Long Primps Poems

The former blond model pouts and primps
Swinging her hips
Down the splashing catwalk of shoreline
Sand caving to her imagined heels

Wheeling to her awaiting Israeli mogul
Her shoulders set so far back
It’s as if she’s walking backwards

Puts herself...

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Everyone tells her she's beautiful,
Smart, kind and funny
She hears these words all the time
Like a silent killer with no soul
No value, no power, only empty words
That society has carved and recreated
For their own purpose
The creator...

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The night sky’s lovers
Emerge in their millions 
To pay homage to their beloved

Infatuated stargazers
Souls ignited by a phantom flame,
Mooning at their mistress
With cats eyes
Through rose tinted glass pipes

Down milky paths
And sunset boulevards they stroll
Peeping through...

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upon hard grey streets of asphalt I drive
through morn’s muted orange glow 
white headlights shine, red brake lights blink in time
with changing signals red, yellow, green
disoriented city visitors a hindrance to the flow
why at seven...

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The little old lady puts on her gloves and her hat, 
walks out to her garden, with her little black cat. 
She speaks to the plants as though they could hear, 
the cat just stares...

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He speaks with charisma and style
He portrays a commendable role
His words seek to charm and beguile
But who should we really control?

His words lift the beat of our hearts
We listen with passions on fire,
He taps into...

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He primps that dome like it’s his crown,
A shiny orb, the talk of town.
Shaves that bowling ball twice a day,
No rogue hairs dare to stay.

Refined olive oil, scentless, slick—
His scalp’s own secret, glossy trick.
Then Axe...

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Whereas and wherefore hence and hereafter
An idle balloon sits high in the rafters
It’s hard to decide which one is dafter
The one who just bought it or the “arts” crafter

the media just primps and prunes
while she...

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Winter
wound itself a bit too tightly
around the thaw
shouting down
the aria of Spring,
howling through
the hasty sunshine,
ruffling the feathers
of instincts transients.
And yet we wait
hunkered down
in crisp grasses,
bobbing on wind whipped
ponds,
perched upon
the warmth of rooftops,
patiently anticipating
the Jonquil’s joyous...

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Love’s passionate angel plucks romance’s harp,
studies scrupulously, keeps arrows sharp,

covers strawberries with chocolate silk,
searches for sensations - creamy as milk.

Cupid primps rose cups, paints valentine red.
He ensures, each long stem dozen’s, pure bred.

Then he searches...

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