entry for Roy Jerden's contest on 25 May 13
For Kelly Deschler's contest.
The bayonets glistened bright
Starshell lit the darkened night
Silent figures the colour chalk
Said a prayer before their walk
Nervous before the whistle blast
Slowest, quickest, who shall last
Dreams hang on barbed wire fences
Many a heart has built defences
Blood pumps through iced veins
A darkened soul alone remains
Thoughts of those that fell before
The tortured mind could not ignore
Over the top for King and Queen
Nought before had carnage seen
Cannot run as the mud it bites
Perfect night for the snipers sights
Young and old, names on tin
Victims both of histories sin
Who the bravest of them all
Last one standing, first to fall
Once a game played as child
Now a nightmare running wild
And daylight comes in full attire
Shell holes, craters, broken wire
For the dead that certain peace
For the living there's no release
Only the living of another day
Constant thought what fate will say
So many men die as they did before
Under the spell of a whore called war
When Russia inevitably evens the score
Ukraine will remain an unpainted whore
To NATO unattractive
Russia wary, reactive
Hiding in alleyways, pre-Third World War