Long Tawdry Poems
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A little Seduction
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I can pleasure you with many things,
let me show you how
I will do things for you
that will raise your brow.
I have a long wet tongue,
it can reach from side to side
upon entrance of my lips
I will make you feel sublime.
My hands, they are really soft,
I exercise them so
and they can pump without hesitation
my fingers won't let go.
And that's just the interlude,
the pre-face of this act
until I unleash, this wild beast
that you would blush when asked.
Oh yes, it will be a story,
a memory you should store
and when you get the chance, you can advance
and experience it once more.
So let's move on with this tale,
as tawdry, as it seems
but even so, I already know
it will be in your dreams.
I throw your clothes amongst the floor,
and pin you to the bed
with foreplay, underway
what's left to be said.
Now, that there's no distance,
our bodies finally meet
and you give a fine salute
to start this grand retreat.
How my body glistens,
below the lights above
and I offer up a snug, warm place
that fits you like a glove.
How utterly complete I feel,
and I make you feel the same
in your ear, I whisper have no fear
and softly moan your name.
My nails adhere to your flesh,
I dig in nice and deep
as I push and grab your tush
my insides start to beat.
I feel the pounding of your drum,
it beats so fierce and strong
with my mound, so soft and round
I join in to sing along.
Lyric after lyric,
the rhymes begin to flow
through my socket, flys a rocket
to kick off this sexy show.
Don't you worry that's not the end,
but I shall put this poem at rest
if not satisfied, with lust supplied
then send me your request.
In ye old days of yore on Malaga's dreary shore
An untidy castle rimmed by salty moor
Housed a lonely, oft-drunk matador
In briny marsh grazed no sheep, but wild pigs three score
Staggering oft around soggy, muddy estate in boozed, dazed state; prating conquistador
With fitted bed sheet he dodged each, wild, voracious boar
On one fateful eve a rabid boar did his flabby posterior gore
Now ambitions stored, bedded his dreams, salved his sore
'Til one morn, a damsel in distress swooned at his door
Bereft of virility, but saddled with tales of chivalric lore
A hearty tonic the prone maiden he did pore, and spouted tawdry tales galore
Unentranced by availing circumstance, his rambling advances she did ignore
Intoxicated by her lovely essence, her father's residence did implore
Confounded by his incessant inebriating pleas, she fell to the floor
Mistaking her bended knee as fealty to be, he let out a drunken roar
Enraged by his licentious intentions, she yelled, I will not take any more
Mind numbed from numerous droughts, he heard, I am your whore
Giddy, his infertile, limp shaft tried into her sweet mound to bore
But his drooping shaft could not breach her silty core
Frustrated the horny goad reversed positions. riding her till both were saddlesore
Finally breaching the chasm, his spent rod found reeling a chore
But her tapped well gushed and she yelled encore
Now understanding his riding days were over, he cried and swore
His ripening virgin unsatiated bade his pallid pilot her canyon explore
Now contrite, he explained fertile streams no longer from stagnant fount could pore
Giving due penance, purged the dross, and from her steamy vat tore
Forevermore an unfit paramour, jilted matador; who no longer his tainted cape wore
The signs are all around us.
There's something in the air.
Things are gonna happen soon,
Let all Mankind beware.
The winds of change are stirring.
Soon they'll begin to blow,
And what they bring are no surprise,
To Christians in the know.
To those of us who read The Word,
As all good Christians should,
The signs are plan these winds of change,
Will blow nobody good.
The new amendments to our laws,
Are strange and don't make sense.
It seems those we have given power,
Have lost their common sense.
You'd think we'd learn from past mistakes,
And we'd know what to look for;
But we see what we want to see,
So we'll have another encore,
Of all the tawdry politics,
And crime behind the scenes;
Murder, incest, prostitutes,
And theft and broken dreams;
And as our country crumbles,
The devil laughs with glee,
Because we turned our backs on God,
And simply would not see.
Desiccated mice thus far do gnaw shreds of scant regret.
Good and bad love, honey-dew in a salty brew.
In my closet, pockets unpack pockets,
bags billow under closed eyes,
eulogies for the living etched on wet lips and
kitchen towels. Owls turn to cry
their mournful ‘why’s’, more kitchen towels
to mop tear stained flops.
One horror story lives on, much chewed over
by skeletal moths.
Pots of peeled moonlight inhabited creaking lungs,
their beams slowing curdling.
I still store a few pickled smiles for saucy women.
In my book of lies there are half-truths worth more distorting,
fields plowed over far too long,
fallow earth where the dead are uncovered
only to dance again on the graves of the long entrenched.
Those drunken gallimaufry of games left unfinished,
great works that now slack and dodder, sent unfixed
back to the soured whirlpools from which they sprang.
Yet here I am, this spark in a potash of smuts
a mite of light twinkling its merry pip and squeak,
while majestic beings hover
to grab up my rash stash of tawdry self;
and I say:
Yes let them come, and god help these,
my patched and paltry wings.
(“Pandora’s Box”, 2014, original pen and ink and oil)
Pandora’s Box
I don’t know who she was,
What she did or how she did it,
And maybe as the first it was sublime
Or maybe she was just another woman
With the kind of perfect snatch
To launch a thousand ships
On a sea of broken hearts,
But Pandora certainly left her mark, even today,
A stain across the whole of the Western world
The syphilization we’re all now born into and with
The miasm of her primordial STD
At our culture’s core.
And so it flows,
A not so mythic etheric ooze
Tainting hearts and minds
Of old and young alike,
Making the age of innocence
An ever more fleeting thing
Turning daydreams into nightmares
Corrupting youth upon their backs
In sagging decrepit elder’s sacks.
