Long Trashy Poems
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Kim (one of my BFF) brightened with inspiration, “Oooo! Send him a sexy pic!”
“I’m NOT going to sext a guy out of the BLUE,” I grumbled, indignantly.
Kim turned to her phone, “No, No, of COURSE not.” She said as she texted.
“Come on” she said, as she pulled me off my chair and out the door. We raced over, on foot, to my friend Bili’s house (two houses away). We entered without knocking (as usual) and ran upstairs.
Bili lay on her stomach on her unmade bed, fiddling with her phone, ankles up and crossed but she twisted up to attention when we came in.
“What should we do first?” She said, as if there were a million things to do.
They set upon me and had my regular clothes off in a heartbeat. Like all makeovers, this had a prelapsarian purity - the ritual stripping down to blankness before rebuilding.
They quickly went through about half of Bili’s closet - selecting just the right combination of trashy and classy clothes designed to seduce.
They finally settled on a black slip under an ivory peignoir, stockings with garters and black strappy heels.
Kim twisted my hair up into a loose “Gibson Girl.”
“Hold still,” Bili said, as she grasped my chin and expertly blended red, gold and black glittery eyeshadows followed by lip liner and gloss. “This is just a quickie job,” she reminded me.
I stared at this strange version of myself in the vanity.
Kim frowned and looking around, she spread a pink scarf over the desk light to give the room a rosy glow. They went into studio mode - posing me in various ways from coquettish to bored lounging - suggesting expressions and taking endless pictures with my phone.
Finally, they were satisfied and handed me my phone.
“Shall we go through them?” Bili asked
“Naah,” I said, “I’ll go through ‘em and pick one - or two.”
Later, at home, I looked through them - I looked SO different - and I had to admit - sexy even. But was that ME? I cringed, what if my mom saw these trashy, Kardashian-like photos somewhere?
I never sent them. I thought I’d have to explain it to my girls.
“HA!” They laughed, “We KNEW you’d never use ‘em” Bili said, as Kim shook her head “Nope.”
“It was fun though!” We all agreed.
.
.
.
NOTE: This is a pre-pandemic story from August 2019. I was 15 - the idea wasn’t to seduce this guy, it was to get his interest so he would ask me out . =]
She was a tiny angel of a woman
mindlessly moving, in a chemical faze
her heart baracaded, tormented
from her long, lonely days
while dancing on the edge of a pin.
Dreaming images with her feet, twirling
oblivious on a pole,
trying to live a shoddy role
stripped of dignity, ripped of grace
imposed upon her lifeless soul
Her teardrops falling, slowly slipping,
silently dripping, leaving behind
their clear, salty trace
as they slide down her cheeks,
like icy blue, watery veins
on her tear, stained face
She dances mindlessly
from one seedy cloud to another
in faded memories blurred by her past
Through hazy, watery depths she bleeds
tying to quench a thirst so deep
in her hemorrhaged, sedated heart,
so worn, so torn,
by her dreams that did not last
As she slides down the pole~
she floats in a hazy, igneous swirl
of aqueous diluted anesthesia.
Demons eat and devour through
her darkened descent of amnesia
Painful depths that turn and twist
in her hazy, muddled reality
of unspeakable memories
that cannot exist,
lest they drive her deeper....
to a shattered demise
Her childhood dreams
stripped cruelly of their parts,
allowing her mind to wander
in an unconscious state of grace
from hungry teeth marks
left on her innocent, delicate skin
Cheap neon lights bathed
the trashy, shoddy floors
that smell of stale cigarettes
and booze in seedy, darkened bars
Dangerous, dingy, low rent neighborhoods,
leased by lurking, slovenly men
who try and grope her every move.
She sits on a bar stool
sipping amber, colored water
from a dirty, shot glass
waiting for drunk, greasy men
to approach, handing her
their rumpled, grimy cash.
Two dollars a dance~
to the tune of one weary, old song.
Or ten dollars an hour
to some bleary eyed man
for an endless moment
she'll dutifully belong.
Shadowy features, biting at her heels
Unnamed creatures
gripping, ripping her heart
into clawed, broken shreds of steel
from many wounds that cannot heal
One sad morning,
the headlines of the daily news
printed one more obituary
of a life badly abused.
