Long Hookers Poems
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It's the unfair society:
from lenient judges
to corrupt attorneys
and with some bad cops
who claim that their motto is:
" To serve and protect "
Oh, no don't tell me that I am crazy: I don't trust the Law!
It's an insult to society or to the ones who wrote it!
Oh, don't tell me that murderous thoughts
don't double-cross me to want to toss those offenders
into the slammer where they really belong!
I should be on that bench and give sentences
without showing sympathy or forgiveness!
One guy who had a bag of weed
was released the next day...
because it was his first offense!
It's foolishness...there were
two minors in that car:
wasn't it the fault of a lenient judge?
Hookers, so-called Ladies of the Night
are more protected than the ordinary citizens,
some wacko sees them as worthless beings
and kills them dumping them in marshes...
I am saddened by such murders,
but they don't lead a clean life!
Oh, don't tell that God doesn't have murderous thoughts like me!
But when some of one of them tap on your window, as you wait
for the red light to turn green, solicits sex for money...wouldn't
anybody have a murderous thought and give them a nasty look?
Oh, don't tell me that sex doesn't sell everywhere!
It's so disgusting to see ads with semi-nude models
advertizing for the big companies: it's the buck, not the morality!
And worse than that some guys watch **** as they drive!
O society so filthy and shameless, you have become so immoral,
putting away the Commandments that Moses God carved with fire!
It's wrong to hate a brother or sister,
and seek revenge with either curses or bad deeds...
slandering is not humane and compassionate;
if he or she did something wrong...show love,
don't have murderous thoughts! The hatred
makes the gun go off quickly and the knife cut very deep!
So goes for your neighbors, love them
as you would love your own and by spreading kindness:
darkness will be replaced by light,
and hate, ignorance and avarice by love!
Written by Andrew Crisci
for Susan Burch's contest,
" Getting Away With Murder/Murderous Thoughts "
The unveiling confusion, infirmity,
the stars align with impunity.
To mock with signs
for seasons maligned in perpetuity.
The whore gives a peep-showing
no integrity, no humility.
The curtain draws open triple x,
Priestess in bold neon, font
sirens of the Media Multiplex
singing, dancing in seductive song.
Stars of staged and screened.
Alien dialect, speaking ambiguity,
all Nightmare at Christmas season long.
Oscars Wilde nativity clip clip scene.
Selling vintage vaults in Lots of salt,
veins of carotid archery,
Taught high strung looking back,
strung along by drafts for the daft;
washed with eros triggering
nostalgicfibromyocardier celebrity endorsery.
In Pyrotechnicolor- Fantasia -feastiality.
**** burns Fairytail obscenity,
for Toddlers, infants and Teens.
Minds in utter solution,
feeding abreast of endoctrinating ***********
matching the strike of keroscene tik tok meme.
Hookers-hooking the onlooking hungry
for Hunger Games
in Running Man, Bloodsport Jeans.
I live in suburban Pittsburg,
but my heart yearns for western climes,
undoubtedly from watching films
that dressed up and romanticized
the sweep of the tall-grass prairie,
desert cactus and red-baked stone,
endless pines in northern forest,
Earth’s tall, Rocky Mountain bones.
Where a man could breath the air,
and hookers had those hearts of gold,
when land was cheap and any one
could be rancher proud and bold.
Maybe all this is illusion,
but there’s value in more then facts,
I’m the Great Suburban Cowboy,
and I’m comfortable with that.
My riding was learned by lessons,
ranching tricks I do not know,
I’m prone to taking trail rides,
I have never thrown a lasso.
There’s a Winchester in my case,
gets me comments down at the range,
tried Deer-hunting with it last fall,
but saw nothing out there but rain.
And I have a big hat and boots,
bull-hide with a walking heel,
occasionally, with a lady,
they have helped me seal the deal.
Went twenty seconds, my record,
on a large, mechanical bull,
I’m a Great Suburban Cowboy,
and I must live my life in full.
Of course there is much more to it
then just dressing up for the part,
there’s a code that goes with it,
makes this more than just a lark.
The honor of the old west lore
shows a man a better way,
it certainly altered my path
from my more thuggish, younger days.
Urban folks will never get me,
and the real cowboys roll their eyes,
but so far no better choice has
revealed itself to my mind.
So the old western classic films,
and the books will line my wall,
better a suburban cowboy,
than never a cowboy at all.
If only I could be five once more
With all the knowledge en wisdoms from distant shores
Oh what a time I would have
At only five, I would be a devilish lad
I would file tax returns just for fun
Only because I have no income
I would say five million I make
What do you think will be your take?
Let em collect from a five year old
The IRS would they be so bold?
