Lily is quite a looker
She dresses like a hooker
Dave made a mistake
Asking her for a date
Her husband is a bouncer named Butcher
He mistook her for a hooker
And you bet, she’ll not forget
Thought she’s painted, she ain’t tainted
And for sure now, she is sore
As to whether wearing feather
On your thong is simply wrong
Or if lace around one’s face
At the heart makes one a tart
There are many for a penny
Who deflower by the hour
And they’re mainly dressed plain-janely
Better wake up, it’s a shake up!
Check your mirror, see it clearer
It’s your mind, that’s what you’ll find
Stop expecting, start correcting
Though she’s scented, she ain’t rented
He was hooked by bleach blond fish
Only concerned with his
Onyx deed and red tie to please
Kinda dumb to be at
Ease
Really Trump is a rump
I’ve known the streets: Places where the night lingers and the echoes of passing cars feel distant.
My feet have grown accustomed to the dim-lit alleys.
I walked past shuttered windows when the city slept, listening for the familiar footsteps that come and go.
I leaned against the brick walls, my breath clouding in the cold air, and
I whispered in low tones, watching headlights sweep across the pavement, and
I felt the city thrum with unseen stories.
I’ve known the streets: Quiet, restless streets.
My feet have grown accustomed to the dim-lit alleys.
I’ve lain stretched out, my body bare to the night, where beauty and sorrow mingled in my broken bones.
I’ve forsaken my soul for a walking dead man’s pleasure, trading dignity for a moment’s release.
I wanted to retire, live on the beach in Miami, listen to the waves crash on the shore.
But another car has stopped at the curb, and I must wear that smile that pulls at a lonely man’s groin.
What's the difference between a rooster and a hooker?
A rooster says- "Cock-a-doodle-doooo"
A hooker says- "Any-cock-will-doooo"
Remain polite she's only a friend
Do not judge you do not know the end
Only come at her request, no surprises keep it best
Keep what you see deep inside
She does what she does only to survive
When she gives what she gives take it in stride
Little things add up as you set them aside
You ask "Does she love me? No, she could not."
Being poor and survival easily forgot
In my world I've seen men step aside
Never in my life could I desert my pride
Somehow words and promises
end up being kept
Missing words become reasons
they secretly wept
A woman is a woman made by God
as a whole
Emotions arn't missing they're just waiting to unfold
On my side I waited for the one to commit
too poor to ask a hooker to reluctantly quit
Then the day came she asked me to leave
Erased from her life I regretfully grieve.
{For Kenya}
(Sonnet for Indian Lake)
I met a young girl on Saint Patrick’s Day.
She was looking for something important
To fill in the void she was dealing with.
She was pleased when I offered my content.
I rented a house on a scenic lake,
And worked very hard to give her a home.
It didn’t take long till the tide came in
And my credit cards drowned in the foam.
What I took as love was a two-faced con.
She had a road map to a better life.
But her route didn’t count on remaining
A loyal and strong, "We’ll deal with it," wife.
I took her on as my duly wedded spouse.
She turned out to be a hooker playing house.
THIS SPACE RESERVED FOR
GOLD DIGGERS WHO GIVE GOOD ILLUSIONS
[I was damaged property. That part’s on me.]
I went in and Sioja was ready for me. Before we started I introduced myself and put the cash on the table. Pay before enjoying the goods. Sioja was orange skinned and had purple hair. It was all natural as was the third eye in the middle of her forehead. This was brilliant green and her normal eyes were dark brown. Her looks gave a startling contrast. Welcome after the strong blue sky and light brown desert.
Tricolor yarn soft as a baby
Do I knit or do I crochet?
Slip stitch, one knit, one purl
Scarves, booties, and blanket
One stitch at a time
Soft and pretty
So much joy
Hooker
Fun
Boiling shells crack down hard upon raining rooftops
None doth any apparitional material cover upon her arrogant gift
She hast not laid down upon her last upstanding
Glass convails images of the inconceivable
Throwing away the Sun in blackened sickness
No guilt, no shame,
Unfeeling the inevitable eternal despisement
Swarms choking the insides with a blanket
They whisper in your ear "I love you"
They grant you no delegable antidote
Pig-wrapped in a wasteful pursuit of carnal futility
Living out the rest of days hollow
Old and carolled she slips on the filth of plastic suit
No, she won't live that long
(Originally Written 3/20/2019)
The craziest thing I have ever done
Is dress like a hooker in an off-the-shoulder sweater,
and the tightest, lightest baby blue hip hugger, bellbottoms,
in order to procure the lead to the senior play.
I had to sneak out of the house, dressed in red lipstick
and false eyelashes.
I am a Bible-belt girl, and belting out the Bible was not
good enough, I had to be better than that. Usually my mother
washed my face six times before I could leave. I had this weird feeling that the only way I had a chance was to ooze sex, which my 17-year-old self barely knew existed.
Yet, I did it, and the idiotic teacher could not stop staring at me, which made me feel all-powerful, and all kinds of stupid. I am morbidly embarrassed to tell you that I did procure the part, and was uncomfortable the entire time, thinking what he must have been thinking when I was dressed as a tart. So was it worth it? Totally.
There she was
a dancer up on stage
swaying seductively to the crowd's rage
but in her mind and heart
she was really quite shy
and years passed further apart
then the suggestive men's eyes.
To the dance of body rhythms run
her childlike youth succumbed
to the lustful ardor void
and inner beauty spurned
stole her innocence destroyed
leaving impassioned bodies burned
in lieu of the countenance of love.
As morning light emerged
other women saw her as scourge
but somewhere hidden deep
within her heart of hearts
lay chaste virtue asleep
awaiting release and freedom's start
from slavery that humanity imparts.
Alone among others enslaved
she returns to the master man's cave
tender and submissive she cries
a lost and lonely child
with no mother to dry her eyes
forgotten or dismissed and defiled,
who is the hooker in this exile?
mark the one willing to explore...
a hero within our mist,
complete me
compete thee
the hour divides
Calm down..calm down
the turning of the tide
Halen, Hendrix & Page
broken windows mark your age
visible
creative rage...
frozen Tundra
late night number...,
look deeper
crunch of the familiar
lonesome tiger,
heaven in side her
walk to the meeting
in seek of a kingdom
treasure with your coat on
in use of the magic fog
Bronco to deliver
summertime hooker
catch you in a hurry
sprinkled to why should we worry
all the lights are dim
Neil Peart with drums going crazy
lay away in a bed of hay;
masturbation...with self deprivation
Hugh Heffner with Playboy just articles today
lonely teardrops fall silently through the aged loop holes
HOOKER
floozy streetwalker
‘kerchief drops lake eyes open
so deep a mother
In one of those nights
under a corner light
he picked her up for a ride
she smelled cheap cologne
he smelled acqua di gio
they stopped by the bridge
how much,he asked
two hundred she said
fine,
here is my credit card
that's all i got
what
are you kidding me you fat bastard
where is my money
you cheap mthfckr
get out of my car
he yelled
or i'm gonna call the cops
and took off
he went home
where wife and two kids
were waiting at the table
for supper
he kissed everyone
he sat
said a quick prayer
told them how tiring is
to be a provider
"it takes pride
and honesty" he said
and went straight to bed
happy that again
he had a good day...
There is no hollywood ending
in this little tale
while the poor hooker
is sitting still there
under the corner light
waiting for her pimp
that will show up
to collect the money
and they're not enough
it is what it is
it's not wrong or right...
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