Bordello Poems

POTUS-pimp of the United States

The Oval Office looks gaudy 
And outshines the King of Saudi
Trump’s ugly deco
Gives off an echo 
Of a bordello that’s bawdy

bordello camp

The bordello camp 

Morning in Aruba, the cock  has crowed three times
Men get out of beds that hundreds have slept in 
of other men, they are silent, waiting for taxis 
to take them back to their ship
Sad men, there is no jubilation here, cigarette smoke
A cold morning beer while waiting for the transport
A seaman, overcome by the tardiness, tries to run away
There is nowhere to run; the whore camp is in the desert 
on a desert, sand, bushes, and snakes.
The madman, plied with alcohol, is sleeping. 
The other carried him onboard.
In the courtyard, a woman swipes the dance 
floor, doesn't bother to look up, when this day ends 
They will be back again, or someone like them 
will come, here, drink, dance, and pay for sex

The Glass Eye

You stood there unsteadily
at my bedroom door,
holding your glass eye
in your palsied hand and asked me
if I’d ever seen one before.
Can’t say that I have, Aunt Mary.

You held it like an offering,
moonlit and lidless,
as if it might see me better
than you could that night—
or remember what 
time had stolen.

They said you once owned
a bordello in Chicago,
and had connections with the mob,
but I didn’t know if that was true.
I did know you
roamed the country
with strange, obsequious men
who trailed behind
like footnotes to your stories.

And yet you were the one
who gave me the best gifts—
a microscope, an erector set,
science kits with powders and wires—
things no one else thought to give,
as if you knew I needed
wonder more than sugar.

You nodded once,
slipped it into your pocket
as if nothing strange had happened,
and vanished down the stairwell—
leaving only the faint scent
of camphor and questions,
and a silence I still
haven’t found the bottom of.

Xavier and Marilda

His wonderful wizardly was well-known in the glen
Xavier, was more talented than most of his kin
His enchantments could weasel under your skin
Making you fat, angry, happy, or sometimes too thin

Xavier resided at the beastly bordello, Cats Eye Inn
The scrumptiously tasty food there should be a sin
He dated Marilda, who was an identical twin
Her spells were legendary, most of them a true win.

a shipmaster in love

a shipmaster in love

The boat that left at sunset didn't have red sails
but fading sunlight painted grey sail red
even though the vessel was not going to China 
not this year or any other year, the Oriental 
wanted to know why he lost two wives 
in, the short span of seven years
His third wife sees the boat disappear from 
the safety of her verandah she doesn't like 
a vessel moves and stays at home
She is secure, and pregnant, a feat his other wives 
managed, hence that's why he sold them to
a bordello in Tashkent
the boat is a brigantine made of Canadian wood
the timber has the habit of groaning when 
sails have no wind and days appear longer than
when a storm is brewing
The captain has a shopping list for his third wife 
gave him, about buying figs in Sumatra and 
coconuts in Congo, the captain smiles, his wife
 she has never seen a map

An Original Story

The day after I was birthed,
God and a bunch of sassy angels
played Irish fiddles in a beery bordello,
a place not yet colorized into reality.

The next day,
squealing in my two-day-old
tight Rubenesque pinkness,
I was immortalized in a Brownie Box Camera,
the guys in the men's room
pissed themselves with a teary laughter.

On the third day of my fleshy ascension
a thin women said she was going to love me
for a little while only.
I took the deal.

So many days have fallen away now.
Sex saturated, love begotten, a damaged
dance of a life,
but there was always wine.

An old, white-beaded gent,
has bequeathed me two holy relics,
iconic images of Santa,
and Michealangelo's painted finger,
when I hold them up to the light
I can almost see through them.

Soup Creeks Anaya's Steaks

Don’t be buffaloed it’s not Pancho Villa he’s dead
Just have’n a fling before what lies ahead
I respect Soup Creek and its laws
Although some have their flaws
There are no guns allowed where I am headed

Anaya’s Steak House, sure like the ring to that
A place of my own, where I’m no one’s door mat
On my way to the bordello
And then soon the rodeo
Mis campanero’s, I’m bringing my charro hat!

