Acoustic and raw,
it doesn’t need additives;
Creeping up on you
so very unexpected,
the haunt in haunted rhythm;
Oh ravenous fiend
I can describe you as sound,
Acid on the drums;
Bouncers sit screening the door
not for I.Ds but hunger;
Inky bass line itch,
no words need to be written;
A Demon’s disco,
that sanctimonious scratch
electricity stutters.
Away at a strip club
No clothes are on me
I misread the club rules
Now I feel silly
I’d removed my jacket
White shirt and black pants
Then off came my boxers
I wanted to dance
Two big burly bouncers
Dragged me off the floor
Though I’m still butt naked
They show me the door
I flag down a taxi
Although I’ve no cash
I’m dropped at my girlfriend’s
To her door I dash
She pays the cab driver
And gives him a tip
One look at her stern face
I’m on a guilt trip
She throws me a bath robe
And I put it on
Then I realise that
My work clothes are gone
Although it’s past midnight
She drives me straight back
And gets my belongings
Then gives me some flack
I say that I’m sorry
Won’t do it again
And if I go clubbing
From drink I’ll abstain!
08/08/23
The little boy who was slow
Couldn't keep with the flow
Mistreated by most peers
Scared of people who's near
The naughty boy in the class
What's wrong? Noone asked!
Fustration leads to temper loss
Fights are won and many lost
Bully gangs loved to tease
Nobody helps at any degree
Confusion at the upmost extreme
Things just aren't what they seem
Anxiety is not always the answer
Depression is diagnosed faster
People don't look deeper inside
What's this DNA trying to hide
A chromozome not complete
Where X and Y should meet
A diagnosis from the spectrum
Detected in old and in young
To all the teachers and police
The bullies out on the streets
The bouncers in the clubs
You shouldn't be so quick to judge
Shame on all of you
For making this boy so blue
For not seeing he needed help
And only thinking of yourselves
The truth that packs a sting
The boy who asked for nothing
Is now at peace with himself
And puts you all on the shelf
Long time since I have been to a nightclub
they don't let me out at night alone now.
I used to be sharp
had many friends in low places.
I miss the culture, the sweaty maneuvers
under hypnotically pulsing lights.
The aroma of nubile sex
and just maybe getting lucky.
Back then, you did not have to be
a minor local celebrity to get laid,
just have cash for a taxi ride
back to your crappy bedsit.
I could still be
a smirky smile under neon lights,
but the feet won't slide no more,
and the bouncers won't let you in
wearing bedroom slippers.
The Mad Hatter wears a cape
velvety smooth and perfect
He walks with a diamond tipped cane
with white and black pateint leather
shoes.
Gold laden braclets and chains
carrys a silk stotch guard napkin
that repells stains.
hair slicked back
Man dudes flective
Smiling and grinning
at fellows and foes
with two bouncers to
protect him
He made his wealth from
palladium
he once was a preacher
and a scientist
who created a creature
the Scarecrow
he made this creature
sounds like a film
the main feature
he mock the poor who rejected
his science
gave wealth to the flock
so they'd be in compliance
there lands and there deeds
I will wear the crown
like a well respected man said
"aint Nobody can stop Me now!"
Juke joints bopping
The bands rocking
Couples dancing
Bouncers bouncing
Just another Saturday night in Harlem
Brothers dressed to thrill
Ladies looks would kill
Sweats flying
Partners screaming
Another Saturday night in Harlem
Bottles popping
Booze flowing
Food on the plate
Better hurry don't be late
It's Saturday night in Harlem
Well the nights at an end
Shake hands and kiss your lady friend
One more song, it will be my treat.
Come on baby, we'll come next week
Another Saturday night in Harlem
(c)kingpen2021
Physique in denial, irritating to bouncers
her numbers-to-flesh comparison on the radio is a smash hit
this ice, in a hot summer still slowly melts
making age-stunt her most engaging hobby
boys, half her age come to display lame tactics
her metabolism functions with slow engines
as the bolts of her aging are yet unscrewed
another reason for the planet to baffle, after Pharell Williams
“I’m thirty nine” the most of her answers after her name
envy suffocates her mates as they beg for her genes
faith in using the pressed oil from her skin
may be factual and never should be underrated
this adult in teenager’s skin
still feeds her organs with mama’s milk.