Her parents were sent
a note from the club
that said:
"Your daughter used to work here,
will you please stop by....
and pick up her clothes and shoes?"
"Beyond lychgate lies future death" she says,
cucumbered eyes slid back under cauliflower sky,
brimming smithereens of harkening demons.
Been in saddle some time since torchlight began,
a child's silent castle ago. Chaos-times cut alleyways
through rose-lettered circles, reads trashy maid.
The journey fell sword north along shield path.
Peninsula late to temple-crawling fiend
and settle princess patter dust. Like trick glass
the moon palace emanates, a chain works
its crystal door. A shore of bane swims world-sick
with fire-wing ticks abreast, dragon-headed air:
happens to be, as the world burns...
Spring chickens looked at first
grasshopper leaves, blossoms.
Empty saddles of burnt Autumns
sit with moccasin thirst.
One ruby night ago, vampire night,
made movie set by tail light.
Wrench of fog came loose and fell.
Eye of moon too close, well...
Winged skeletal open sheet,
sanguine collar of his neat.
Began by serving up the meat.
Legs he tossed, and arms and feet.
A rise and shine ago, luster of sight,
out of scene the farmer goes.
Steel machine cranks horizon bright.
Scroll up the title i suppose.
Barn stall features dingy leather
where lasting gleam slips by candle.
Recall adventure, mural by weather.
Motion eye attached to handle.
Scoot across encrusted bucket,
folded over the eating depth.
Put filthy Kraken atop it,
swished around the damn mess.
Brave journal follows company
down the water-taped steps
to where there isn't any.
Sealed flame lights diver's quest.
A cave away, keys of hassle,
swim to shore with hopes unravel.
Brute force thunders far within.
Exact the sword to have them send.
Enter bar stool and order takeout.
Hostess charm enhanced the make out.
Her fuel adds flames to very fabric.
Her fists were fiery, action: magic.
Out of dust broom closet knelt good
ole nuke we ended up sneaking places:
peaceful village of the caring hood,
small reaches, to parking spaces.
Twisted hair in castle braids,
scoundrel bristles painting raids.
Countdown pistol official use,
punching bag for ogre face.
Confessions of a Swirly Straw
The Swirly Straw said to the Clear Cola
“I don’t mean to pry
but I’m tired of getting double teamed
Like some harlot in a trashy movie
If I wanted so many ménage a trios’
I would have wished to be a **** star
Or possibly a prostitute
And even if I were born Jenna Jameson, Francesca Le, or Kobe Tai
I would have chosen a different occupation
Yes, it’s true I was Cleopatra in a past life
And perhaps I was the infamous Jezebel also
And perhaps I enjoy the physical act of sex
A little too much
But there is something very unsettling
about my top being tongued and sucked on
while a river of sticky sweet liquid
Is shot up my bottom
twisting and turning
through my body like a shivering ******
And besides your effervescing bubbles
are tickling me in all the wrong spots
So the next time
this anonymous person puts his lips to me
make yourself scarce and get out of my way
or mark my words
you’ll pay
energy has a funny way
of coming back to you
and reimbursing the guilty
for all the things they do.”
Confessions of Clear Cola
The Clear Cola said to the Swirly Straw
“My love I know you don’t recognize me
We sometimes don’t identify everything we see
But we keep on meeting again and again
Why just last year, I was the ink and you the pen
I flow through your veins like a fish in the sea
Do you remember my love? It is I Antony
In each life we meet, and I swim inside you
Sometimes I am blood, once I was the drink Yoo-hoo
And another thing
I’m pretty sure of is
That anonymous person putting his lips to you
is Caesar from Rome
In most lifetimes he comes to devour me
Like a rabid dog with his mouth filled with foam
He is my nemesis,
My demise,
The reason I die
But one of these lives
He is going to get, an Eye for an Eye
I’ve waited thousands of years,
And if I have to,
I’ll wait more
For just one chance
To settle the score
Et tu Caesar?
Well I can’t rightly say
But I promise you Caesar
You’ll rue the day.”
