She loves the ballparks,
and goes to Symphany halls.
She loves God but not religion.
She cusses and curses,
gets drunk on sailors,
yet her heart’s an open daisy.
In Kentucky they call her
‘darlin’,
In West Virgina
they call her ‘darlin’,
in Tennessee, they call her
‘darlin’.
In Alabama they call her
‘honey’ or 'sugar'.
In New York City they call her ‘baby’
through a gritty windpipe.
She slums it with the rich,
walks tall with the poor,
and she never, ever
will be misappropriated,
by words, labels,
or given names.
Neon vodka splashes into plastic cups.
Booze-hounds doze
over imaginary throbbing bikes,
their noses tucked into studded chests.
A thick thighed woman whoops
and cusses for no apparent reason,
adjusts her rocking bar-stool,
squirms while cajoling with a low-cut.
“Give her a long slow screw”,
mumbles a gray bearded angel with a leery wink.
Beside him, edged into oily leather, his wing man
strategizes some hasty unzipping.
Later, hid in the dirty light — he just might
if she waits for him outside by a wall
one leg lifted.
~~~~~~~
FYI
“A long slow comfortable screw against a wall,” is a cocktail:
ice
1 part vodka
1 part sloe gin
1 part Southern Comfort
orange juice, as needed
1 part Galliano.
~~~~~~~~
i've always seen this anywhere
i smile and somehow a bit bitter
for even in my daydreams
i'm being drained and drowned
by the cycles of cusses
i just watch those couples
from the corner of my eyes
and wish that i could also feel
a genuine fondness like that
while Carole King's song
deafening my ear says:
it's too late baby now it's too late
dimwit damping desires
punctured passion pulsing
puking, sopped plenary
impregnated zeal gnashing
odd offshoot scolding
cremated cusses cobbling
hewn nosy tracery
strapped self scrunching
jumpy jazz jolting
mystic mist moaning
lusty limbs lurching
felon feigning ally;
perforated pulpy pedigree.
19:11:30:5:00
Note: To all corrupt Police Officers!
lousy lips laced
with gaunt gaze
projected per peacocky
enchanting pull pulsing
retracting reels rumbling
muffled messages mumbling
damped debacles dripping
saucy strapped in
freakishly folded feelings
cusses gulping graces
airy syllables amputating
relegating oily obloquy
parted limbs leaking
jumpy jazz jolting.
19:11:28:17:14
hurdled hoisted hazzle
hideous hags sparkle
rustic lips lurching
pulpy punctured pitching
damped danced drooping
mystic mists mumbling
curvy chants crunching
cautious cauldron moaning
voluptuous vibe reeling
purpled eyes heaven
dripping ecliptic epilepsy
sumptuous scrunches spanking
callous cusses cupped
spooky hags spun.
19:11:19:14:22
My Amazon parrot is called Polly
By jingo she just won’t stop squawking
She’s totally off her trolley
And cusses at me when I’m talking
I keep her locked in a gilded cage
Just in case she tries to escape
When she flies into a vile rage
I just cover her cage with a drape!
Animal Antics Contest
Sponsored by Kevin Shaw
08-19-17
This crazed boss pushes his ole luck
Mind's frenzy ticking like a clock;
As gut's livewire wants to explode
Rush of cusses now I shall load.
My pay is a low miser’s bag
While hard job has a large tag--
Stingy, lazy boss, he’ll remain
And there's nothing left to gain.
He jeers as overtime strays late
Keeping me on my desk, ingrate!
My turn for revenge, I will leave
All projects crushed, now DIE and GRIEVE!
Frenzy Contest 30 Nov 2016
Sponsor: Frank Herrera
He drops the tailgate on that old GMC truck
using it as a makeshift workbench
He tinkers with an old icemaker
determined to bring it back to it's former glory
He whistles an old country tune as he works with contentment
His screwdriver slips and the melody is broken
He cusses out loud as his knuckle begins to bleed
Frustration grows as he uses his shirttail to wipe the blood,
holding pressure on his hand with pure impatience,
his eyes fixed on the old appliance in pieces
The aroma of supper cooking
makes it's way outside through the raised windows of the old white house
He decides to give it up but only until tomorrow
His concentration is broken
and his mind is now on fried potatoes and onions
As he wipes his hands on an old shop rag he counts his blessings
They are abundant
From morning to dawn my hands stretch to strangers,
getting rain, the wind, and a few pennies. My begging bowl's
weight is light, making me wish that my heart was that light,
with less burdens to carry.
