Best Whorish Poems
She could be ----
whatever she wanted to be.....
Cause the seas mighty with storm
to scorn the shores of whorish men,
and descend them to depths forlorn,
or lift their wee-dignity, conspired aloft
blue-sky-spires;
Spiraling to the bosom of some fresh heaven ----
they shall see their folly
for the loveliness in her eyes,
and await her kiss a thousand years;
Reflect soft scented meadows,
and a heart from which flows the waterfall ----
roaring in glory of darling truth,
and steadfast honesty,
The wickedness of men.....
cannot endure a glimpse,
a mere peek upon her gaze.....
The desert winds whirl the dune seas,
of Octavian mischief;
And whip they throughout the ages,
beyond time,
Octavian crushed neath her timeless
allure....
He always the 'great' villain,
and she the beauteous Queen
Are good men and 'great' men of the same kind?
seldom are 'great' men good,
and good men 'great'
Christ was born in a lowly manger ----
the King of kings,
and too many a 'king' born in plush luxury,
But Cleopatra took her life for love,
though born of unsurpassed beauty,
she was not tainted with the thirst of power,
or hungry like a selfish dog ----
to appease a frail appetite,
But supreme as a thorn-bird's undying love;
many a wold (rolling plains),
dipped in honeyed ease,
the glory of gold, and likeness of her
Essence(d) in the weave of high-romance,
Cleopatra....
Whom the masses of men lay mystified
in her elegant recollection,
majestic, for her affections ----
The Valley of the Kings
kneel in her shadow....
she is beautiful,
for her love.....
Whom she may be called
(both good and great)
She could be,
whatever she wanted to be.....
An I am of Love is precept approved,
Doesn’t need approval of concepts' inept,
Doesn’t need the nod of man/woman, only God,
By precept of love’s absolve soul’s love is kept!
Seeing Love’s being is uncompromising,
Not of double mind concepts non-comprising,
Within one’s own precept love is the comprising,
Will be no rising in the mind’s compromising!
As yeast from the east, bread of life is apprising,
Pending only a few mind’s their realizing,
Of love’s precept which is uncompromising,
Where shall you be(?), at the precept’s advising…
In life’s ascension of illusion’s mountain,
Toward the drinking of your precept’s fountain,
Of clear, free moving waters, life appertain,
Where forever love’s precept shall be obtained!
Since the very dawn of precept’s greatness of spawn,
Parasites of concept’s might, sought the abject wand,
Oh Judas concept, mind inept, precept abscond,
The Stubborn Ox, the metaphor correspond!
The belligerent concept, of elder mind,
In complex darkness, is groping, seeking to find,
Within the whorish darkness first light’s refine,
Out of void of darkness came light, mind was blind!
Is There No Shame?
Watching as people go by is a joy I find
People, so many, of such different kind
Yet, over the years as time has past
Shame dissolves as morals die fast
Seduction has become a present fad
Casting away limits that we once had
Children dressed for lust as parents smile
While perverts in lust seek to molest a child
Butt cheeks hanging out for all to see
Advertising as to say, “ come take me”
Bellies and breasts revealed to behold
No regret as their whorish ways unfold
A young man’s hormones blazing in bliss
With opportunity arising to want of this
Unwanted pregnancies all over this world
While unloved babies into the trash
are hurled
Sex is glorified while marriage is not sacred
And those who abstain are mocked in hatred
Nakedness is uncovered to less than one’s underwear
If you dress different, you’re considered
a square
Right and wrong has not ever changed
Values are precious and not so strange
Morals are taught to keep us safe
Integrity is a result of everyday faith
A Lady in this world is hard to find
Who in our life time doth truly shine
Refusing to partake in this sinful shame
Protecting the reputation of her pure name
Gentlemen likewise have become very few
Watching their tongue and the things
they do
Honoring the women as such
precious jewels
Not being vulgar and stubborn like mules
Shameless are those with no self respect
Shameful when true modesty they reject
Shamefacedness is a trait of one’s virtue
Blushing redness reveals this trait so true
Give us those who will respect themselves
Not following the fad of everyone else
Who will break this mold of undue shame
Honoring the reputation of a good name
Grace Paces in four faces
…………………..