By: Joseph DeMarco
Yes, folks, it's happened again; the trash compactor backed up and spewed out
all the following nonsense;
How come you only hear the term "scutch" in a hospital? "Come on scutch on
over to the gurney.' And that word, gurney, sounds like a 12 year old baseball
player.
I don't get no respect!! Even the devil is trying to exorcize me from my home!
And my mailman, he knows about my financial problems, he just tosses my bills
in the trash, with a jolly smirk. I wanted to go to the Army to go to Irag- they said,
yeah, sure, and they paid my fare to Osama Bin Laden's Camp!
For Valentines' Day I get Sympathy cards!! I cook hot meals for my dog, but he
won't eat them, after he sees how sick I get from them.
I love thunder and lightning- everyone tells me If I get struck, it'll be my closest
experience to being alive.
I told my girlfriend, the ex-bride of Frankenfuter, that I ordered an organ. She said,
"Good"- she's tired of feeling like a nun. Then she asked me to teach it to her
brother!!
This is true, and truely embarassing; no one ever told me how to put on a
prophelactic- I unrolled it first. The torture was so bad I gave up sex for ten years.
(And unfortunately, my potential partners extented that for another ten!)
How come VCRs only work at 12:00?
Every Ambulance I take, the drivers make me pull it! And they want me to carry
them on the stretcher. Then there is that "Bath Fitter" commercial, it might be just
local, I don't know...These guys put new plastic facings over tubs, shower walls,
etc. But, what I don't seem to understand, this woman, homemaker, comments
that she's so pleased, whenever she has company, or any visitors, the first thing
she always does, and seemingly, ever did, upon their arrival, was to take them to
her bathroom for a tour.....Am I missing something here? I sure ain't gonna' visit
HER!!! She ought to be examined....
I always thought a parody was a talking bird with marginal school grades.
And so we end for the night, sleep tight....
Castrated duck ran amok at a goose show yesterday. Then sat in a car. Blacked out to the par. An even score is a self wondering sacrifice. But no self sacrificing prawn could ever really be a pawn in a large plate of game players. It is the dome arch that is mediocre and meticulous but not accurate print of information is not a legality nor a truth but merely akin to an elbow shove at a rock concert. But several pin pricks ingested is an infiltration of infested ignorant injury ink. And wild is the doormat when the door is ajar so don't leave an engine running in a wind nor a slight breeze for the problem is that it might just run away. Thus leaving a laughing long legged tuba beetle to sit alone cross legged in a tent. Dormant is the format and a mat chuckles alongside a main road. Take no pistol whipping shark to a seaside town for it might fancy eating some pies, chips, donuts. And it may also like to visit the fair. But thus is all very well if one has money. But otherwise the expensive tastes of shark will ensure that you yourself have no monetary means to feed your family or yourself whilst the shark is flambéing a chocolate champagne pudding. Then huffing and puffing into a suit. Not glamorous is it? Talking trashy speeches spitting acronym after acronym. With no hymn. A fattening glue like substance wheeling it's way across the plains like a radioactive decay. So watch out when on a bike made from amber rods. Speedily scratching seeds stupidly selfish shape. And the disco duck does a very nice wobbling dance. Hahahaha chop chop chop. Hahaha framework frozen. Hahaha daw po po po ma k pas je la la la. And now have 234 beef jerky's, a crystalized cake, a big slice of jelly and a little spoon filled with wine. £ = $$$ and a slip slide on snow shoes is a slideshow. Clap. Wow. Well done. Amazing. Xxxxx insectivorous institutionalised interesting ignoramuses. And a portly painting of a round minstrel. Xxxxx dilapidation z this is the p y q reporting live from 89. 0 on a moonlit beach in the sun. Xx z.
Form:
Leave My Feet In Poetry Now Firmly Planted
I tried, compose a revelation poem about truth
Did that in earnest, in my wild but honest youth
But with mind fighting a stone wall nothing came forth
it was as if I fought as South against the North.