T'Pau Gig
Music mattered greatly to me
My first gig was in March 1988
I saw T'Pau at Manchester Apollo
The bouncers were s
Moving me from down to upstairs
But it was fine my band was there
They were an awesome rock band
With a hot red haired singer
Of course I wanted to bonk her
Their songs rocked my head
I listened to them all the time
My rivals on the YTS hated T'Pau
And listened to Indie bands
Like The Smiths and New Order
I liked those bands later
Before then I enjoyed T'Pau
They were in Smash Hits magazine
But were not a teeny pop band
A contemporary of Bon Jovi
They were my first ever gig
Other gigs followed like Status Quo
And hundreds more quality shows
Long live Rock n Roll! \M/
I’m the girl who sits in the bar,
drunk on the music
never touching the alcohol;
The quiet one in the shadows
who knows all the words,
In and out like a banshee
but back for every show;
The one whose drug is the rhymes,
I’m not there to get lit;
Addicted to the rhythm,
reckless on repeat;
You may say it’s the bar
where the trouble happens;
I’ll take a dive bar with a band
over a restaurant and bad decisions;
Like everything else
it’s a matter of perception;
Call me a black rose,
the local girl in the back;
Don’t tell me the problem is the venue
filled with nothin’ but soul;
The problem is people
just begging for bouncers.
Cricket is a game of love
Full of puns and innuendo
As a lass I’d love to bowl you over
By having you a maiden over
A couple of opening googlies
Spin balls should do the trick
Middle of the over adds
Two chesty bouncers to the mix
Fifth could be an angler
To draw a lovely catch
Sixth ball to earn a maiden over
What else but a full toss
Just to finish me off
Now all I need to know
With a six dot ball over
Have I won my maiden over
Restless rebel, control the ball on the gregarious ground
Looking within and hooking dignity to the home
Where a restive riposte resurrects the meandering mound
Detriment and its cement sediment groom
In search of answers and cancers
Growing without control and throwing mud on the room
That without mercy plays into the hands of bouncers
Primed to jettison the happiness for which you crave
At the time and in the clime where pesky pouncers
Storm forth and chide the wonderful wave
That steers stability and versatility in the home where
Your truculence and petulance dig the grave
Where your treasure trove and freedom measure dare
To resist the onslaught of seething thoughts brought on board
To confuse order and disorder in your home, slaying vestiges of care
In the wake of asinine attitudes that accord
Dignity and sanity to restlessness which your home can’t afford
As your restive riposte resurrects the meandering mound
Restless rebel, for the sake of stability, control the ball on your gregarious ground.
You stood outside the bar
And tried to be polite
Against a barrage of knuckles
But felt skull and skin collide
Ask the bouncers, whose arms
Feasted upon your drunken stupor
Hours' worth of anger
In town, trying to convince the banker
To lower the interest rate
Over debts they could hardly pay
You should have maintained
Your new year's resolution to be dry
At least you tried
Somebody called 911
To report a passed out guy
On the pavement,
Possibly gazing at constellations
Inside his head
The price you pay for a temporary high
On a Saturday night
Spinning mass of curly hair
Suspended in a zone of putrid air
You staggered away slightly dazed
But passing by in a Chevrolet
A child witnessed the violence
heaven knows we need more competition
I say we move to hell and give it a makeover
we kick out the devil
and hang up our “new management under” sign
we replace fire and brimstone
with never ending happy hour
we invite all the angels and saints
to our nightly hell raising celebrity kickoff party
finally, we put little green bouncers at the gates
and make everyone wait a lifetime
10236 Charing Cross Road
Holmby Hills, CA. 90077
To go where young rabbits frolic and dance
Would be a sweet treat if I had the chance
To swim in the water where famous cottontails get wet
Where champagne bubbles are spilled by the elite jet set
Maybe I might win a million dollar lotto
That could be my ticket to enter the grotto
Past muscle bound bouncers, inside velvet ropes and stanchions
To ogle, google and spill my own bubbles at The Playboy Mansion
To escape normality and alter reality before I grow old
Playing with Playmates and Bunnies and this months Centerfold
10236 Charing Cross Road, Holmby Hills CA. 90077
Without a doubt this is the address of Heaven
Thank you
Mr. Hefner
A nebula rises unfazed after fission:
after a fractured debate, greed crouching on
the wrinkled noses of rugged bouncers.
In remote history someone was burning itself out.
A black eye surges forward, sings an ode to
championship. Ankles swell up. Veins become
jelly. The thyme is absent. Stink bellows on
your faces. The green pond becomes red; tragedy of wounds.
Speaker in bloody silence quotes the black sun
out of despair. Everything was in disarray.
In mating of souls flesh flew in rage;
a pink river swamped the inmates of tomorrow.
Enough! Time marches on the dead leaves of sorrow.
My candle burns at both ends. Alien moons
keep a watch. Bloodlines are obliterating. We
seek the graves of unknown soldiers!
SATISH VERMA
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