Graces in four faces
of trinity, three paces
living in life races
a lion, a calf, a man, an eagle
A flying eagle…
complete and legal
Ah….Loves grace intervene…
by and by one shall wean
of Mothers milk
to Fathers meat
one shall complete
by grace, amazing feat
Meanwhile…
Love’s dear child
in love meek and mild
a serpent spent and beat
shall soon retreat
as grace absorbs life heat
A cycle of seven
Love’s blueprint of heaven
earth cycles seven/eleven
of whorish bevvies
Sub consciously…
Human concepts grievous
+++++++++++
Warning: A view from human concepts might find the preceding
poem a bit preachy, as sub consciously this terminology
has emerged of human concept for purpose of discrediting wisdom
when it is imparted of Godly precept. While wisdom imparted on the
level of human concepts is declared to be the only source and means
of conveying knowledge. “Two Logics!” (Isaiah 55:7-11) (The Christly
mind vs. the human mind) “You have the mind of Christ!”
You May use it!
Selah….
How the thought of her smiling, sick, rude face
repels me. What ever was I thinking?
My time lost in her sickening embrace
was loathsome, base, gross, foul, vile, and stinking!
O, why gave I myself to one so whorish?
So eager was I to love; young, naive,
and simple, I failed to see then how boorish
she was—so blinded was I to receive
her. In hindsight, I would undo the past,
and remain forevermore a virgin—
pure, and chaste! No shame's in that; but the waste
of not reserving myself was my sin.
For me, carnal knowledge came at great price;
I've learned my lesson, and I'll not err twice!
I would not spare a vacuous moment
For those dregs at winter's end.
I would not honor their enchantments
With an effort to pretend.
I gladly fight against the sands of time
To offset their whorish shrill.
I would shine a light upon their darkness...
I would die upon that hill.
Evil is as evil does...
A pox upon our land
And if you haven't noticed...
It's gotten out of hand.
Their machinations and meanderings
Breed a stench of ill-intent.
They pervert the weakness in our folly
Akin a dance of sly torment.
With evil's victory almost certain...
We're in for quite a ride...
But to those who stoop to curry favor...
Beware... I'm on the other side.
The End
As I stood before the porcelaneous basin,
And streamed into its already uric and xanthous-stained depths,
A stain, a sight and a liquid yet yellower and more urinary;
And as cloudiness, not of mind, but of that which is uric attended the
Deposition, a thought occurred unto me, and it poetically and psalmically
Collected and gathered and arranged itself, so that it was as follows:
Does she of a morning stand before some wicked ablutionary sink,
That vile whorish slattern who devoutly believes that only dulcet voices
Emanate from the mouths of the damned in the pits of the lowest Hell?
What fell and foul rites does she with hands cleansed with foulest,
Blackest, evilest water; which of these wickednesses does she perform
And practice, she who washes her hands in the black-flowing waters of
The Stygian pit?
Who is this damned damsel, dame, and maiden fell and foul and not a bit
Fair, who as a fool believes that there are melodious voices echoing in a
Mellifluous and delightful chorus in the lowest pits of Hell?
Though I doubt not that therein there be many an ungodly maiden:
Indeed, the blackest, foulest, ungodliest of fell and evildoing maidens:
Plaguing and blighting the very pits of Hell, who is to say that their
Feminity alone endows unto them a felicity and a melodiousness of tone?
That is doubtless the (unsound) thought that crept into the very
Black heart of she who wrote those foul, foolish words;
But to me, not even the godliest or the goodliest of men,
But inditing ever of good with heart, and tongue and mind and pen,
For such is the great purpose of art such as this, no?
Withal, to me, she spoke of foolery, and of folly.
Lest she be speaking facetiously, in her daft assessment
Of foulest Sheol, she surely was wrong.
Wronger than wrong, if such a thing ever be.
And in my mind, as I urinated, I thought these poetic, psalmic thoughts.
And, though there be hundreds of characters and spaces remaining,
Touching this and that and all things else
And any number and all manner of good
Or e'en fell and foul
Matters, I haven't a word else to say.
The poem is expended, completed, done today
And so am I, with it at least, I must say.
Buxom blonde, eyelashes long
Cabaret singer
Belting out a bawdy song
She’s a dead ringer
Pure sex too
For 50’s lounge singer
Sensual boobs, wig so thick
My most calm boy
Made up in drag, an easy trick
Full of easy joy,
So whoop-dee-doo
And ships ahoy!
Surprising he,
Someone says “you look rather whorish”,
Delighting me
I hate to be peevish or boorish,
But this is drag life in a flourish….
Written: 4-27-2019
Contest: Quirky Tercets
Type: Terza Rima
Sponsor: Nina Parmenter
REMEMBER
My love. Find your strength,
Brave enough to bleed away weeks out of days.
