“if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all”*
Such a sweet talker
He could talk a buzzard off a meat wagon
The truth lied in his mouth
Waiting…patiently…
Preying on the moment
Venom dripping from its fangs
The rattle just a distraction
And still they listened
Responded to its plea
For an “AMEN”
As the basket passed
Pennies from the poor
To feed his “privilege”.
She was less subtle
Standing on a street corner
Jingling an almost empty cup
For emptiness draws no attention
She speaks softly
Causing you to slow…to listen
Speaks of need, of loss
Of a longing to serve god
Could you but help her
As she fumbles for the i-phone
Chiming in her pocket
*Flower the skunks mother in Bambi”
What good is love, when guys and girls are whores?
What use are we, when all is the libido?
Good girls on their backs, bad girls on all fours,
secretly swoon for guys like the Mandingo!
Like “Deep Throat,” all women like giving oral;
and men just ask them if they spit or swallow?
Some men prefer to give a woman a**l;
and whether he's the Greek god of Apollo,
she'll act as though she loves it (bondage; gangbangs;
facials; threesomes; hotwifing with hung, black bulls;
and cuckolding—if guys could mount like Mustangs!).
Despite all of their lusting for pussyfuls,
men just want a loving lady of the Nile,
a beauty, an angel that is his maiden;
but a sweet talker, a prince charming with style,
women die for (a philandering Satan!).
O, the hidden deeds that we do, but never discuss:
for The Age of P**n, we bend the knee as slaves!
Honor in public, without moral compass,
are secrets taken (by us) to the graves.
On The Button
A sweet talker went out for a nip
At a bawdry pub where he’d get to sip
From a gal’s belly button
Of which he did cut in
But she sassed and said ‘don’t give me no lip’
May 2, 2023
This one I have no title for,
All I know is it's the cries of my heart
And the innocence of her chastity,
She wears the love of Shakespeare
Atleast that's what I think,
But I never find a way to the tides of her love,
I haven't written in a while, but this here is how I breathe my confessions,
Perhaps the universe was waiting for this perfect moment,
After all there's no reasoning with a man feeling love...
This is the first piece of a million I'm writing of her,
But my chest is a heat wave burning at the rate of five thousand sun's,
So I just want burst out with the lust of my heart,
So I joke about the size of her behind here and there
I know she likes it though she denies it,
She cringes that I'm a sweet talker,
But there's no asking what gift God gives us
So I'm writing embers of next summers love story,
Of you and I
I'm embarrassed by what my future sons are to
Read!
But there's no reason in the heart of a man feeling love...
So I feel like I'm on ectasy and passion,
Ready to promise this lady the stars like it belonged to me....
'After all, what would you do for love?'
When I was younger, I was impulsive and unpredictable,
capricious and fanciful and whimsical;
and HE was charming- would flatter me with compliments,
giving praise, attention, he was a real sweet talker.
I fell for him, each day sinking down lower and lower,
I would gravitate to him- alienate friends;
but soon the cajoling turned to inurbane, malignant words,
my love for him was transitory, soon to dissipate.
He became rude and vulgar, perspicuous and transparent,
this obsessive love- unhealthy and painful;
I felt like a fool, a doormat, a scapegoat, a weak victim,
now my heart is careful and not easily charmed.
______________________________
August 31, 2016
Poetry/Verse/Impulsive Love
Copyright Protected, ID 16-824-860-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Ten Word Challenge
sponsor, John Hamilton
Third Place
He kept tabs on me at first, just like he was a stalker
then turned on his charm and became a sweet talker
I was too naïve to realize why he was being so nice,
and all the while his duplicitous heart was cold as ice.
He led others into his lair with all his trash talkin lies
and they fell for his garbage. They wouldn't criticize
anything he fed them. They continued to do his bidding
and I laughed at them thinking, You've got to be kidding!
Wise up to his disguised friendship, rubbish, and rubble.
I'd love to be the one to burst this charlatan's big bubble.
Forgive me if you think that I'm being harsh and too crass,
but this conniver needs a few good kicks in his deceitful ass!
If any of you reading this want to offer me a helping hand,
we could throw him in a dumpster by our popular demand!
