Horror Story.
Wife’s gone to bed, there’s a spooky sound
Still scared of the dark when no one’s around
I hear her snore in the room above,
A reassuring growl, is just enough
In the film a killer is stalking
All the lights off, no one’s talking
Turn on the lights, an involuntary scream
Has no affect on those in the scene
A glint of a knife, raised in a hand
Bet she regrets this one-night stand
I know, I know, it’s only acting
I could tell, the kind she’s attracting
I’d have given her really sound advice
Forget the murderer, find someone nice.
But no, he’s here, no is not the answer
She’s an undercover cop, not exotic dancer
The tables are turned, during the struggle
I sneak off to bed, give the wife a cuddle.
David Cox 17/02/23
An exotic dancer billed as Tina
Used to writhe on stage like a hyena ~
Today Tina has four kids
She mustn't do what she did ~
Now 'Mommy' performs the Macarena
She wanted to be an exotic dancer, but she was a receptionist.
Other receptionists wanted to be an admin assistant.
She was not one of those; she wanted a stripper pole.
She was envisioning herself in a sparkly tutu, sans ruffle.
Her boss had apparently asked her something a couple of times.
She looked at her prissy face wearing its prissy clothes.
This office was ugly; she fit in well. She was ridiculously demanding
Sure, she agreed. She always agreed. She needed this ugly job.
If exotic dancing did not work out, she would be a gypsy wagon designer.
She loved them, and she had the wardrobe for it at her house.
Not here where she had to wear a confining jail sentence of a suit.
And heels which she despised. But it brought in the potato chip money.
The boss was calling her again. Did she expect her to go in there?
She sighed.
Same old routine.
Call and I come.
In the morning I take heed, I need my fix…
Running around like a headless steed, I start to mix…
Just an ambient aphrodisiac, my tantalizing tea…
A dormant astral amnesiac, in a matrix reality…
My deficit hyperactivity starts to mourn, I need my stimulant…
Relying on prescription worn, a narcoleptic nilpotent…
Looking for my performance enhancer, I strike a pose…
I turn into an exotic dancer, where are my clothes?
I’m an electrical euphoriant, just plug me in…
A vexing viral variant, a sinister seductive sin…
A deprived dopamine, searching for neural transmission…
My effusive endocrine, in a rambunctious remission…
In my magnetic resonance imaging, chronic pain in depression…
Where dimensions are diminishing, I’m open to confession…
Please unplug me from the world, time to disappear…
Cover me within a comfy curled, take away the fear.
April.07.2019
Your Amphetamine
Sponsored by: Anthony Slausin
Leanne was born on a farm
But only had one arm
She was a very special gift
That is why she is called TuftyTift
Because she has such a special gift
It allowed her to see through the mist
She had a calling from above
On one cold dark morning
She was told she was born to be an exotic dancer
all because her favourite reindeer is Prancer
She followed her ambition
and won the competition
Let Leanne EnLEANNEten you
****Dedicated to James Bagley****
The crude beast of my future
I know I will never be super
I cant make honors
so my life will by shattered like the trail left by bombers
I try too hard
to make my life good
to make my sure I wont live in a junkyard
from the second I was born I would be told I could
I could do anything I want
I could say anything I want
I could believe whatever I want
And it is as if life is making my life miserable by all of its taunts
The truth hurts they say
That luck will eventually come my way
School is a pit of destruction that crushed dreams more than it creates them
cause there is now way I can get my GPA, SAT, MCAS, or RPMs hight enough.
I love learning but hate being graded on the right answer.
There is more than one right answer and if if it doesn't fit in your ideal world
I will just have to become an exotic dancer
Cause I want to change education not become enrolled.
By, Brennan Gunster
Alice
She was the one in whom I had found love at first sight.
In wonderland I gave a primal shout
And Alice came to rock out loud.
This head-banging beauty shone so bright;
I knew I had to make her mine this night.
In search of love, the boy of her dreams,
Stood in front of her at last to be seen.
She smiled because she knew her prayers had been answered;
She danced for me and she was my exotic dancer.
We spent the night together lost in each other’s eyes,
The stars above were the colour of disco lights.
Summer was gone but the heat was still here,
In her arms I felt something move me, so I let go of my fears.
In her is saw love shining back at me,
For in her beauty I could see she could give me all that I need.
Her smile was the smile of the Mona Lisa;
Such peace to be found in her, my panacea.