Sure they would try, that I know
My name I would say is old Al Gore
I would eat ice cream all day
If mum said stop! Id say no way!!!!
I am only five once in a lifetime they say
So ice-cream is my right!!! For that I will fight!
I would eat cookies as meals
I am only five and not fat at all
I would eat all day and eat all night
Who the hell cares, I’ll be alright
I would fly to Las Vegas
And place bets on number five
I would date cocktail ladies
I show them five is alive
I would change my name
To Alice Cooper
And behead a few chickens
Just to be cool and scare off a few wiccans
I would buy me a bike a boat and a plane
So I could travel like Hefner and act insane
I'd have playboy bunnies, all wrapped in chocolate
Fantasies and dreams, I would swagger and strut
I would drink whiskey with cool aide cause I am only five
Happy hours I would have with hookers in dives
I would have a fake beard, so I appear six
I would listen to rock all night, ending with Styx
Donuts and Pizza, would be my daily fair
Hangovers and Playboy bunnies, why I know you’d all stare
Oh how evil I would be at this tender young age
Smoking cigars and playing the sage
Id rob me a bank for a million dollars
And spend it on Nintendo as I laugh and I holler
No way they would put a five year old in jail
Who cares anyways, you’d know I’d make bail!
Cause I would be only five
I’m a planner.
I’m not sure I’ve mentioned that.
So, Peter and I are discussing a civil union.
We’ve been together for 4 years.
Peter’s already signed the pre-nuptial agreement
lawyers from my trust insisted on - no one,
in France, gets married any more - and there are tax
advantages to bureaucratic pragmatism.
Anyway, I'm making a list - several lists -
truth be known. I’m always making lists.
Civil unions don’t come with an onboarding
checklist - for some reason.
Between you and I, I wonder if I should encourage
Peter to go out with a couple of hookers. Not both
at once - nothing kinky like THAT - one at a time.
That way he can clearly decide if he’ll be happy with
forty or fifty more years of boring, if enthusiastic pokings.
I know what you’re thinking:
1) perhaps I’m trying to domesticate my fear
by over-planning
2) that outsourcing my risk with sexual commerce is,
at best, morally questionable.
3) that professional competition is hardly a randomized trial
4) and no one can resist the inarticulacy of experience
But I think it’s important to make plans in life, that perhaps
human experience can be optimized like a system.
You can’t just let the future.. happen.
So, I broached the idea with Peter last night. His idea was
a couple of wigs, black and red and maybe a nursing uniform?
I’m very good with fake accents.
.
.
A song for this:
How Deep Is Your Love by Bee Gees
How Deep Is Your Love by The Bird and the Bee
.
.
youtu.be/kuslhPuHlmo
There's a flower that looks like a pair of hooker's lips
Strangely, they're called “Hooker's Lips”
Agencies are paid big bucks to come up with these gems
Crazy ideas at their fingertips
Got some brilliant ideas too, give me a call
Just charge a small fee for expenses
Extra if my ideas lead to a million dollar campaign
Then serious negotiation commences
Charge a fortune for these award winning ideas
But for you if you act before 3 A.M.
As well, there's a discount for a quick tussle in the hay
Seems a little off topic, not was my intent
Okay back on track talking about pretty flowers
Another unusual one is an “Escariata”
A Spanish word for scarlet or scarlet fever as well
Not too romantic, sounds a bit like pasta!
Now back to “Hooker's Lips”, gonna put some by my bed
To help me in my reverie each night
The hookers I frequent will be clamouring for me
And my “Rhododendron”, what delight!
Alas ample alliteration available?!
True (terrific) title: Trump's truckling tutored troopers...;
wily word wizard worried,
where world wide web wickedly wends.
Triumphantly tenaciously (try to) trample treacly
traffickers target timid testifiers traducing,
their traitorous tractable toxic troglodyte:
today transition toward
totalitarianism tidily trends.
Quasimoto (querulously) queries, quivers, quakes:
queasiness quotient quarantine quelled qualm;
qua quacking quaffing quota quips:
quicksand quits quagmire quashing:
quintessential quarrelsome;
quintillionth queued questioner.
Numbskull noodles notorious nonsense:
nincompoop netizen nimbly navigates;
nowadays nauseating news necessitates
nameless nervous negativistic nattering nabob;
Nome nomad nudges, numerates,
nurtures... narcolepsy.
Knowledgeable knave; kindhearted
keen, kooky kvetching king kibitzer;
kindles kickass kinskip (kaffeeklatsch);
kneading Keats kinfolk karma.
His highness, herewith hooligan;
helpmate hermit hamstrung Harmit Harms;
humiliating, harried, ho hum humorous hokum;
habitual half hearted hookers happily hollow;
hallelujah!
