Grey, hairy, beady eyes,
Scuttling away, spinning,
Webs of perversion,
Sticky tendrils wrapped,
Around my walls,
Breaching boundaries,
Like Halloween romp,
Long held fears,
Diverse, scary feelers,
Sqirting surface spray,
Their mandibles merge,
Guess we're all human,
But loathe spiders and pimps.....
It was from a small town that he came
In fact so small I can’t even remember its name
His mother and father were just regular folks
His younger brother he loved the most.
He had a talent with the guitar
Lots of people said that he’d go far
So he packed up his car and drove for three days
For the first few months he didn’t make much pay.
He went to New York to make it big
Playing for 8 people’s not much of a gig
In a big city so far from home
Surrounded by people but you’re always alone.
The dealers and pimps can pick fresh meat
You don’t even need to get up off your seat
At any time of the night or day
They’ll help you keep the pain at bay.
Then one night it all came to an end
With a little help from his drug dealer friend
He scored something cut with nitazene
And so ended his New York dream.
Rustic hints of shambolic yet magic shacks
Glints of silky footprint frolic tints the tracks
Mussel sacks demonic crab claw tussle cracks
No skinflint skimps sprinkles winkles & shrimps
Cockles twinkle the bucolic prawns the pimps
Shiny oysters briny gangster & milky prankster
Iconic lobster the mobster swish shellfish stacks
(Although to be fair for the heir of fancy flair fayre
The French care so much oui they say Fruit De Mer)
“Our World”
by Positive Mark
As we all seek a world to be contained in, our peek-out is the news. For those of you less beautiful, I gift fried chicken and the blues.
Horns with a muted bellow for every dead fellow who never made it out. Tight dresses for baby’s mommas, so those bodies leave no doubt.
Pitches peak on slammaday and slumday, then dive by Monday.
Jazz strained by too much salt. It’s food called soul. It ain’t our fault.
I’ve had no chill since Emmit Till.
Percussion is dulled by a pocket of pills. Contained in a world where we’re killed.
Gorilla pimps and ‘rillo scents, when will our world be healed?
The cold pavement is hostage to anguish and blues
filled with dealers, pimps, and guys like Louie the Bum
who hustles dimes and quarters from drivers
hoping the traffic light stays green
so they can pass beyond the railroad trestle
that crosses above the road
It separates the depth of their fears
from desperate people
who languish in an atmosphere of miserable, gloomy grief
with empty eyes focused on nothing
but days and nights in a sideshow dressed as confusion
Where they wander the cracked sidewalks
lined with bars and empty buildings, soaked in broken glass
where scattered garbage is blown around like tumbleweeds
crossing the pavement of the damned, who linger on the edge of life
hanging onto each breath of lament
searching for something without a description
weighed down by their decomposing soul
that begins to peel away their last vestige of humanity
leaving nothing but ground-up up fragile memories
of what could have been
Night undresses the city
her warts and gaping wounds
the stench of her river of stale urine…
Swollen feet wrapped
in rags of sweat and onion
pretending to make a living
in the cathedral of no communion
of pimps and whores who prowl
the very streets where
slick suits of daylight
whored just hours before
of alleycats and strays
who dare not yowl
or claw
by light of day …
Darkness, too, innocent love sequesters
~ one back-alley stairway up
from child molesters
Written By: D. Collins 12/25/24
Adam's equivalent came a long time before Eve.
Born not from a rib, but from dirt and seed.
God gave her the right to be the first one.
To expose her religion and what it's done.
They wrote her out of the Bible way, back when.
Filling in the truth, dominated by men.
She reminds me of Granny, upfront and outright.
Where nothing's going down without a serious fight.
Through Popes and Pimps, Lilith no longer exists.
But she's the kind of woman I'd teach my kids.
She wouldn't bow down to any threat from man.
Read the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament.
I courted a girl
Who turned out to be a whore.
She was hairy and had black eyes
What the pimps say
What does beauty mean
Well:
-Hairy woman with black eyes
Awesome woman.
She took me to an apartment
In Plaza Tirso de Molina
In Madrid capital.
She mounted me
I mounted her without a condom
And, a few days later, she told me:
-She was pregnant
Because I did it well.
Upset
And with no desire to be a father
I went to Casa de Campo
To go around four times
To ask the whores
Who traffic there
If they knew her
Because, maybe
That child conceived was not mine
But someone else's.
I told her it
And she got very angry with me.
She told me:
-You will be the father.
Wait for the child to come out
And you will see.
I told my mother it
Who was rambling
Almost finishing
And she answered me:
-Son, to what's done chest.
Don't be upset that you fell in love
With a whore.
All women are whores.
True whores are made
To enlighten men
And virgin and holy whores
To walk around in the dark.
Disney has transformed,
now it is a zombie cartoon
for underachievers.
The art of being artful is the thing now.
Some propagandize, many would sell
your thoughts to slave traders.
A reasonable madness still masks
ulterior motives.
Micky the Mouse pimps out
tickets to the saddest place,
while it paints a childish face
happy.
