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She's got a face for radio,
She wears it best from head to toe.
She's a special kind of homely girl;
Her gift is being in a state of pity, so...

She is eager to shed her burdons,
But never tells the true
Meaning of actions
That always leave her due.

Love would never fix her woes,
She's a woman of motive
Crying on the shoulders of the higher-rated.
Tears are the flames of the voltive,

It's not mine to say.
It's mine to stay away.
She's not mine to slay.
But, I know her, anyway.

She's a vampire, the emotional kind,
One bite, then three times three is nine,
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice again to make up nine,
Like a Harpee, she goes to them,
And drains from them vitality,
She's a shrewd one, and she's a shrew,
She doesn't even want to *****,
She's a player, till the game is won,
And the sorceress says the charm is done.

No one can ever show her kindness
Without her expecting more.
If you have a dollar of quarters,
She'd not take less than four.

I have seen the hearts of hopeful
Shredded at her feet.
And then the ugliness that thrives her
Gathers the replete.

She's sated til her next desire.
She never rest for long.
There will always be some lonely sap,
That she Will sap upon.

It's not mine to say.
It's mine to stay away.
She's not mine to slay.
But, I know her way.

She's a vampire, the emotional kind,
One bite, then three times three is nine,
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice again to make up nine,
Like a Harpee, she goes to them,
And drains from them vitality,
She's a shrewd one, and she's a shrew,
She doesn't even want to *****,
She's a player, till the game is won,
And the sorceress says the charm is done.

The only thing she has is blame
To mead out to another sucker's name,
As soon as she has all she can get,
She leaves them, she leaves like all the rest,

Don't they think her heart is good!
They treat her like they think they should.
They don't know that to ease her pain
Is too surrender their gain, and go insane.

She never will come differently
Some things do not change.
Her talons grip them where they live,
Time and time, again.

It's not mine to say.
It's mine to stay away.
She's not mine to slay.
But, I know her way.

She's a vampire, the emotional kind,
One bite, then three times three is nine,
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice again to make up nine,
Like a Harpee, she goes to them,
And drains from them vitality,
She's a shrewd one, and she's a shrew,
She doesn't even want to *****,
She's a player, till the game is won,
And the sorceress says the charm is done.

She will make them steal
From the future of their children.
She is a guiltless wonder.
She really never lets them in.

All for nothing is the way she lives.
She is gone with the fairer treat.
Every lonely victom she leaves
The bitter without the sweet.

It's not mine to say.
It's mine to stay away.
She's not mine to slay.
But, I know her way.

She's a vampire, the emotional kind,
One bite, then three, times three is nine,
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice again to make up nine,
Like a Harpee, she goes to them,
And drains from them vitality,
She's a shrewd one, and she's a shrew,
She doesn't even want to *****,
She's a player, till the game is won,
And the sorceress says the charm is done.
I have always thought "a face for radio" was an enjoyable turn of phrase. I knew I would one day use it im a title. I do enjoy the company of a stand-up kind of woman. This piece is not about most woman, but the occasional shady woman with a hustle I have come across from time to time. I am not a player hater as long as it does not affect my life(As a gay man, I've got plenty of game.) but, I am no respector of the dishonest.
 Oct 2015 what a waste
jennee
Scatter the ashes that have become steady flesh
Before someone collects them to bury the remains in a false cemetery
Scatter them quickly into the flowing rivers and high up in the skies
I am parallel to their world; I am the closest to death

Ligaments and veins that was once compelling
Supreme yet a puppet to garrulous demons
An artistic treasure box of limited oxygen
Fell victim to powerless witnesses that chose to keep their silence

When our bodies collapse and our hearts expire
Revive my breath with visitations and flowers
Although I am now a river and a turbid sky
I am parallel to your world yet I am right here by your side

n.j.
https://perennialink.wordpress.com/2015/10/17/when-our-bodies-collapse-and-our-hearts-expire/
a century skipped
from one soup line
to the next

never thought I would
stand in one, a homeless octogenarian
who doesn't like soup

the library serves sandwiches,
Eden’s apples too, on Mondays, but gray Sundays
they are closed, so here I be
at a holy house

that feeds beggars, bankers
and ******, but only after servicing
our souls, with etudes on eternity
and other hymns to which
I am deaf

tomorrow I will visit the VA
for my monthly meds, free potions
to pacify me while I wait for a bed
in the shiny new castle,
forever being built

in the meantime, I get the shed
behind the shack, of another "brother"
who tells me war stories

that can't be true, since he
was but ten and two when
the last bird chopped its way
into the Saigon sky

the embassy below yet teeming
with ghosts, and the screaming hordes,
scurrying still in a conquered land, desperate  
victims of our proud command

I don't tell him he does not
speak the truth, for he gets even more
potent pills than I to keep
his demons at bay

today the broth has chicken
and rice, and our platoon slurps in unison
after another plaintive prayer
to a god I never knew

tomorrow, over my white
bread and bologna, we will
be able to sup in silence, in the
calm cathedral of tomes

where I will try in vain
to comprehend the mystic
Kabbalah, or perhaps read The Grapes of Wrath
to hoist healing hope of suckled redemption
before my ancient eyes

.
a letter came from Ukraine
tailing the newspapers' grey accounts
faster than the cloud of fallout

there were three smudges
from a child's digits, between the stamp
and my address

prints of proof you were there,
eating the Hershey’s I sent, though
your mother scrawled my name
and safe, numbered place I live,
a planet away  

the letter yet sits
on my desk, quiet, perhaps
waiting to be opened

I planned to surprise you
in your sluggish summer, with a visit,
and American Girl dolls

but April lasted forever  
for you, who happened to be walking
close to the melting kiln, looking
for spring’s first buds
on a Saturday morn

— The End —