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
She is scantly dressed as she twirls and dances
she dances on a raised platform with eyes staring
Her clients mostly male partaking lagers and beers
Her job involves dancing and teasing these clients
In her eyes lies a dazed look like shes high on drugs
She told her mama she had found work in the city
After many years of empty searches she is working
After many nights of sleeping on an empty stomach
A friend introduced her to this and the money is good
On the good nights some clients are very generous
She recalls the way her Godly mother thanked God
She hadn't given her mother the specifics of this job
She knows this isn't what she ought to be doing
She is trapped in a job she is really unwilling to do
Her clients offer her money tucking it in her bikini
She recalls her childhood as she swings on that pole
Never in her childhood could she ever have dreamed
She would end up becoming an exotic pole dancer
Dancing as she was born as gentlemen cheered her on
Never in her wildest dreams had she seen this coming
She arrived on time to killed
With a king’s man and god’s women
In blue, the color best for a seized mole
a hat in head, tri-corner, she liked
warriors were still awaited there yet today
but not for Mata Hari's lustful moves or skins or carves
even she waves a kiss, blindfold
and bid to die
[Margaretha Geertruida "Margreet" Zelle MacLeod (7 August 1876 – 15 October 1917), better known by the stage name Mata Hari, was a member of the Frisian minority from the Netherlands, and was an exotic dancer and courtesan who was convicted of being a spy and executed by firing squad in France under charges of espionage for Germany during World War Wikipedia]
To you Arabic might sound like
Can't get your mind around sound
That dances on the tip of a tongue
Like an exotic dancer,
Like can't trust words that rise
Up from the back of a throat
Like a growl-
Might sound like alarm bells
Going off like-look!- a foreigner-
What if he blows up the plane?
To me... it sounds like an old friend
Whose name you almost remember,
Like my best friend's father
Calling her name with an accent
I didn't notice for years-
Like Amr Diab, since his music
Is awesome-
Like you can say salaam
To any Muslim in the world
And he'll greet you as if he is
Your brother...
What sounds to you like-
Satanic chanting?-
To me sounds like the words
Of a prayer...
Sounds like a love poem,
Sounds like a lullaby,
Sounds like salaam
Means peace.
Blinking Cursor
Why do you taunt me so?
A hungry hatchling eager to eat from my nest of ideas
An exotic dancer alone on a white stage— taking text for tips
I cannot walk away I am drawn to your blinking body
Hypnotized by the deformed piano key daring me to play suicidal notes of an unknown tragedy
Revived by the flat line, black and brave against a pasty piece of paper resuscitating my imagination
A weak Samaritan to the beggar that bothers me for change; and correction of my written work
My lonely lover waiting to make literary love on plain white sheets
The hero that rescues all my forgotten memories
Essential to the healing of my sanity
So why must you taunt me with endless possibilities?
Memories fail again; anger is misplaced.
Two separate lives with different problems faced.
An exotic dancer, no longer disgraced,
Was a helpless victim who’s past is encased.
An anxious soul with her childhood past,
Talk of abuse; left her mother aghast.
Her current life, the caseworker forecast.
Much hidden pain remains steadfast.
She’s off again to see another him.
Children left behind at their mother’s whim.
Eyes change to dullness; laughter becomes dim.
Alone like that makes a child grow grim.
A woman escaping from her inner self,
“Nighty” left behind with “Blankie” and the elf.
Running to the dark, her future on the shelf,
Now, her own mother is beside herself.
Endless tears of sorrow in the rain
Many prayers when dreams need a new flame.
Conflicted hearts argue just the same.
Mindless games won’t take away the pain.
Ó December 4, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen
Joanne the willowy vixen
Willing and welcoming
Dancing on the pole
Writhing and gyrating
Erotically cavorting
Like a gracile courtesan
Suppliantly performing for the clientele
Of dirty old men and drunken letches
Debasing herself for meagre reward
In seedy surroundings
Selling herself to wealthy businessmen
With her nakedness she begs
For more paper currency
She calls herself an exotic dancer
But she’s no better than the geisha
Who satisfies a Mikado’s libido
E very movement she makes
X rated
O nly a teen
T hrust from her home
I n retribution she
C lads herself in scant attire
D ances seductively to please
A ny man who will boost her self esteem, but
N ever
C hooses to
E xit with those who gaze longingly
R emains a temptress beyond reach
Her moves, panoramic,
deliberate,
with purpose known
to her,
only her;
delivered with the precision
of ancient artisans.
A choreograph of yearning
to solve histories secrets
of beauty in motion,
motion condensed like time,
methodical,
mesmerizing,
then,
without warning,
suddenly stops.
All who witness enchanted,
frozen as dead,
suddenly acclaim the magnificence
of the performance;
her movements deliberate,
with purpose known to her,
only her.
She receives her audience
and accepts their appreciation
with an extended garter.
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