My salt and pepper shakers were risqué
Shaking their booties night and day
I told my husband to put them away
It was his mother who thought they were gay
I brought my boss home for dinner last Tuesday
Those nasty shakers were dirty dancing away
I said to my husband please take them to Kay
That is his mother, who thought they were gay.
Loo humour it is my forte
Risqué rhymes, I’ll write night and day
I’ve finished next book
Will you dare to look
It’s naughty – that’s all I will say!
Your vanity is insanity.
And it is a painful sight to see.
Whilst looking through the looking glass.
How did your life become so crass?
Why did we all become so vain?
Reflections in a windowpane.
Remember when that no one cared?
Now everybody seems so scared.
With thoughts that hurt the way we feel.
Like peeling back an orange peel.
And as the surgeon sharps his knife.
Now these procedures are so rife.
Why do you want to look the same?
Lip fillers are in part to blame.
Conform to look a certain way.
Procedures that are so risqué.
Whilst looking for the right procedure.
Whilst scrolling through your social media.
Not comfortable in our own skin.
Just looking like a mannequin.
Our beauty now it runs skin deep.
Procedures done, yes, on the cheap.
Procedures done more harm than good.
We are beautiful, not made of wood.
Obsessed about the way we look.
When really no one gives a ****.
Our beauty, yes, it runs skin deep.
And while we get our beauty sleep.
We'll dream about there was a time.
This beauties yours and so not mine.
I had a dream, it was risqué
Read on if you dare
I was at a masquerade ball
And all there were bare.
Except for wearing masks of course
No one cared at all
Just got on with naked dancing
Bouncing round the hall.
The funny part was when they parked
Backsides on a pew
When they came to stand up again
The seats stood up too.
There was lots of piercing screaming
As seats were parted
And some very red rosy cheeks
On vision as folk partied.
At midnight came the final dance
The dream came to its close
I switched on the light, got such a fright
The floor was strewn with clothes.
[[X][x][X][X][X][X][X]]
[ ]
Albeit, a riddle and true,
happenstance quietude,
privacy absolute of two,
monarch, and servitude.
( )
(*******~0~*******)
( )
Proximity rather risqué,
her inner horse handler,
usually believed display,
and so all souls said her.
( )
(*******~0~*******)
( )
Soulfully tenet ill a day,
as good friend perishes,
Queen Victoria alas say,
confidant's...cherishes.
[ ]
[[X][x][X][X][X][X][X]]
Chipmunks tease us after we bloom
we're clueless as to why
the words of the birds and bees loom
we're small we don't deny
Grow low, we'll be out of the way
lowly we grew to be
thought our colors a bit risqué
butterflies shout, PANSIES!
From Manchester came a bloke
who thought himself quite bespoke.
His risqué pick up lines
were made in monorhymes.
He proved to be all mirrors, no smoke.
Lady T is a wildly acclaimed peacock dancer, in gay Paree’
Most of us whistle and stamp as she writhes with glee
She is risqué and unique, and shows us lots of beautiful skin
It is 1923, so this tells you the kind of times we are in.
We love seeing this woman, she makes our blood rise.
Everyone is clamoring to get tickets, no big surprise.
Wait a second! One guy yells. I think I know Lady T.
It is his little sister, so he rushes the stage to cover thee.
Inquisitive sorts enigmatic notions as positions--scaled left for the right-hander--behold various perceptions, thus preserving perfection as a cure for misdirection's subtle draw.
Earnest forgivingly weakens its posture as truth betrays, incredulously, amidst reality outfitted in non-traditions; Judas kisses a face, while the strummed favors oils embrace a straining revelation that pleasures the muted.
Distractions of another sort muse the ne'er-do-wells, while diligence inks the lost, ambulates ambitious quill of risqué 'Olympia' whose indecency is shaded decently.
Tryst loses in translation, forms anew in an altered view; observant exposed a chapter; a spilled review cores a novel of two; meeting of the minds formed upon a ruinous and trifle distraction, whereto whenever praise ventures, "A dull knife makes a cutting edge."
the other women are askance
a flapper has moved into the neighborhood
not on her own, but with parents
they cannot control her
she wears short dresses
this is 1921
her skirts are no longer than her knees!