Ah, but there was a time
When the light shone bright and clear
And children laughed
Without a care
Before Father Time had his way
With Mother Earth
And the world turned
Into one long tawdry daytime soap,
With coked up stars
Too self-obsessed to even know or care
To what degree the schlock they sold
Was even worth the dime they’d all just shared.
Lost like this, removed from their roots
The players played
At the same old game
With the same old lines
Recalling Pandora only in their deepest dream
When from within the stench
The faint fresh breath of morning dew
Touched their petals fair
And in that moment glimpsed,
The soft perspicuous light
Before the dawn did shine
On Pandora at our core, demure and sweet,
Before her box
Was ever known
To any but her own.
And so it goes
In cycles great and small
The mind enthralled by all that can
And could ever be,
Returns unto the source
To sit and smile and rest awhile
With Pandora before she even knew the name
Let alone the power she possessed
And all it would unfold
Back before she was a she
When Pan was all we knew
Of love and life, in dance and play
Just simply being free.
(7/19/25)
So, very much like the velvet softness of poetry.
It doesn't bang like a drum in your ear.
Nor is it the sound of raucous laughter in a cheap, bawdy, theatre.
Big words that provide nothing but confusion?
Do you expect poets from huge dictionaries to get contusions?
Poetry is anything but tap dancing in garish poet costumes
on the poetry stage.
Some are poets genuine, not poet impostors.
Anyone can follow a form, let's face it and claim to be a poet, how
poorly they fake it,
The true poet has a heart and loud drums and a chortling crowd
cannot erase it.
Being cheap and tawdry,is not a poet's fare.
He or she has a handle on life's heartbeat which they handle with
The tender sound of a windchime's gentle sound and share.
10/18/2020
Opus# 3
On the island of friendship,
Luscious fruits and fragrant flowers grow.
Enemies, we hope, are not allowed.
Yet viciuosness sneaks in, so tawdry and shallow.
Be very careful of those you trust,
Any friendship.,may be most hollow!
With anyone, there is no guarantee,
That one day, they will turn their back on thee!
Especially, is this true online.
Where we believe all is a giant truth-zine?
Don’t be so naive with your good heart!
Some might harm you, with their words as poison darts.
No way in person would anyone be so obnoxious!!
But online~ some of us know the vebiage is vicious and toxic.
After twenty five years, being on-line.
The meaness has not toned down but is more crude and unrefined.
No wonder their hateful words are accepted as true!
Using “so called” fact-finders spinning political, hateful stew.
Humility seems to have totally disappeared.
Replaced by lies and innuendos.
Lord, help us to forgive but never forget,human feelings are not to forfeit.
Pray your Guardian Angel keep you from online harm.
Away from the mean of heart, smiling, who fly about in
large swarms.
9/8/2022
~2~
American soldiers have given their lives
in war after war after war after war
Be they in the Army, in the Navy
in the Air Force or the Marine Corps
For four constitutional freedoms
they made the ultimate sacrifice
Freedom of Speech, of the Press
Freedom of Religion, of Assembly
the right to petition and redress
Rightly do we honor the fallen heroes
who've nobly defended our country's ideals
But it is on us who remain to preserve what we've cherished
not to forgo them in tawdry backroom deals
Yet it seems that is just what we've done for the past 60 years
What began as 'cultural revolution' has morphed into fascism and fear
Can we this Memorial Day recall and restore our vaunted freedoms
ere they vanish in dusky corridors of abandoned museums?
'Tis a twisted, tawdry tale !!
Poor Tom the Turkey is in a tizzy !!!
Tom's tongue is in a tangle, too terrified to talk !
Taunts and threats taking a toll
Tormented by a tip from tattle-tale townfolk
That Tom's in trouble! Tom's time is ticking !!
Tom the Turkey so terribly tramautized !!
Trapped in terror....
Teary Tom is taking tranquilizers,
Tablespoons of tonics....
Trying to tame the tension and trepidation !
Tiptoeing through tall timber...
Trapezing through treetops !
Tongue-tied and tearfully trembling..
Taking tactics, trying not to tempt...
Those tyranical terriorists who torture and
Trace Tom's tracks...
Tom the turkey in a tailspin
Told he's targeted for termination !!...
Tagged to be Thanksgiving treats and tidbits...
A tasty trophy topping Thanksgiving tables !!
This tale, this traversty, truely terrible !!
TRAGIC !!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! P
!!!!!!!!!!! L
!!!! E
^^ H
0 <<<
xx xx
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Revised for Donna Golden's "Turkey Tribute Contest
The Assassin:
What steel makes death but a prick
How sharp the blade to not shimmer red
Upon my dagger thy life runneth quick
To mingle in the river of the dead
A tawdry life, a bitter'd wife
An scant a copper more
How could a woman like me
Ignore her plea
To be the death of you
And your whore
But nigh is the time to make sense of the rhyme
A woman’s wrath is no soft poet
I’ve cleaned my blade in the bed they’ve made
And will be gone before the guards know it
The Wife:
The deed is done and in the light of the sun
I am haunted by both their shadows
Remembering the glee when he first loved me
As we roll in blossomed meadows
As for her, I cannot hate anymore
For all she had was her beauty
No husband, no Man, no future plan
No sense of wifely duty
She was more alone than I had grown
And longed for a gentle man
To not be the slander of men of ill manner
And but a queen upon her throne
To be seen for her heart and not as town tart
And in my coolness if I was not so mean
Maybe their flame never kindle and start
Maybe I could have foreseen
But I sit at his grave and recall a time
Where we loved each other and life
Now I will never forget my crime
Of being a spiteful wife