If not I'll find a clever method to expose him on my own.
His crap needs to be flushed away as he sits upon his throne.
7/16/2016
Garbage Contest-Anthony Slausen
The ghost between V's thighs
What lies heavily on her minds? A three word phrase
I am beautiful!
Passion, strength and fire
they control by her inner thoughts
She relies on her beauty
For breakfast, lunch and dinner
Quenching the thirst, silencing the groans
His move relies on her sexual craving
Hidden behind the dash board; a files of deception
Mind control and ghost control aren’t so hard to believe
Location and direction to an eye opener
A Money hungry woman
The sweet talker
The old grave digger stood on the hill
Plunges his shovel into the wet soil with anger
The unwanted Negative Visualization sore his mind
Who are they really? Those ghosts between her thighs
Black ashy lies..
Picking up my phone, the voice recalls my memories
Sweet talker across the line, hey... it's been a while
Days running, things change, here we are aloof in our boundaries
Trapped within our history, now we play the role of our guile
The way you speak is like negating the past
Sweet talker across the line, hey... it's been a while
Hurting each other became the story of our last
The lampblack dwell beneath the wounds, torn by the pain that we cost
The way you speak is like negating the past
We tired in our drama, we trapped in our anger loft
Burnt by the old grudge, how can we fix this dust?
The lampblack dwell beneath the wounds, torn by the pain that we cost
Standing limp on the ruin of us
Now we are broken toys if you still want to play, it's up to you
Burnt by the old grudge, how can we fix this dust?
Still in the past memory I flew
Now we are broken toys if you still want to play, it's up to you
Picking up my phone, the voice recalls my memories
Days running, things change, here we are aloof in our boundaries
Maroon man
Broad back, true mouthed
Flinging fire to frolic in the face
Jamaica man, Saint Ann sprouted
Long lignum vitae of the race
Belly clean
Platform devoted
Africa's champion, noble will
Great scholars by new men quoted
Your voice from Harlem here rings still
Costa Rica
Panama far flung
Homes of Black people rising to live
Peru, and vision that he hung
Colon and astride the world to give
Hero man
Prison cuffs thrown down
Red, Green and Black Starliner floated
Prince of us all, and new pride found
While to the Black race devoted
Garvey, man
Maroon hero bright
Lit the dark land against foreign nights
Sweet talker fighter for the right
God blessed leader, hope in our plights
Time has carried me so close to old age
Will acceptance be added to my traits
Accepting comfy shoes, not latest rage
Having become old__many varied weights
Hobbling to a electric grocery cart
Every time visit Wal-Mart, grocery
Definitely does not look very smart*
But time hasn't carried to cemetary
What about cane or horrible walker
Acceptance with time maybe be mellow
Maybe even become a sweet talker
Or cataract surgery_ odd fellow
Time has carried me_acceptance my plea
Live my life with grace and each day with glee
(Chic, fashionable)
Love talks
Regardless to what your thinking, the speaker choose his words correctly.
Perfection advised
eyes don't lie, the heart tells the story, the category of emotion rise. The chatter of words
exposed, to hold a conversation is possibly love in the rumors of the lips to control your
thoughts.
Therefore.. its odd.
Part of a job for a sweet talker.
When the heart starts to smolder, because of words spoken so gentle.
Friendly, almost love like it touches the soul.
To add a touch, is a smile, a smooth operator with words chosen carefully.
the mind in a trap, with a rap so sweetly spoken, sweet songs of love are played with words
that cant be explain.
Its agreed,
a seed has been planted from correct words made to produce hope of love.
Its the truth
Love talks
Emotions walk exciting the state of mind that wants to be loved, and held.
A distinguished specialist of specific words spoken by someone who is classified as a
SMOOTH TALKER.
Im such a sucker
For a sweet talker
I fall for all
The guys I fall for
Because they are
Sweet talkers
I feel for a
Total jerk
But only because
He was a sweet talker
And im a sucker
I fell in love
Once only once
I fell for his
Sweet talker ability
All my guys are
Sweet talkers
And I am
Such a sucker
For a great
Sweet taker
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