She is flippant, reckless, risqué,
she has bobbed her hair
the other woman gasp their disapproval
she listen to jazz
smokes cigarettes in public
she flaunts brash behavior
I heard she drinks alcohol! some whispered
the rest of the women are shocked
most had no idea that she is also having casual sex
none of them knew about that
they were jealous of her confidence
her misbehaviors stoking their rumor fire
as she stoked their husbands
art deco was considered ultra-modern in the nineteen twenties
fashions were outrageously risqué, women were slim, flappers wore fringe
I would have been a flapper if I had been born then,
after I escaped the cave of my parents and their rules
If I had known about Berkeley, I would have gone there in the seventies
If I had known about Woodstock, I would have stayed away though.
I detest crowds.
But art deco, that is something I can embrace.
In some ways I wish I had been born in the twenties,
then I would have gone to the otherworld before my mother
who was not born until 1931.
Another reason to be a flapper.
Is he a Poofter?
I was reading “An American Tragedy” by Theodore Dreiser
reading slowly because the writer proceeded slowly in his writing
It was eleven at night; I was going to bed when I had finished a chapter;
when there was a knock on my cabin door, the deckhand
stood there looking shy; I asked him what he wanted, and apparently
he had run out of cigarettes; I didn’t believe him and asked who had sent him;
he didn’t answer but hurriedly left
It appeared the former chief steward was gay, now the boy was sent up
by the crew to see if I was gay too
A cargo ship is a cosmos of gossip and pornographic magazines
when there was a perfect library with books changed by a welfare origination
the literature was of a high standard, this was an effort to educate and brighten
the mind of seamen
Alas, I was not social, sitting in mess halls playing cards and telling risqué jokes,
spent my free time in my cabin surrounded by books and dreams of a better life.
A better life came when illness ended my career and
I was free to find my own way in life.
I desire an audience with you;
The man whose eyes once held a blue flame,
that old version before the time flew;
When you gave me a silly nickname,
I’d speak you’d hear what I had to say;
Moments that did not feel like a game;
My heart you’d always let me display
hanging on to every dream I whispered;
More then happy with a bit risqué;
Then emotions grew and made you dread,
let’s rewind to when we talked naked.
I have become an old woman,
Who is plump and grey
Like us all, as we get old
I have much that I could say
I like adventure
I have had an exciting life
I do have to leave my desk
To remove a dagger or a knife
From an Innocent Victim
Who has come to harm
Bells start to ring inside my head
Causing me alarm.
Is this another murder?
One I have to solve
Where do I start?
And how can I resolve
This crime,
I don't have a clue.
Don't be ridiculous,
You have solved many murders before,
You found the latest one
Laying on the floor
If I stop talking to myself,
I might get some ideas
From the books on my shelf
Books that I have written
And enjoyed doing so very much,
I feel entirely smitten,
To write crime novels and such.
A woman born before the time
Sometimes, my words were risqué
Have you guessed who I am?
I am the famous Agatha Christie.
Eviscerate my being! Distort my face!
Bring me closure to my ego; replace!
Seizure in dark games through which we interlace,
Beckoning the reaper's embrace.
Subvert my empathy!
Break me into colluded ecstasy!
Mold me in your image of apathy!
Put me in a daze of senseful apogee!
If only I could help You experience the same...
If only I could put out what had went aflame...
If only I could rid you of your own self blame...
My ultimate goal- to personify your game..
Knowing I belong on greater stages;
I set out to share a seat among your stations!
As I'm marching alongside your pages,
I'm taunted by the echoes of ages,
mocked by divine wages.
Taxing are the paths to your way.
My will's faltering, hope's grey,
mind's in a state so risqué.
Tell me, is this the price that I must pay?
"Fractious paranoia vying to supplant.
Vying to take over, to ruin your descant.
To kill that which would lay bare, the one which I shan't.
And destroy the altar to which I hum and I chant."
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