Falling apart on empty lonesome nights.
Waiting for her to speak
Sun warming rays, doomed from my start.
Fell into your fights. Never RESET. (change modes.)
Someday I must learn the difference between stupid and smart.
Protest all you want
I remain uninvolved (can't decrypt the secret code)
In your: Plights and Plots
Forget the fights, and the loss.
Remember to love;
Everyone and thing that to you,
Means a lot.
But what do I got?
To show for friendship or love?
(More of this or not enough of)
SOURED in-utero Tainted memory
WORTHLESS SOUVENIR
From scab to scar, without a second thought.
Preoccupied - Empowered to know what's true.
What not to Fear. Tainted memory,
Enslaved to lifestyles. Poisonous Chemistry
Much like your whorish contagious mystery.
A scarred arm, a scarlet letter Souvenir.
Absurdity walked this path of a whorish lane,
Dauntingly decked in a dark seductive garb
Egregiously seeks the thrones by craftiness,
Nebulous transverse for the wayfaring man.
Illusions of a well worn thigh concealed with facial mascara.
Killjoy bipolar nagging for control, demanding dominance by demonic antics,
Eccentric public commodity makes it the brothels for quickie.
Acrimony well taught from the market square by “Iyaloja”
Damaging defiance conscripting father to “garri Ijebu” and Fish
Egomania derailed from home and deprived of morals,
Sagged and perforated lurid frame perfumed for a prey
Offensive forlorn factious feigned facades
Lacklustre and noxious mien seduced the prey by lewd bait,
Absurd Incentive the goal, merchandise of greed, A week of affiance.
This bowl is no longer mine,
was never so,
Let it go.
well worn before the oath,
A gift that despised the guardian,
Presented freely without a dowry in May.
tainted, and abandoned.
used, and widened by many.
too wide to keep a home.
This bowl is no longer mine,
Let it go,
insatiable, licentious and libidinous.
The bowl was scorned by many.
ere i fell a wandering,
incorrigible, rebellious, untutored.
a bait on my way, the sorrow on my path.
This bowl is no longer mine,
Let it go,
Like many seeking for prey, and so was i for a time.
intent concealed,,
desperate for the gift of the semen.
as adulterer urged rebellion by ignorance.
the rage, the rave of ego and bestiality.
deceived the Law for mere gain.
This bowl is no longer mine,
Let it go,
It is broken cannot be fixed by logic.
this bowl is old, alluring by mascara.
This bowl was used,
i take exception on your list,
This bowl is free available to all.
the next victim can explore.
the bowl is cheap,
forced a dowry to conceal the shame.
This bowl is no longer mine,
Let it go,
T'was sold for free at Ikoyi with ego,
Who is next?
A thousand many had the bowl,
I played along for a time,
ere this voyage of deceit,
I took a flight from restrain ,
hoping to make a jewel from the Flesh.
This bowl is no longer mine,
Let it go,
This bowl is addicted to the red zones,
Incurable addiction i recalled,
The friends,
The internet,
The phone,
The TV,
The cinema,
And tattling,
The routines of unending dark flights
Incorrigible,
Venomous.
You may have the bowl if you would.
think no shame on me, I lusted.
This bowl is No longer mine.
Let it go
Once a street bowl,
and always so.
Find the bowl in your homes,
Let's hope the bowl recovers.
but a broken bowl is irreparable by man
"When a man who is drinking neat gin starts talking about his mother he is past all argument."
C.S. Forester's "The African Queen”
MOTHER
(A MUTTERING)
My sweetheart gin is cast.
I stare at her reflective glass.
Like a crystal ball I see the past.
A small boy in prayer at mass.
Oh how blessed is my sweet Ma.
Her sweet lips pressed to my brow.
Back many years, I obeyed the law.
Now swirls of sin seek the cutlass-crow.
Her handkerchief, fringed with soft lace,
would erase the smudge of familial rift.
Her tender hands’d touch my small impish face,
until the day I’d hop a ship and wrongly drift
with suntanned palms, filled with whorish gin,
to never see the waterfall, the etch of tears,
the gray-spun wool that prayed to squelch my sin.
Oh mother, if I could find those wasted years.
I lay my head down on this feverishly cold bar.
Every muttering sold as slave to my abysmal past.
Your sky blue eyes hearken from heaven — so far
from the deepest well of wailing gin, that sinks me fast.
Ne’er woman clothed in silk or satin bait,
were as attentive as my ma’s eyes of grace.
Foolhardy fisherman, I’ve hooked my fate.