My brain had shifted into a deep murky haze
I was prisoner chained by a dark-cast craze
Each dawn I rose against a grey, terrible front
All my verses came out silly or rudely blunt
Aggravating, torturous to the nth degree
I gave it a go, took a vacation to flee
Not a damn clever thing I tried seemed to work
I ended up thinking am I fool and a jerk
Failed, threw my hands up and said, to hell with it
I cried out, had me a bad uncontrollable fit
I took a short vacation to a white sand beach
Seeking again, to my ran away muse to reach
As the ocean waves into my soul did soft splash
I ran around shopping spending loads of green-cash
Soon I forgot about all by having good fun
Rose each new dawn saluting the rising gold sun
Eight days, my time was spent exploring deeper life
Soon gone was any shred of hardship or dire strife
That morn, I rose seeing sun's sweeter golden rays
I discovered a much truer life in newer ways
That very night I sat down with pen in my hand
Out like magic beautiful words about this land
And then in another poem sweet love of true youth
Verses and verses slung about love and bold truth
Then it hit me thus, my angel muse had return
No more trashy stale words would I have to now burn
My muse told me she left to a hard lesson teach
She came back not because of words I did beseech
She came back when I had forgotten to her so love
So she left me to deal with dark world's push and shove.
That cool night, I wrote a superb poem on true love.
And if I were writing hand, muse is my dear glove.
Swearing never again, to my muse take for granted
I leave feet in poetry, now firmly planted.
Robert J. Lindley, Rhyme
Last edited by Tyr-Ziu Saxnot; Today at 10:14 AM.
$hawty Got $wag
Shawty got swag,
Shawty mad dope.
Face all cheesin’,
She real turned up.
Goin’ to da club,
She steppin' wit her peeps,
Lookin’ so ratchet,
She’s straight up hoochie.
No racks in her pocket,
No stacks in her wallet,
But she all into bubbly
Slurpin’ and burpin’.
Lookin for a big baller,
Who’ll give her wat she wants,
Wildin’ on the dance floor,
Tweakin’ an’ freakin’,
Shawty actin' so cra cra!
She just like da rest a dem,
But Shawty real fly,
Sure likes a lotta ice,
Bling bling, and Benjamins.
Shawty creepin’ to hook up
Coz she needs a boo wit finesse,
Who’ll give her Yves St. Laurent,
5-star hotels, and 5-star restaurants.
Shawty off the chain,
Shawty off the hook,
She got game and she’s aight!
Shawty da bomb - fuh real!!!
08-18-2014
Contest: Ebonics – Let’s Do Some Slang
Sponsor: Verlena S. Walker
Placement: 1st
Some Terms and Definitions:
shawty – a young attractive female; dope – cool, nice, awesome; swag – style;
turn up – excited; mad – really a lot; peeps – friends, close pals; baller – a
thug that made it in the big time; racks/stacks– lots of money; aight – alright;
wildin’– to go crazy, acting out of control; cra cra – crazy; tweakin’/freakin’ –
dancing provocatively and moving around out of control; cheesin’ – smiling;
finesse – man who has swag and can spend a huge amount of money; ratchet
– ghetto diva; creepin’ – sneaking about; bubbly – champagne; bling bling –
expensive flashy jewelry; Benjamins – hundred dollar bills; boo – one’s lover;
da bomb – the best of the best; game – skills; ice – expensive flashy jewelry
usually diamonds or jewelry with diamonds; off the chain/off the hook –
excellent, fantastic, awesome; fly – cool, in style; hook up – getting together
with someone romantically; hoochie – a female who dresses trashy; straight up
– absolutely, really.