Mayonnaise Days

Pressed between twin stale realities,
a mixture of marble thoughts
Dark desires swirling around light devotion,
closet of moth-eaten moral legalities

Lettuce bed of flesh profiteering,
aorta slices of tomato fears
Asphalt of exhausted tears,
lip loyalty was bordello bought

Egged on by the sweet taste of a tainted tart ego,
soul slathering jive turkey flattery
Belly paradise of cooper acid reflux ...
Vomiting worship of dollar bread covetous regal

Mayonnaise daze of pickled yoke poverty,
rich irony is gut baked into the plight
Wry sandwich of crypt-o coin delight,
cemetery carry-out is a bottom feeder notion

Apple cider vinegar voices  ...  tax packet pocket oppression,
eye sprinkle condemn-mint dissent
Another time, same place location — 
Spread the inequality plague of mayonnaise last days lesson

Within This Slice of Bleakmoment

Within this slice of bleakMoment i am pondering my
madness AND do sane people wonder if they are 
quite crazy -- this i cannot know /  but if while
thinking of my insane need for sanity these thoughts
as cold as mountain icy water squirrels through the 
deep rivers of my nut-brain;

   of course the glass box contains a hidden object
that only longNeck banana beating gorillas should
(never cross a mean cockSlinger in a bordello) eat

   now the priest having said his sacrament of 
(i did not do it) confession a youthful thought
flew by the stained window with an oversexed
 persuasion and the bread and wine were not
            entirely enough for heaven but 
                       hell thoroughly enjoyed 

   if fearIs the mindKiller then what of souls;
beyond the third door onThe left near the 
tissue and suppositories says the underlaid
underpaid thinly lipped clerk holding a banana
whistling Ode to Joy__ohboy.

:: 06-04-2018 ::

Rack

a classroom if you will
no acts of kindness
more like the answer
to the question
are we paying attention

back in sixty-five
forty second and San Pedro
backroom of the barber shop
racking pool balls for pennies
or whatever them players
saw fit to handout 

hustle in some folk’s eyes
scripture in others
Gandhi or Elijah Muhammad 
Jesus over Iceberg Slim

a world like a bordello
filled with pimps and Johns
and the only ho' in the room 
was me

Echo In Gloom

- Echo in Gloom-
Lost in the dark bordello of doom
Only a plop echoed in gloom
Cathedral of crystal
A cave become tomb
The bats and the owls 
Hold the keys to these rooms

As saline tears keep falling drop for drop
Silently forming crystal chandeliers
A quarter of an inch
Over millions of years
Spikes and thorns or bishops and pawns

Decadently clothed defiantly posed
Dare to expose challenging those
Pillars of salt crusty old stalactites
Formed by a river of tears
Ladies of the night
Silently drop - quietly stop
Ploppity plop - ploppity plop

Resurrection

Resurrection 

Then he died 
As everyone must 
And he entered a tunnel 
Pink light 
Like a boudoir
Sliding on soft silk
Well, I never!
Pity he cannot write 
About it
Doctors resurrected him
They told him 
He had smiled
 So sweetly when they 
Struggled to bring him
 Back to life 
Crucified 
Surrounded 
By Roman soldiers 
Sigh!
His death had been so banal 
A dream of a bordello

When Bordello Was Fun

When a Bordello was fun 

I sit down with the best intention to write about flowers
and love which made me think the whore houses tend to have
plastic flowers and that is apt as it is
not a place for romance red roses and chrysanthemums
I have had much fun at house of ill repute not only the sex
but also dancing the laughter and the girls liked a young
sailors and the possibility of warmer feelings. 
I  know of seamen who married former prostitutes and their 
marriages have normally been a happy one.
Time has changed women victims now of men’s sexual demands
And it has been outlawed in many countries. 
Just as well now girls are called sex workers like hire home help 
cold cash on the table the price depending on the position like
asking the home help to weed the garden, well you have to pay
extra or that

Prior President and Husband

Prior President and Husband

To anyone of you did it recently occur
Either stayed in House or still a Senator
Lacking ability after another ability
While rapidly on their way to senility.

Nomad may be assigned nomenclature
From slim pickings emanated caricature
In their life not knowing what is prevalent
Or friendly fools who have become benevolent.

Has been determined attitude is despicable
Nervous behavior that is highly predictable
Instead of home telling tells that are spun
Maybe for President he should start to run.

Will Rogers theory is one which I will apply
Ain't supposed to find apples in cherry pie
And behind should never leave your pillow
After you have been bare in a bordello.

Message to me from God He recently sent
If pretty and pleasing run for President
While over American herd you are riding
Husband will keep you from back-sliding.

James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet

A Startup Business

I am out here on the strip.
Making men look at how I sway my hips.
I know many are in search of a relief (with)
No significant relationship in the mix.

No money
No sex
I have to take care of myself.
I am not just a piece ass out here.

Many I let pass by.
I am looking for the right guy,
In that I have a certain success rate on how I get paid.
The ones with the wife are always the smooth operators.

No money 
No sex
I am not just a piece ass out here.
I am captivation of my existence.

Respite I felt, but then he stops to ask me was I available.
I said yes and asked what did he have planned.
His reply was a good time.
I smiled and these were my lines.

No money 
No sex
I am not just out here as a piece ass.
I have to care for self.
Let’s go to my bordello to fulfill the rest.
This is my startup business.

Now, what's your name...
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Written December 21, 2015!

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