"kamikaze"
Isn’t it odd
how you always gravitate back to me,
I circle your mind like a helicopter
you watch me
like a moth
attracted to flames,
lit in succulent tender air waves
the others will state their absolute grievances,
it’s a force majeure for preconceived
unaccountable and unavoidable catastrophes
but We,
persist, We,
kamikaze
all artificial
and unintelligent,
other side of the wall
reasoning
bows,
to Love,
always
Love,
gravitates,
persists,
calls us all in
just as debutantes,
there We are,
our insides shining out,
illogically
semi-public
so un-upperclassed,
We are, barefeet dancing
under eye-glass boiling,
serious insects
quartered illogically
'neath microscope petri'd
kamikaze
Love
calls Us all in
debutantes
illogically
troped
“Juliet is the Sun!”,
espouses Romeo;
little does he know,
She is more
than a
soft black-holed velvet galaxy
She's a
Universe, diamond sharp
turned inside out
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Where learned men converse
On college grounds traverse
Those lads debonair and debutantes fair
With diamonds in their purse
By limousine conveyed
Their education's paid
A most common tale of Harvard and Yale
Where seeds of affluence laid
When privileged young voyeurs
Become doctors and lawyers
From arrogant perch they snub and besmirch
Sneering at Tom Sawyers
Under thumb of those knaves
We become but their slaves
Placed in the dust by the cruel upper crust
With no names on our graves
Sunday morning sardines
Sing trademarked sermons
No gain, guitars must be clean
To harken out the predetermined
Donation cards in cursive fonts
A prayer for a new patio to
Crosses finished like their countertops
Their fair-weather faith up for review
This is for the poor Diet Coke debutantes
In Burberry scarves with lipstick grins
Money isn’t everything but it's all they got
Life is just so hard for those who always win
It is fast becoming rampant,
The whole thing: perfect irritant:
Baring screened-off contents of pants
Guilty: old dames and debutantes
And these pants are exorbitant,
Uncomplaining buyer brilliant!
Freedom continues to seeds plant
Crossed Christians turning militant,
Who would wearer waste or her pants,
New growing mistrust of fired rants,
Towards shaming violence slant
No more to assaults an “I can’t.”
But what would women establish
In pants that their contents publish?
I want to see the clash of the classes
The dichotomy between the debutantes and the downtrodden
wallow in the welfare
scream at those who don't care
soak up society
revel in the rivalry
step on the suited
smile at the smart
vilify the antagonists
snore at the soporifics
bleed in the gutter
be saved by another
turn out the lights
smile at the night
experience the extremes
of a midnight's dream
By Robert McDermott
Ah, at a magnificent place 'twas
this ball held!
With gorgeous jam debutantes,
arriving one by one.
Sorry you were not there!
To behold the debutantes and
their escorts gliding down the
winding stairs
Such beautiful faces,and all
superbly trained in fine cotillion
graces.
First came Rose Petal and Seville
Orange, a stunning pair!
Then Honeysuckle and Sir Hawthorne,
so stunning they drove the crowd wild.
Next, the gorgeous Pearadise
and Sir Quince, so gorgeous we
all did wince!
Cherry and the famed Knight
Elderberry made all heads turn.
Sparkling Dandelion and Prince
Habanero, so lovely, struck our
hearts like arrows.
The Viennese Waltzes began,
a night so memorable.
We all applauded such gorgeous
couples.
Mesmerized by such grace beyond
finite.
Each couple,bowed and left us "
eventually.
With dreams of next years cotillion,
We all pledged to be!
September 12, 2019
*These are names of actual names
of homemade jams and jellies.
Eleanor Rigby was her name
Daughter of a coal mining man
Oh, he loved that freckle faced girl
She was where his whole world began
Her mother was long dead and gone
A victim of this brutal life
Her dad would say,"Soldier on, girl -
One day you'll be a miner's wife!"
That thought alone drove her to tears
She'd marry well or not at all
She formed a dream of silk and lace
And thought of the debutante's ball
And then one day the mine caved in
All were lost in that darkest pit
Her dream was all that she had left
She worked at what was let of it
Years passed as she bided her time
The debutantes stood in their lines
She waits at the window to see
That man who knows nothing of mines.
9-5-19
Contest: Eleanor Rigby, Who Was She
Sponsor: Jerry T Curtis
VIOLETS IN SPRING
Violets in funereal sleep,
bonnie beneath Winter’s crust.
Breathless debutantes,
preparatory young virgins,
putting on pretty purple petals.
Virtuous violets gracefully glide
through the rich soil,
burgeoning intoxication,
the world’s first tantalizing taste
of their demure debutante smiles.