NO FEAR OF JAMAICAN JAY TOWNSEND JOHNSON HENRY MARTH BREA WITCH OR THE MINUIONS PLOTTING TO MURDER ME FOR MY GRANDFATHERS HIGH HEIRARCHY IN ROME OR MY AMERICAN POETRY OR MY VIETNAM POW DISABLED HUSBAND I WILL NEVER EVER FEAR YOUR CORRUPT ABUSE OF POWER TERRORISTS THREATS IN AMERICA BACK OFF JAMAICAN SKANK YOU KILLED RASTA ANDREW MY STEP SON NAVANTE FREDLOCKS LEADING TO BLAKE BEING SHOT SEVEN TIMES IN HIS BACK WHILE SITTING IN A CAR WITH HIS THREE KIDS I KNOW ABOUT YOUR BRUTALITY EXCESSIVE FORCE BADGERING BULLYING NOW CONNECTED TO JAN 6TH ATTACK ON WASHINGTON DC ITS CLEAR YOU ARE DOMESTIC TERRORISTS ABUSING YOUR POWER 222 MY FIRST RESPONDERS FROM LAKELAND FLORIDA OH NANCY OH NANCY ORGANIZED CRIME AND CORRUPTION WHITE ELEPHANT SALE BUY SELL TRADE FLORIDA POLITICAL FROM WISCONSIN I ALSO WORKED WITH THE GANG TASKFORCE THIS ENRAGED THE GANG MEMBERS EXPOSED WITH NY BEING AN FBI INFORMANT I AM UNAFRAID OF TERRORIST THREATS FROM GANG MEMBERS FROM CATRINA BELL MCKISSICK MY FATAL ATTRACTION STALKER JAY TOWNSEND JOHNSON HENRY PERPUTRATING IDENTITY UPON ME SEVERE INTIMADATION DATA BREACH OBSESSED WITH NY AMERICAN POETRY JAY TOWNSEND JOHNSON HENRY CIMPLETE SCUM OF THE EARTH JAMAICAN DEALERS STRIPPERS FROM TAMPA IMPERSONATING ME THIS IS THE MOST EXTREME IDENTITY FRAUD SHE ARRIVED WITH AN ASSASIN TO END MY LIFE I SURVIVED SHE GREW BITTER SLEEPING WITH MY HUSBAND THREATENED MY LIFE YOU FLED TO MILWAUKEE HIS HOME TOWN CASHING CHECKS ON BEHALF OF MY TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY FROM ALLSTATE INSURANCE COMPANY JAY TOWNSEND JOHNSON HENRY GREW ANGRY AND BEGAN STALKING IN FLORIDA BREAKING IN MY HOME THREATENING MY DISABLED HUSBANDS LIFE AS WELL THIS VOODOO SKANK FROM MARTHA BRAE RIVIER IN JAMAICA I WILL NEVER FEAR THIS TRASHY SKANK I FEEL SORRY THST SHE DON'T HAVE A LIFE UNLESS SHE IMPERSONATE ME SHE'S SCUM PARASITE CANKER SORE SEEPING PUS SORRY JAY TOWNSEND JOHNSON HENRY YOU WILL NEVER EVER STEAL MY LIFE HENCE MY DEATH I AM AMERICAN
A Bullet For Darling Daughter's Mother
I should of listened to my gut feeling from what my eyes told me about you. From what I saw you looked like, the cheap disposable type. A trashy kind of woman that my home town is full of. And we call them varied slanderous names.
You knocked on our door. I know your plan was well thought out. And it succeeded. Just as it had a dozen times with a dozen people before. My wife let you in and you sat there on the settee, hiding your lit *** behind you.
I hate smoking and should have told you to put it out. You asked my wife to borrow a 1000. She didn't answer but I did. I lent a grand to you in good faith. Totally misplaced of course. I was hoodwinked by you, the *****.
You said you'd bring the 1000 at weekend. You never did. I saw thru your rancid lies. Your darling daughter lived next door. I got my wife to tell her of your borrow, to shame you. Darling daughter promised to pay your debt; she never did.
You're no better than a disease infested mosquito. Leaving your infection on all you cross. Even a prostitute is better than you; she provides a paid service. You ask, beg, borrow and never pay back. And die? The list is long, don't you think?
Guess it runs in your family. Not to be trusted. You did call round to our house and apologise but it was false. I never got my grand back. And my wife went to your house several times with no result. Your birdcage of lies. Trapping you.
A lesson here. Don't lend anyone you don't know any cash. Oh they'll tell you many a sob story: my baby is eating weeds, my rent needs paying, etc etc. You really need the cash for booze and fags. No less, no more. What no drugs?
So do me a favour and endure the karma I send back to you three times. Let justice be done against you and all of your type: The bitches, liars, slags, whores, alkies, druggies, illegals, criminals and more. This poem is for you. Enjoy!