the vampire ball will be held in Salem for a lark
a place where witches don’t like to be after dark
I went anyway, with my cousin Glud
For he loves gruesome stuff, gore and blood
I was dressed in the brightest purple I could find
with homemade black tulle ruffles, the stiffening kind
it was low cut, so my neck could be easily bled
In case a vampire needed to be diligently fed.
I am wearing a garter belt that is satin with a bow
Attached are old world hose, silky ones that flow
My high heeled shoes are painted red on the bottom
The vampire ball is held, of course, predictably in autumn
I am expecting a blood-letting, without benefit of leeches.
I have already had that happen at one of the beaches
a handsome vampire will dive down and take my hand
And lead me through his silver tongue to the promised land.
My cousin Glud has been told to get lost when he arrives.
I expect my handsome prince to come down in fancy dives
He will be wearing a tuxedo that matches my satin dress.
We will be such a great twosome, I’ll have to attend church and confess.
I have been to the depths of hell and fought the devil in his own house.
The fight was physical and mental and lasted for weeks until the losers fell to the floor and surrendered.
With head hung low cut and bruised mentally exhausted the losers left hell and was never seen again.
All I can say is that the losers will now be roaming the world in shame.
AND ME I LOVE MY NEW JOB AND ITS NEVER COLD IN HELL.
she was a diva, loving her necklaces and low-cut blouses
not a church woman, a beach-loving hippie with freckled skin
if she took a liking to you, you became part of her tribe
if not, you would never see her again.
She has had hardships, heartaches, and ounces of doom.
Burdens no one with them, looking for the world’s daisies
Always keep my vans tied
So don't ever say I'm tripping
Not even when I'm falling or diving off the board of depression
I'm bored of always hanging around my own thoughts having conversations with me, myself, and I
I need counseling but can't afford it
Everybody has a dark side
Most are just too dark to admit it
One day I might say goodbye without a warning
Life has become so boring when all you do is lay in bed, so you don't take your own life
Low cut vans and high-top expectations I can't live up to
Questioning myself, is this really you
Questioning myself, what are you going to do
Telling myself you have to choose
Vans always tied but someone must have untied them or tied them together because it's hard to walk toward my destiny
Depression is weighing me down so much I can't feel a thing
Depression weighing me down I'm paralyzed in bed
Falling asleep to the lies
Looking for the truth
Vans always tied
Which ones will you wear today
p.s. you choose...
Dressing Up
David J Walker
Dressed as if the place was packed
Stacked
With men and women dressed from
Racked
Expressions of power and success
Red power tie
Blue blazer
Black oxfords
Black dress
Low cut slow
To the
Silver pearls below
Daring to show
Enough to know
what you are missing
And stilettos if you dare
Draped
And faked
Dressed
But going nowhere
Important
Hiding
Biding time
Siding
With the 401K crowd
Direct deposits
Adding up
While dressing up
Hang a left, clunker rocking
on sprung shocks.
Inside,
narrows taper to booths.
The place is slow-time empty.
The staff talk is griddle speech,
a blow by blow banter,
middle finger smarts mixed with
vowels of regrets.
From the lips of waitresses
the clipped history
of shaky affairs
and dead-loss dudes.
False gods named,
Tod, Ricky, and Wayne
a bruised chatter -
ankle-swelling narrations
that break apart unfulfilled.
Food arrives with a woman,
dimples nap in work-weary cheeks.
Her necklace is ink,
yet it hangs over glancing eyes
as a low-cut caress.
She knows I’ve been listening,
yet continues unabashed
a colloquy with my senses.
reciting by rote a silent
'tip-me-big' love spell.
Neon vodka splashes into plastic cups.
Booze-hounds doze
over imaginary throbbing bikes,
their noses tucked into studded chests.
A thick thighed woman whoops
and cusses for no apparent reason,
adjusts her rocking bar-stool,
squirms while cajoling with a low-cut.
“Give her a long slow screw”,
mumbles a gray bearded angel with a leery wink.
Beside him, edged into oily leather, his wing man
strategizes some hasty unzipping.
Later, hid in the dirty light — he just might
if she waits for him outside by a wall
one leg lifted.
~~~~~~~
FYI
“A long slow comfortable screw against a wall,” is a cocktail:
ice
1 part vodka
1 part sloe gin
1 part Southern Comfort
orange juice, as needed
1 part Galliano.
