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Francie Lynch Jul 2017
Call us perverted,
But read on first,
Then, by the end,
After our verse,
Call us your worst:
***** old men, gutter snipes,
Lecherous gawkers,

Cause we gaze in wonder and awe
At girls from eighteen to ninety-five.
Don't step back and feign aghast,
Whisper covert tsks, and gasp,
What? Oh such ***** old men!
But we are most the same.

We don't ogle or use a scope
Waiting behind a bush at night,
Til the lights go on
Through windows known to be undrawn.

We don't visit public pools
With goggles and a snorkel,
That's just sick, that's not us,
Our admiration's not so twisted,
We grew up to respect the sisters.

We wonder at the parade of beauty,
So pleasing to our eyes,
They dress to allure
Younger looks,
They swagger, tilt and sashay past
With legs as long as trees,
No VPL to interrupt
The curving imagination.
Compare it to one window-shopping,
Admiring wares and worth;
But please, read every line I wrote
Before bellowing, Pervert.

If we were eighteen years again,
We're lads out plowing fields,
Sowing wild grains,
Reaping refrains of They're boys just being boys.

We had our ancient pleasures,
Still comparable to now;
The lushness of the ripened fruit
Hanging on the bough,
Is for younger hands, not ours.

The columned temples of runway models
With flying buttress thighs,
And the bull-frog fronts and volleyball stunts
Please, but we don't pry.

          (We're not a ***** grabbing lot,
          That's not how we usually talk,
          In fact I haven't shared these thoughts,
          I'm reluctant to do so now).

You know you can't blame us
For what a blind man sees;
The cleavage, high-slits and commando style,
The augmentations meant to beguile
Has caught us in crossfire.

The soft unbleached skin,
The ***** and the neck,
The falling, twirling tresses,
Grace the backs of backless dresses.
Wear grotesques to dissuade us,
To disapprove our ageless looks.

Our eyes don't linger on the bust,
We don't display old men's lust,
In fact we're rather obsequious,
To the point where we're air,
You'd not notice that we're there.
But we are, and we look;
And I remember what it took
To be young and on the hunt
For the Yeti, Loch Ness, or alien jump.

Don't tell your friends we're perverted,
Scurrilous id-focused men;
We're neither. We're average fellows
Watching from the stands.

Yes, our daughters are older than
The babes seen on the screens,
But that has naught to do with us,
We still think like eighteen.

We watch re-runs of Mary Tyler Moore,
Drink tepid tea with toast and jam
To the credits of The Golden Girls;
But when the grandkids come to visit,
We take them for ice-cream,
Or if I take poodle to walk,
They pool like thirsty fleas.
It isn't my intent to bait, but I have eyes to see,
Those girls somewhat eighteen,
Like to please by teasing:
     I really like your wire rims.
Their eyes grip, the wind flips,
Their hands soft and supple...
I'm at a loss-
What's a man to do-
Between forty and forever?

This reaper's aged,
The harvest's in.
The grain that bowed the straw
Has now been threshed,
And milled to flour.
Add heat to rise again.
Apology for aging men
VPL: Visible ***** line.
grotesques: gargoyles that don't spit water
Brent Kincaid Sep 2016
You call me alarmist
Because I say what I have heard.
You call me socialist
As if it were a ***** word.
You call me communist
Like this is nineteen fifty two.
You make an epithet
Of anyone who contradicts you.

You call me coward
Because I hate war so much.
You call people ******
If men should hug or touch.
You call people terrorists
If they don't worship your way.
You seem to hate the poor
Wish they would just go away.

You have a list of names
You use instead of using specifics.
You have a list of behaviors
You consider to be extra terrific
Like making fun of races
And calling starving people losers.
Make laws against cannabis
While you are a bunch of boozers.

You use Christianity
Like membership in the Rotary.
Won't take your credentials
To be verified by a legal notary.
You hide your profits
And brag about your successes
And become homicidal
If you get anything but yesses.

It's a sick world you sell
With your hate filled speeches.
Surely this is not what
Your spiritual leader teaches.
There is so much disdain
And even evil in what you do.
Let us all hope and pray
Our kids don't turn out like you.
Olivia-Grace Jun 2016
Hi, I'm a ****.
I'm the girl who is only seen as a ****** slave.
I'm just digging my own grave.
Hi, I'm a ****.
Having *** seems to have marked me.
"****, let her be."
Hi, I'm a ****.
I never close my legs.
Drinking straight from kegs.
Hi, I'm a ****.
Today's world is so messed up that we are stuck with a meaningless name.
It's a game.
Hi, I'm a ****.
I've gotten more men then I can handle.
Caught up in a scandle.
Hi, I'm a ****.
Broken and threatened, bullied online.
****, she is so fine.
Hi, I'm a ****.
But I'm also a writer too.
An artist, a poet, but you never knew.
Hi, I'm a ****.
Where today in this world names can translate into actions.
And girls can get rapped.
And you can't escape.
Because fate is fate.
And I should not wear that because it's cut to low.
She's such a ***.
She should just go.
Hi, I'm a ****.
And it's a title that never dies.
Breaking ties.
Hi, I'm a ****.
And I can never keep a guy.
No matter how hard I try.
And it's all a lie.
But, Hi...
I'm a *****.
those who are big of mouth
apparently believe that putting down the other
      calling them names & pepper them with slurs
might get them some advantage in the race
for the position that they crave

they better harken back
to the old wisdom of their mothers

those who sow dragon’s teeth
will harvest dragons
Drop your Grudge Rants
by the door
We Will Not Tolarate
This Anymore

Edit and toss Distasteful Rhymes
Ugly Poems with Vain designs

Haughty thoughts and
bitter words
Childish petty accusing verbs

Who did What to Who and When
Will this Clusterfuck never end?

Selfish actions, Spoiled Children
We Refuse to be your Minions

Like CNN
And Drone Fox news

We've had enough of
Self Serving views

Hurting hearts, far and wide
tender Poets with
tenuous pride

Yet, Strutting and Indignant
for who I ask?
All those involved,
A Donkeys ***

Not a home for
Egotistical Zealots
Nor a place for
flinging pellets

We come in Peace, HP to share
Not get caught in ugly snares

And to the few that
have the gaul.

"If you have nothing decent to say,
say nothing at all"



Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved
Many of us feel so cheated when we
have a moment to come onto HP
and our time is wasted by ugly
degrading Rant Writes
against other Poets.
SERIOUSLY. . Come on.. REALLY???????

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