I have been thrown cusses, and thrown from one street
to another; bruises on my face and body are proof
of my hard life.
I have sacrificed myself to the altar of pain,
so as to be blessed with some food remains in a restaurant
or expired bread and breadcrumbs in a bakery.
Kids run away whenever they see me;
they don'y know I have been running away from death,
throughout my life.
Chilling cold nights, rains, and beatings from rowdy people
have broken my bones, but not broken my spirit.
I've risen above fear of pain and humiliation,
to live another day in the streets.....
My friend has a woman,
She’s gorgeous and mean.
What comes from her mouth,
Is mostly obscene.
He brings her to parties
She drinks till she’s drunk.
Flirts with men, cusses women
Then leaves in a funk.
She spends all his money
On booze, food and drugs,
She dirties his house
and pukes on his rugs.
She’s maxed out his credit,
Cost him most his friends.
Yet he claims she’s well meaning.
And he’ll stay to the end.
When push comes to shove
He’ll admit she’s most crass.
But she’s tall, built and curvy,
With great **** and great ass.
So we wish him the best
In his venture of love,
We’ll be there with a hanky,
When she gives him the shove.
Death.....
Tastes so sweet
Wish I was there
And not here
I slit my wrists
But I'm still here
I'm still living
I overdose
But I only slept
Went to slit my throat
Only to drop the blade
I'm still here
With nowhere left to go
He hits me
She cusses me out
They both say it's all my fault
I should just give up
I've tried
It didn't work
The tears I shed
Are all too real
I just want to rest
In an eternal sleep
Everyone would be better off
If I wasn't here
Everyone would be happy
But..........
I'm too incompetent
I can't do it right
I'm sick of waking up everyday
I can't take it much longer
I'm such a screwup
Why can't I just give up?
the tulip tree tosses petals
to the dying maple tree
tree cutting men and chain saw converse
leaving stumps ...of words
a twitching, gray squirrel cusses....
the tulip tree has lost its mate
Yesterday I would have cried an ocean over you,
Hell knows I did on many occasion,
Tired and alone from you non-existent love.
Last night I cried a stream,
It ran down my vacant expression,
Rolled off my chin,
And crashed onto my pillow,
This morning there is nothing inside me left to cry.
I am numb,
Once again,
Just like last time.
Last time the blood made you stop and think,
Realise you were wrong.
This time all the cusses from me for nothing,
I ran before you could reply in case I forgave you,
Once again,
Because god knows I forgave you,
For everything you did to me,
Time and time again.
Next time?
Ha!
There won’t be a next time!
I’m getting over you,
All this pain will fade into the darkness that’s inside of me.
I love you,
I loath you,
Now stay out of my life
As one last wish from me,
Let me get over you.
The Angry Seashore
The Angry Seashore
Sneering at oil rigs.
Cusses and waves frantically -
Fearing tomorrow.
Written for the "OIL SPILLED OUT ANGER!" contest
FORMAT: Free Verse the since slam is no longer an accepted form for use on Poetry Soup.
SLAM POETRY is PERFORMANCE Poetry. So imagine my performance. I am leaning forward toward the audience with a frown on my face as I recite line one. Then, as I step forward for line two, my facial expressionsl change from a frown to a very angry sneering look. Next, I start waving my arms slowly as I state the word "Cusses". Then, as I recite the rest of line three I wave my arms faster and pick up the speed of line delivery. Lastly, imagine that I am cowering my posture down with my face still looking at the audience, My body is turned sideways and I am pretending to bite my fingernails I have sad eyes and a fearful frown on my face. OK THAT'S THE PERFORMANCE...USE YOUR IMAGINATION. Smiles!
© July 19, 2010
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