Now I drown my sorrows, in the darkest place.
2/25/2018
Gin In The Morning contest
Sponsored by Julia Ward
Man once was a sacred human species
Who learned strife using earth’s forms of pieces
From beastly logic of his minds own fiction
Came his illusions of mind depictions
As the wholesome earth quakes at the mind’s fakes
Oil spills of mind’s evil deals, as minds quake
One optional door left to explore, heaven
From whence spills forth the Agape leaven
Choose by grace your lovely persona face
For mind’s face lays our earthen treasure at waste
A golden treasure’s power in human hands
A city treasure of heart or barren lands
Agape’s golden city, or whorish pity
From depth of heart is built, gold’s eternal city
For Contest: The Power In Your Hands
In Honor of: Carolyn Devonshire
Placed #2
I reached into the depth...
But could not withdraw Excalibur from the stone.
Yet I knew I was the one.
Why else my 'Grail Vision' in the sun?
The depths call me to reach further still.
And Mary's eyes bled.
Realizing for whom the tear's shed.
I know not what to do.
Vainity reaching to withdraw from the glue.
I stare blindly in the distance a 'bust' of my former self.
Passing the secret of excalibur being drawn by someone else.
And passing by the oracle of Ephesus, Medusa's eyes
She drew the sword stone in deep catching my contemplations of the mirror.
I could loose myself in her forever.
Secret Sweets. Stained Sheets. and shaking cold she wraps me in the golden fleece.
Covered in snakes, I melt into the secret skin.
Learning the name, I see my fathers before me distrought.
And see now the blindness of the Kingdom Oedipus wrought.
Sophoclese Tragedies and I am forever Oedipus.
Betrayed blessin' between whorish thighs and my camarades' lies.
Where is Helena these days?
Gone so long, I've forgotten her ways.
That's the trick-she sucks in your depth.
I am Horus, my seeds sewn in the west.
Innana's dead. I broke my maiden-named womb.
Long ago I allocated multiversic kingdoms for Osiris' perversion tombs.
And in the mysteries of deep misery.
I have witnessed my seed coming of age.
To lay thoughts like these out on a page.
Christ, Annubis, and I planned this on a street in Greece, A.D., B.C. I can't remember which.
I bare down frost-bitten from the North.
And my Christ of peace bore symbols from the East.
Our dog-eared down-home friend brought simpler lessons from an outdated South.
And we witnessed our births spread out over time.
Three wise men we were singing dark-hearted songs of a blackened Madonna we couldn't find.
So we relinquished ourselves to Daddy Darkest who knew best.
Redistributed seeds, we pushed ourselves to a static line beyond myth; where men like us no longer needed to exist.
Sweet Virgin, Return
I am old and worn thin.
Now, is your time to begin; A collection of stories your heart has borne, but you lay unblemished.
My daughter lay our bones to rest.
Cook them in your stew.
Reigns handover long overdue, but that's not the style you do.
Don't worry about ole Paw. Jimmy Crack corn.
May you be Princess Disarming Charming laced with meaning...
And I awake sleeping...
Beauty, I next to you.
Yes, certainty is sweet like sugar (drug of choice for 'human race'),
its bloated, fake-blond, cotton logic, never does reveal its face.
Masks lure men to their death, use whorish sensuality to dupe.
The 'ship of state' gets smashed on rocks while ponce-in-chief tweets crap from poop!
Man's sanity is born in doubt! Be cautious, you should doubt me too!
But wisdom's not all happy endings, though joy whispers what is true,
Responsibility's the answer; guarantees aren't part of life,
So think of this if you get married, love your queen but see your wife!
Please let your God, too, meet doubt's filter, false-God corpses everywhere.
Do doubt or questions blemish Faith or prove Faith's greater when you dare
to trust that God's a God that loves you (will still love you till the end?
Lacks certainty? Perhaps, but signals strong desires to be His friend.
While "doubt" suggests a heart that's faithful, "certainty" PROVES 'Faith' is dead,
Though wise man's foot may touch the throttle, foolish cry, "Full steam ahead!"
Be careful not to trust in magic; magic's truth is never real;
the masters of this art fool senses, seek to gain from its appeal.
The God I worship serves my welfare; Love requires His selflessness,
a harmony with all creation, that can calm this life's distress!
The Bible, Science, Seasons, Grace, are all provisions 'from above.'
What's clay can never be the potter! "Doubt" but "trust" that God is LOVE.
Brian Johnston
July 19 of 2017