Kim Rodrigues © 2017
Enough
Haven't you done enough?
You power mongers, you elitist psychopaths.
You monarchs and you debutantes,
You insanely wealthy, self centered idolaters.
You war lovers, mass murderers,
You military-industrial exploiters.
You are cheaters and liars.
You think you have purchased and worked for ownership,
But you have not.
You have committed crimes against Humanity.
You have expropriated an entire planet.
You enslave and oppress.
You are genocidal maniacs, totalitarian, feudal, fascists.
You have no shame, void of compassion.
You are not human.
You cold blooded, emotionless, cartel of destruction.
Haven't you done enough?
by Robert Denton (August 11, 2015)
She once asked me why I had never painted her, pale dress and lips rose red, framed by misty sunlight green
For a multitude of others had tripped and floated in my studio, spinning, laughing and posing like they were young again
So many, and yet so few that were real, pretending that I was the one, eyes fluttering like debutantes first seen
Canvases coloured with what they wanted all to see, saccharine coated with what I had to add, sunshine instead of rain.
I never painted her because she was the one, for to use brushstrokes would diminish her tangible reality
Not only was she real, but she existed, showing sides that diamonds could never possess
The others were loose with their rampant affections, hard as rusty nails, pretending to have perpetual fragility
But, ah, my love was true, is true, will always be true, and I miss her so much, my lovely pure and ever sweet Duchess.
There is a calm, a quiet calm, it follows
a storm, a war, a quarrel;
for example see, when the chimney-smoke
flattens, and lies above the red bricks and
hunting cats but scatters at the gull's urgent
zoom:
then there is a gentle calm, or perhaps it's grey?
yes then, a greying-gentle calm,which having arrived,
is butted by traffic sounds, and childrens' ice-cream
shouts of glee
and above all that, the cries and laughs of debutantes,
in taffeta and chiffon skirts, looking for mister "right",
or a duke or count
then of course, quizzically, there's the gray-white calm
upon your chair,(spilt sherbet), which works its way into
your trouser seat; but let's not dwell on that
and not least there is that peaceful calm, that dances,
resolute, upon the bouncing bed of love; so settled now,
its promises rarely kept
thus then, the dipping, scattered chimney-plume, trips its
last gay gavott, from stage to stage, alighting on the poet's
page;
then with addiction, and literary affliction, mounted broad on
sword and pen; will skip the mordant wind, of gray and calm,
quietening the alarm; for the grey, and the peaceful, lie hand
in hand; to rest.
Have we opened up Pandora's
box
That we can't now seem to
close
Secrets don't stay on the block
The price of progress I suppose
We have become a world of
voyeurs
Engrossed in other peoples
dreams
Debutantes celebutaunts
posers
Athletes, actors and queens.
Enemies, frenemies bffs
Who crave the madding crowd
Who appear to live with no
regrets
Except no negative vibes
allowed.
Troubled by the things we see; this, hodge podge his reality....
Waking up, unto another day is worse enough, just facing myself ?
Let alone her world as then these other entities a zest pool of wretched's
No one seems to know their way about, time's maze ever revolving chirrup circles
Chained a thousand bicentennials penance chirping away while hanging atop purgatory's
Beginning of summer's rock star pulsars frigid puppeteer festival's, pumpkin patch vines in his
Macabre's deuce de facto debutantes be her living dead's, distorted divas dress parades ? Pygmalions.
Starlets tender their heralded names
Just another pretty face; another superficial dame
Brokered pawns in tawdry, transparent game
Bartered tinder is their trite acclaim
Stars that twinkled then imploded in combustible flame
Fickle lives; filthy lucre their singular aim
Pleasing the masses with articial drama their claim to fame
Egotistical debutantes who proudly gilded their shame
Fealty and familial bonds with pleasure they did cripple, mame
Fading memories that inspired more of the same
Burnished symbols remembered only by their surname
Alluring, beckoning;
brushing each droplet with his tantalising golden touch.
Charmed by his searching warmth,
dewy debutantes
eagerly follow, rising effortlessly from a
field of naive dreams,
giving their virtue to his
heaven sent heat.
Innocence is lost, as
jewels of youth and inexperience,
kissed by his fiery passion,
levitate in brief rapture then disappear,
mourned only by carefree bare feet on a morning stroll.
Narcissistic, he admires his reflection,
over and over,
pearlescent on a gossamer haze of
quivering souls,
replaying the pleasure of a
selfish sacrifice
to satisfy his own thirst.
Unquestioned by nature,
victory is his alone, and though
whispering branches sing softly of
xanadu,
yesterday’s dew knows it never existed.
Zephyrs bring a cool twilight air, laden with tomorrow’s oblation.
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