big puffy clouds
rarely seen; a Georgia high
soul returns to spacious place
Green Valley mountain
when it's red it’s time to drink
On a high; these puffy clouds
back in Georgia heat
green leaves love this Summer treat
sky eyes are dry; not a drop
Green Valley cacti
more than a drop of sunrise
in its tequila dry heat
I visit not move
to the Senora Desert
it creeps with dreadful shadows
Georgia has its own
familiar coyote, fox
so I’ll stay where I belong
dusty the old West
drunks, soiled doves, shootouts, Cowboys
you can still walk Tombstone streets
bawdy brothels lined
Collins Street back in the day
Georgia had its fill of sins
Sweetness is a Jasmine January
Seeds its scent along the inkberry
Starflowers streaming a fecund path
I bask in a heavenly perfumed bath
Winter bouquets an Elysian Field sanctuary
Jasmine scents ladies of the night
Jazzman ticklin’ ivory ‘neath a sultry light
With a surging merge all kept warm
During the raunchy ruckus and snowstorm
New Orleans brothels wintery delights
From steppes remote
luxurious mink coats
Fine leather boots
tailored suits
Fancy shoppes
five-star hotels
Back of splashy nightclubs
exclusive brothels
Rolls-Royces
and Bentleys
S-t-r-e-t-c-h ... L-i-m-o-u-s-i-n-e-s
cafes serving the finest cuisine
Wide-eyed with wonder
passersby gape
Dreams of Fifth Avenue
from tottering fire escapes
Each of the seven prostitutes,
Whose life began as destitute;
From their brothels to a roadside,
For men with or without a ride:
Main wish: to catch the adult male
And stop a day from going stale…
The picture is competition:
To whom would one loss petition?
Yes, a quite charged atmosphere
For one to in chats interfere:
A rival swipe for being too gaunt,
The rather fat with her size haunt
Open boasts about being half chaste;
How good cash paid one not a waste…
They were seven young prostitutes
Who’d failed in enrolled institutes.
Underworld gangs are brothels.
Gangsters working in there are sex workers.
Politicians are the clients(Buyers)of these sex workers.
DON is the(NAIKA)of these sex workers.
Police works as a Pimp and law enforcement agencies
are the spectators and have worn bangles,
ghangri chola,bra,and have become transgender...
Note.My wife is a hooker..
All around the world.
You look for me.
Do not leave,
A stone unturned.
In brothels and bars,
From near and far.
Around a corner or an alley,
Between, Gingers’ valley.
You seek but
Cannot find.
Because some of you,
Are totally blind.
I live in you.
All you need,
Is to believe,
It is true.
Your yearning fall,
On deaf ears.
During you’re failing years.
You have to find me,
First of all.
You’re long overdue.
To found love.
Idlers, paved paths with active energies, purloining, feigning amity.
Dodgy & concealing past immoral dregs by comradely, waspish mien.
Obdurately empowered by this stranger plucked from their nocturnal fantasies
Wanton mistresses of countless broken walls in desperation for time.
Unbridled intrusion cloaked in religiosity vexed by undefined arrogance.
Oft, in pretext, manipulating, with energies stronger than the POPE.
Habits of a thuggish intervention foist on bewitched “soul tie”
Ill-beseeming nuances summoning this Stygian to their unsealed brothels
Obvious cliquish vindictive venom of a barrage of past bed felon.
Zestfully compelling, violently intrusive and surreptitiously preying.
Ending the farce, Rapscallion oozing countless entries on the rotten hole.
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.
He preached a pious excrement like any other politician.
Her smut seemed poetic until she took her knickers off.
Her light burned all night, but her heart was always dark.
His evil odiousness soon ran out of gas, but never his bowels.
Nothing is sacred if dog poop and daffodils are not.
There is more sexuality in one word than in ten brothels.
His reality was a bad dream and we all lived in his mind.
Seraphic activists will hunt you down with a righteous frown.
If you are a jerk
then the order of holy men, is your sacred calling.
Dorothea, put that sacrificial knife down!
I am always alone in a crowd, fortunately.
Cancel culture
They are coming our way barefoot, and red dust
we sink into apathy.
Churches made into dance halls and brothels.
Christianity is dead, our culture based on our faith
has been debased it, is called egalitarianism.
Banners and sword.
Heads roll down a hill into a blazing valley.
God has forsaken us.
Brothels have closed now what?
Does anybody care?
Did anybody think about the hapless women living there
What about them?
What will they do now for two square meals a day?
Many saddled with children
Can they go back home?
Will their families and society accept them
That too with their children?
Will anybody give them a job?
For some it maybe a great relief
But even they
Where will they go back is the question
Most of them uneducated
Inducted into this trade while young
Whole life lays in front of them
Many have only one option-
To die
Along with their children.
19th February 2021
She is a lady of the night
Has come to ply her wares
Her dress is so provocative
For her safety no one cares
They say she gets what she deserves
They hold her at arm's length
But her resolve to do her job
Is where she gets her strength
Now say she didn't risk her life
There for those with intent
Placate their carnal urges
And calm that wilful gent
Is it because she walks the street
That other girls can see
From those that could be dangerous
There's no need for them to flee
They closed the brothels in her town
She had some safety there
Did anyone defend her?
Or did anybody care?
So next time you see this lady
Or maybe others of her kind
Don't turn your back and spurn her
Out of sight, is out of mind
He learned the trade of punchin' cows
An' silence of the men
He was alone but so were they
Not like it was back then
Not like the days of sweepin' floors
In brothels and the bars
An orphan lookin' for a meal
An' washin' whisky jars
Now he crossed the plains wide and free
An' saw the mountains rise
It was almost, almost enough
'Til he recalled her eyes
She'd been sixteen an' so had he
They didn't know 'bout love
So they held hands an' talked all night
An' counted stars above
Then she was gone, just slipped away
An' he was punchin' cows
He had the world to call his own
With all the heres an' nows
An' so he looked at all the world
An' marveled at its size
It was almost, almost enough
'Til he recalled her eyes
10-16-20
Contest: Have You Published
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Poem from the book
"Almost Enough, Cowboy and Western Poetry" April 6, 2010
Amazon Publishers, ISBN 9781519762481
The lying mask in perpetual pretense,
with many more layers of painted reference.
The mask that everybody loves as genuine in a blast,
and the dreadful breath from the face of the foe as he passed.
The eyes of the manipulator with laughter so chill,
with hearts which grow by creed so still.
The great gesture so loud in all this pride,
claiming all the hypocrisy ever so wide.
From within the subtle shadow of the weak,
the more attention they need to seek.
The domes of pleasure are the lays of the beast,
taking the romantic charm with every feast.
The mask wailing for the demon lover,
then every attraction needs a cover.
A savage place, holy and enchanted,
moral justified brothels where dancers get slanted.
Consequences by mingled measure,
far beyond the secret treasure.
When the tumult of a poisoned life ocean,
and the hunger has to deal with no motion.
The fear of being mask less and actually free,
observed by children, where love motions ‘are’ to be.
The ignorance servitude harnesses
The zero burdened grave race
That forbid shaving sovereign hairs
Packed close in considerable layers
Underneath national flagpoles
lay the maiden demands in barrels
like untilled tracts in grabbers souls
wants and the needs tore brothels
Behind pregnant men and women
underlies machine guns of must gain
That punched the citizenry in tatters
And the torn voices of the Anthem
so brilliant meritocratic idea present
that all nationals can sing in torment
under the radiant guardian rays pay
And really propelling the repellent sway
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