Best Whoring Poems

Boring
Snoring
Warring
Whoring
Long life with a boring, snoring sod
made the wife a warring whoring broad.


For Your Turn For A Tyburn Poetry Contest
sponsored by charles messina...

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Alone; as you lie on your bed
The stars brighten, serene
Such an ecstatically lovely scene
While these visions float in your head
Imagining hues of purple: divisions of colorful red
Teardrop sparks sprinkle the room
All around in sweetness croon
The words unheard, not said.
   Beauty beheld in radiant...

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Plea From A Dark Soul


 Weep not in the sun for me
 my wasted life spent in vain
 by death I did flee,
 all but my shadow dwelt in pain

 Utter not proud words for me
 years of drunken whoring feasts
 by death I did...

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Who is that unrecognizable figure
Plagued with such deep sorrow
Without the eternal light
To bring her into the marrow

....bone of my bone
.......flesh of my flesh

Never, in a million moments
Would I have guessed it to be this
Married to my only LOVE
Without a promise of a kiss

....just WORD
.....that creates...

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The city rattling,
Feet trampling,
Faces focusing,
Engines purring,
Drivers sighing,
Music drifting,
Ads whoring,
Johns buying,
Click Clack,
Shoppers yapping,
Money swearing,
Tills ringing,
Workers wishing,
Cameras spinning,
Wealthy plotting,
 
And me weeping for eternity....

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for Eric Mottram (1924 - 1995)*

 a life of toil for the man in the centre
 a hub in the peripheral tireless wheel
 
   where he go then where he go this working man
   he go on waking people  ...

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I know men, young and old, from Devizes
Who are wolves in surprising disguises
Sometimes girls are as bad
But it’s often the lad
Who, for whoring, has shelves full of prizes

Pretty Trowbridge girls, all in a row
There will always be one that’s a ho
And some may like a...

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"Sick Art"



I walk the streets
still and quiet
I do not lie
I do not betray
what the heart belies
pickled kidneys 

I am a ghost
of my former self

ears lent to hear 
the sweet music
of the sounds so fraught
caught up in the act
of loving unnatural
tendencies kissed 

I whispered into 
those...

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Black-blue and purple-gray, barred from florescent in amber we play
scratched across vinyl, we sway, arguments in amber we play.

Hopped up on booze, blow, and the down beats blare where we grind
the twenty-first centuries bruised gene pool is content in amber we play.

Fused in secretions, saps,...

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My Daddy scuttles across the ocean floor,
Let tons of seawaters flow past him,
Over him,
As he makes subsonic noises
Protesting my sins.

The waters listen,
As do fish and sharks
And other predators of the sea,
The sea horse dances its traditional dance.
Seaweed’s weave and sway,
As if in chorus.

The villainous dragon...

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Come and listen awhile I pray
To hear a sad love story,
I have only a minute to stay
To tell the tale of Malcolm McCorey.

I'm Malcolm, Sally was my bride
I've loved her since grade school,
She was my life and my pride
And, I was her ever loving fool.

Work...

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I see her as the woman on the road,
and in the distance just inside her sight,
one solitary male approaching—that alone,
draws up within her, latent fire
and by its warming she must genuflect
before the altar of desire.
There is a silent passion, holy in its touch,
that sparks connection,...

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Civil whoring: such architectural engineers of governmental grant of freedom.

Yea to bruise themselves,
lo, the magistrates
by way of horse-like member,
oh pearls before swine.

Wanting freedom of association 
--although prohibited --
she will meet the quota.

Godly engineered to preserve
cultural integrity:
she will find freedom
its demise.

Drinking intoxicating semen
in a coat of...

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the exquisite deadening boredom 
which comes with repetition & mundane habitual actions found in
the dead-end-jobs of america,
not only shed light on THE GREAT BIG LIE that is,
“the american dream,”
but they allow for us to ponder the concentrated ramifications of our
fierce
anger,
as the have-nots continue daily to...

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Lydia:
I don’t recognize myself anymore
Greasy hair, grimy nails; I’ve become their whore
Servicing eight or nine men a night
I’ve learned it's better not to try and fight
Too many black eyes and broken ribs
So many punches that I’ll never have kids
All because I answered a newspaper ad
To...

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