Exceptional exertion earnest endeavor exercising
especial expending energy excluding essential/
exact entities even everyday eminent eccentric
experienced exhaustion - epilogue.
I’m trying to be respectable by being undetectable,
But my words are indefensible,
It’s regrettable yet incredible,
That I can’t see past the second hand,
This isn’t how my life was planned,
Another junkie for the damned,
Another soul that’s slammed and scammed.
You sit up in your fancy houses,
With your 2.4 and trophy spouses,
While I’m sleeping rough with dogs and louses,
Pimps and hookers cutting ounces.
Your judgement oozes from the street,
It’s stench it drenches sickly sweet,
Condemning me to taste defeat,
At the hands of your sacred elite.
I’ll burn your book and eat your apple,
Sodomise Eve inside your chapel,
Teach the truth while you all grapple,
Amongst yourselves like a desperate rabble.
Because I’m the truth of all your teachings.
I’m the result of a millennial of preachings,
The result of progress here I am,
Look upon your modern man.
For Silent One's - Mamma Poetry Contest
Where is the love, Mamma?
Through broken Louvre blinds, you're ever watching
Rosary beads clicking prayers on repeat mode, uttering
Your plethora of Faith keeps me steadily striving
Though, frustrated when peace will be arriving.
Under cover of the midnight moon, hookers seducing
Shady men with illicit wares aggressively peddling
Of changing our situation, I'm forever idealizing.
Enduring every day's trauma, just surviving.
Seeking direction from above, when is enough enough?
Tell me, Mamma ~ Where is the love?
Collective immorality still existing.
A ticking clock morality meekly resisting
Corruption, greed, and deceit still abounding
This life where goodness seems to be drowning.
A depraved degradation of insanity still insisting,
Death, broken hearts, crime persisting
In the chaos, qualms never ceasing.
lawlessness above the muck and mire rising
At the kerbside, a holy man piously preaching
Should I turn my cheek, still beseeching
Amidst their plundering and their leeching?
NO !!
Enough is Enough ~ Where is the Love?
Beyond-repair abhorrence, I'm escaping.
Fervently, I'm hoping and praying.
Please God, Mamma, be safe while I'm gone
I'll be back for you before long
In the eerie darkness, emotions imploding
Sirens blaring, with the sound of guns exploding
My shallow breath quickening, turning back with throat thickening
All the while, I'm screaming
Where is the love?
Back through this hellhole, I'm rapidly racing
All through the panic, still hoping and praying
Please God, Mamma ~ Be Safe, Be Safe, Be Safe
Neon blue-red lights flickering and flashing.
Through my open front door, I'm madly dashing.
Looming through the haze, I hear them saying.
'Sorry, Miss, yet another random shooting
Your Mamma just got caught in the cross-firing.'
The last thing I hear is my own voice crying.
MAMMA ~ THERE IS NO LOVE! THERE IS NO LOVE!
The clouds are rolling and the rivers are flowing
The birds are singing and the bells are ringing
I have come to this place to unite the human race
But some people have overstepped the boundaries
And have gone past their places and get entwined
in another phase. I have witnessed the sun and the
moon crossing path in the middle of the dark and
the wind mesmerizing and singing a bountiful hymn
One cast plays the tune for the man that is coming
From the moon. You cannot trust the moon walkers
and the sky stalkers who take rocks to the moon
and pour water on ships to prove that there is water
to swim. Why do you want to seize power in an hour?
When I have spent forty years researching rocks and
Water on the moon, you are space copycat and
And a secret conniving rat
There is a solace in the moon that is taking shape
And moving towards the middle of gate,
The big band is playing the New Orleans jazz sound
And the visitors are moving around,
They are walking up down Kitchen Street
And looking for something to eat
They are showing off their cultural clout
And walking around with a nasty frown
I have not seen a parade since I got here
And the dancers and hookers have disappeared
There is nothing to share and the rum is drying up
And the people are running around with much fuss
I can tell that the end is near and the mountains
will soon disappear, victory will be on the run
And we will have the much needed fun
Bad men will get up and run and hand over their
guns, the fussy cussy people will run away
And the music will slowly fade away
The streets will left bare and empty and
Shops will hold on to their misery
The town will shake in the middle of the night
and the wind will blow in full magnitude
And a new energy will flow through the miserable town
I will board the plane and fly away in the middle of the day
I can see the seagulls dancing around on the shores
endorsing the creeps with their long beaks
Busting it up from the ocean floor
The ice is melting and ocean fish is surfacing
Multitudes of then appears from the bottom of the ocean.
Flipping and flopping on the dry land and walking hand in hand
That is the way they meet.