The upside down nature
of a destitute culture
is a rush of blood to the head,
a mind laboratory
where gender is delivered
to a broken womb.
Under the cover of daylight, beneath the mill
and hustle of teaming crowds; a need
and a life-grinding poverty
swept her down a wrong way.
She strayed into streets so narrow
entered them as a shadow-less shadow
stayed where rank rooms were rent by the hour
where tussled bedsheets her only ownership.
A small child might have slipped past
the ranks of pot-bellied loungers,
but the pimps were as thin as switch blades
and their eyes scavenged
for any walking flesh.
No one kidnapped her; abused her much,
she was taken by her own weakened self,
nabbed by an ever willing surrender.
Did she come to a dark end?
Only the flickering city lights
at the end of a day
can both ask and answer
that long searched for question.
If leaders still led nations
The way they did in the past
Would there be so many wars
And how long would they last?
If the weasels now in power
Had to stand up at the front
To risk their own lives would
They be so ready to confront
I wonder
When did we allow cowards
To command from the rear
With very little chance of
Danger coming anywhere near.
Isn’t it time the soldier said
I’ll be there on the front line
So long as, Mr Politician you
Stand in the place next to mine.
I wonder
If the politicians were sent
Off To fight their own war
Would they be so keen to
Invade and fight anymore.
Or would they decide it was
Time for diplomacy instead
If there was a slight chance
They too could end up dead.
Leaders in the past
Fought their own cause
Leaders in the past
Fought their own wars
Not like those of nowadays ,
Maggots, pimps, moral whores
Who rake in the profits as they
Send others to fight their wars.
A homeless woman squatted on the pavement
Empty bottle of mineral water by her side.
It was a hot summer noon …the stench
Of poverty makes me ashamed as I ride,
The swanky metro. Brooding… get off at my station,
Impatiently, walk as the street urchins extend hands to beg,
For money, for food; wonder should I buy rations
With dismay, saw one was hopping, had only one leg.
Anger welled up against the mafia that maims these kids,
And trains them in art of begging, recognise the victims.
The so called slum dogs, with resignation and grit
Grow into petty thieves or whores, at the mercy of pimps.
The dance of Democracy reaches a crescendo.
Candidates come with promises and folded hands.
Smouldering eyes, one asked with bravado,
How come in the name of growth we see a helipad?
Young nation, been six decades, since independent,
Learnt, after Kosi floods, kids sold for pennies by parents.
Common man’s plight worse than that of pigs and insects.
Live on hope and prayers, a great leader will finally resurrect.
#FECUND_WRITER
She Was Taken…
Under the cover of daylight, inside the hustling throng
of a grinding poverty.
She was swept away into a street so narrow
you had to enter it at midday as the thinnest of shadows.
A child might have slipped past the ranks of pot bellied
loungers, but she was fifteen and the pimps
were as thin as blades.
No one kidnapped her, she was taken by the
swirling heat of indifference
an ennui that barred ways for other ways to go.
Only the fast filling gutters can reach
to where she is now,
and even they cannot escape the dark dead-ends.
Notorious Nattering Nabobs of Negativism
(And Other Hopeless, Hysterical Hypochondriacs of History)
They pretend to love freedom but hate non-white votes
and poor's access to health care (both cost far too much
when supported by taxes where all pay debts owed.)
Wealth buys doctors' deferments when war gets announced
if dough's children might suffer (fake ailments vouchsafed
to excuse them from serving). Most hide wealth with glee
(for God loves that rich cheat!) No taxation is fair!
Just depraved think that wealth's butt's gang-raped by the rich?
Might a saint dream elites love to row their black boats?
Where does cripple complain Chris (1) 'discovered' his crutch?
Hmm! How likely is that? Who knows hole from commode?
Watch world slip off its rails as Christ's Love gets denounced,
brown kids stripped from their parents as mercy gets strafed,
our democracy burns, Trump lights farts from golf tee,
his card boasts he's ahead, but the game's truth or dare.
As each whore takes her bra off, pimps see who's the b*tch!
Long Tooth
October 23rd in 2020
Poet's Notes:
(1) Christopher Columbus
Upper-class clowns, socialists whining from their crystal palaces.
Fine dining ... greasy-lipped pimps.
Lecturing the working man on global warming,
Who just topped off their private ride
with ozone-poking jet fuel piss-
Upper class clowns and socialists, always cawing about American gluttony.
The redistribution of wealth.
While wearing dead pelts around swollen necks and double chins.
Blood diamonds dangling from pampered pinkies.
Weeping crocodile tears about the evils of the Second Amendment.
While behind ((((gated communities)))))
their private security dogs armed to the teeth-
Upper class clowns and socialists.
Burning books, babbling about lack of freedom.
While strolling naked over minimum-wage-manicured lawns.
Dipping painted toes in minimum-wage-maintained pools.
Sipping minimum-wage martinis under a commies red dawn.
So eager to take you to task for not wearing their commie red masks.
Playing their little shrinking violet games.
Only half out of their socialist closets.
Hypocritical yapping -socialist autocrats.
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