~~~~~~~~
We are so sorry uncle Albert
we will all miss your crazy Thanksgiving talk.
I am so sorry uncle
I have done nothing all day
but drift away to Never-Never land.
Peter Pan sends his regards,
but sorry to say
Tinkerbell is still mad at you.
You should have restrained your natural impulses
when she, in a low-cut costume,
leaned over that large bird,
but we do understand the temptation.
By the way uncle
your life was a carbuncle
but you cared, and we all defend
your god given right to be dumb.
We will leave an empty space for you
this coming blow-out.
Sorry uncle for this turkey song
I have nothing left to say
and you are dead and gone.
anyway.
Sorry.
~~~~
more than a not to the Beetles here.
Low cut grass was of benefit in the lives of the most
adorable small. birds in my area.
Focused in their pursuit of food went their eyes into
the ground
Before a minute passed on the click a worm was
hanging from it's beak.
It's hard work was rewarded with a meal.
Here they come, the glamor divas with fabulous clothes.
Who will stay the latest is a tossup, none of us knows.
Gemini is wearing a glitzy headdress sprinkled with rhinestones.
Georgia is setting up the slam to awe us with her brilliant poems.
Gemini’s red satin gown is made by Bob Mackie naturally.
Low cut and scintillating it makes a splash on reality TV.
Georgia is throwing out metaphors in a fabulous display.
We are thrilled to feature these Barbies at Christmas Tree Cafe
Red like a ruby glistening in the fire light in the night.
Please Allah do not remove this from my sight.
The light is the only light worth seeing
It is the only light worth feeling.
The only light worth hearing.
Yes this is a dress and it is worn by the one that makes me feel this way.
The dress is low cut in the back to show her back of smooth.
The front is high up with frills.
The front on top has the classic V-cut to show her pale Snow White breasts.
The sleeves are short to show her arms of an angel.
Red gloves made of silk, go to her elbows.
Six inch heels of black, are open-toed.
Nails of emerald green
The red dress is beautiful
A long hot ribbon of black asphalt
as the hot sun beats down upon it
it goes straight as a ruler across the land
with shimmering mirages upon it seen
a glittering form of clean lines
appears coming from far away
without a sound that can be heard
quickly it moves towards me here
a quiet murmur deep dark sound
growing quickly rumbling now
as silver car grows in my sight
hurtling quickly towards me now
sharp square lines of headlights and grill
flowing back raking into rising windshield
smooth hard lines flow unto its tail
planes and lines in glaring light
through the glass I can see
auburn curls and waves flowing long
smooth white skin forming curbs
rising from low-cut white
with thundering roar it flies by
passing wind flutters my clothes
scent of jasmine and roses fill the air
as it flashes going on pass me
going on down ribbon straight
shrinking dwindling fading from sight
roar does dwindle and fades away
as the car disappears from view
I’m ogling fit blokes dressed in leather
They’ll wear it whatever the weather
Phwoarrh these blokes are so butch
I can look but can’t touch -
My hubby keeps me on a tether!
Some biker chicks wear low cut tops
My hubbie’s jaw instantly flops
He stands there and gawps
His eyes on two stalks
I’m glaring, therefore his ardour drops
We have around. 40,000 bikers descend on our little island over the next two weeks for the TT races. Fun fiction poem
5/27/18
In low cut shirts and mini-skirts
she pesters passions through the day,
but my advances she averts
while still continuing her flirts,
she leaves me longing love’s ballet.
But daylight wanes and fades to night,
the thoughts of lustful love turn tender,
and with the bedroom drapes drawn tight
she wryly winks and lowers light,
and gives herself in sweet surrender.
April 8, 2018
Contest: Rhyme Time 2
Sponsor: Laura Loo
As kings and queens spend idle nights
the growing corn keeps popping
old crows sit on the scarecrow’s limbs
to grunt and leave their droppings.
Long days slow turn to endless dark
as peons till the soil
knowing they, just like the crows,
barter sustenance for toil
yet do they dress for work each day
in the hand-me-downs of life
the scarecrow’s lonely, mournful, moan
at least they have a wife.
Fall’s fields low cut, the harvest won
the migrants presence fading
he suffers the impertinence
of kings and queens parading.
©3/22/2018
submitted to – Picture This – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Joseph May
Image 1
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