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annh Nov 2019
Susie Saviour is a Bond girl
From Weymouth-Turf-On-Sea
A swish, a sway; a fist, a fray
And home in time for tea.

She scuba dives for pleasure
Downdashious to her core,
But only when the flags are out
And never far from shore.

A beauty queen, a lisome lass,
A femme fatale, a flirt;
Serves martinis with a swizzle stick
This sweet assassin in a skirt.
Firstly, apologies to all Dorsetians; secondly, Weymouth-Turf-On-Sea is a figment of my poor imagination; thirdly, you will find 'downdashious' in the D section of the Wiki glossary of Dorset dialect words. It means audacious. And BTW 'dumbledore' means bumblebee. How about that?!

'To be a Bond girl you need courage, charm, determination and feistiness.'
Olga Kurylenko
Peyton L Aug 2019
My lovers have always been like cough drops.
Sweet, soothing, addicting even,
but never enough to solve the problem.
Never enough to clear my damaged throat.

And I don't know if you'll be any different.
From how we started,
it seemed as if I was in for another dose of
acesulfame potassium,
but there's something about you.
That makes me think
you'll be more like a cigarette.

Instead of sweet,
you'll be bitter.
But you'll make me woozy at my first drag,
and mellowed out for the duration.
You'll make my otherwise shaky personality
smooth.
But like rain in the summer,
you won't last long.
At least, I don't think.

There's also something about you
that makes me
want to tell you everything.
You're like a priest,
and I'm in the confessional.
I wouldn't confess my sins to anyone,
but you...
I just might.

What is it about you, huh?
Is it your boyish charm?
Your people skills?
Or is it something more menacing?
Maybe you're a psychopath
who's been studying me and my tells
to see how to get me to open up.
Maybe you're a serial killer and I'm your next victim.

I won't lie, I don't trust easy.
Maybe you're a perfectly good person,
and I just fell in love abnormally quick.
Maybe you really do love me.
But there's something about you I don't trust.

Something about you
that makes me want to run
and never look back.
You have something of a record when it comes
to girls' hearts,
and I'm not so naive as to forget
what you did to Maru,
but I can see
why they forgot to warn me
about you.

It's almost as if
you cleaned their mind
of all the atrocities you've committed.
But I won't be so easily tricked.

I won't forget what you've done.
I won't lie and say I don't love you,
because I do.
I love you with my whole heart.
But, I will not let my guard down.
I will not let you so close
you will never break my heart.
'Cause baby, you ain't no cough drop.
You're a black mamba
in the chicken's coop.

But darling, I'm the farmer
with the gun to your slick little head,
finger on the trigger,
ready to fire.

Do don't underestimate me.
Don'y you dare underestimate me.
'Cause I'm a **** assassin with my aim.
And I'm not gonna miss.
So tread lightly, little snake.
Don't bite my chickens
or swallow the eggs
and I won't shoot.
Inspired by the bag of cough drops on my desk and an old lover I no longer speak to.
Hereshecomes Jul 2019
Grant it
You stepped in
through a crack
like an assassin.

And yes
your prying eye
did establish how far
you could reach
inside.

Little did you know
Though
that the lady you made out of me
can see in the dark.

"Gullible"
"Bully"
"Risky"
"Courageous"

Red flags you waved before me
for your colourful entertainment
Pillars for my temple
And swords for my angels.
Ray Dunn Apr 2019
To be an assassin dispersing
into the crowded city street,
to blend into the masses
with a finger on the trigger—
simply because it’s your first instinct
I’m so immature I giggled at the fact that assassin has the word “***” in it, TWICE!!
Mya Apr 2019
Hidden in the shadows
Weapons at his side
He has her sent
And he follows
Silently he stalks
He moves swiftly across the floor
Without a flinch
There's a knife through her heart
she tries to look at him before her last breath
though there is no one in the room anymore
I got the inspiration for this poem from a movie I watched
Mya Mar 2019
Hidden in the shadows
Weapons at his side
He has her sent
And he follows
Silently he stalks
He moves swiftly across the floor
Without a flinch
There's a knife through her heart
I got the inspiration for this poem from a move I watched
Aa Harvey Oct 2018
Assassin


A hooded figure watches over the sleeping.
Peacefully, suddenly colder, soon to be weeping;
A body of a thousand slumbers.
Tonight will be its final number,
For without sound or any sign of remorse,
Death has come, and in due course,
The time will come when the sleeper breathes no more.
The clock has not yet struck midnight.
Witches are waking their feral beasts and al-
So, their frogs are leaping,
And all the while he lays there sleeping.


His silk pajamas and knitted blankets.
The bottle he was given, he slowly drank it,
And now through snores, he hears no more,
The open door downstairs where footsteps call.
If only he could hear them passing,
Maybe he could somehow foresee the morning happenings,
But this is not a happy ending tale.
This is a time for woe; a rose upon a grail.
A dearly departed letter of discontent.
A scarlet rose has been placed upon his deathbed.


As the clock strikes, a metaphorical piercing knife.
The depths to which some men will delve,
And all in aid of a silent war.
A change in fortune for another who did not fall.
For this assassin was bought and he sold,
His service to another victim old.
For as he stood above his prey,
A bag of monies did come his way,
And with no word, a swift hand grabbed,
The jewels inside the felt covered bag.
All that needed to be said:
“It is not yet my time; send your services back instead.”


Now riches bulged from spoils of war.
The hooded figure waited until he could wait no more,
And on the chime of the seventh call,
The end appeared, a discovery made, the snorer was no more.
Only silence, through such violence.
The hooded figure was never seen again,
But the world had swiftly and suddenly changed.
His services would surely once again be called upon,
Lest his deeds become ineffectual and his tale too soon forgotten.


(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Bethan Roberts Aug 2018
He did not care to perform a false remorse
At the ****** trial or over the course
Of any psychiatric interviews
And physical examinations. News
Reports passed on our scientists' findings later
Down to the minutiae of the data:
The width and sub-brachycephalic class
Of his head and the marks on his prepuce
Indicating venereal disease
Of which the subject, prior to all these
Tests was not himself aware.
What we tried
To find was some phrenological sign
Reflected in his face's symmetry
But no stigmata of degeneration
Could be found to show that in one of his station
Lay latent inherited criminality.
Through the taking of various measurements
By our alienists he stayed reticent.
He was no actor, unlike other Bruti
Aspirant, saying just "I've done my duty,"
With flat tone and affect "I've done my duty."

Even in the chair he towed the same line
He said "I am not sorry for my crime,
I am sorry that I could not see my father,"
Without preamble we then turned the charge on
For the first contact - eighteen hundred volts
Then three hundred in alternating bolts
Of current. We abolished his sensation
Consciousness and motion by all indication
All at once, but to be sure we again
Started the machinery of humane
Justice.
The body was placed to dissolve
In sulphuric acid so as to resolve
Any questions as to if too kind justice
Had been accorded to an anarchist
And a migrant too, or has been said,
Born in Alpena, and in Auburn dead.
Czolgosz is Leon Czolgosz, the man who assassinated William McKinley.
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