"debutante" poems
Dear diabolic debutante / Spawn of the unfathomable abyss of blackness / Daughter of dreadful dead desire / Black-shrouded sinister sister of celestial gloom before whose imperious gaze the heavens fall silent / Whip-lash girl-child of the graves whose pallid visage kindles the myriad infernal fires / Autocratic vampiress of lunar doom whose winding-cloth enfolds the thousand horrors of blood-drenched nightmare / Thou that wanderest the cypress-crested hills of funereal necropolises / Whose icy glance cracks the ungraven tombstones of utter desolation / Empress of night and madness / Who stalks the locked and shadowed hallways of unhallowed thought / Whose burial-boat glides the still waters over Lethe’s silent depths to the unglimpsed isle of eternal mourning / Whose parapets tower above the fiefdoms of quotidian banality / Whose flying buttresses overlook the Stygian waters of the forgotten drowned denizens of damnation / Whose unshackled dungeons open to worlds of regal splendor / Whose spires pierce dark skies where oblivion buries the ruined cities of revelry under the drifting clouds of leaden time / Oh maiden of melancholic alchemy whose petrified passions transmute base metal into pure gold…
May the gibbous moon of equinox shine its baleful eye upon you; may you tread in sacramental calm the winding starlit paths of somnolent cemeteries; may my unmixed metaphors unveil in delirium their parabolic mysteries before the smoldering altar of your uninterpretable allegory; may the favor of your scorn forever lay me out, embalmed, undead, on the cold stone of merciless reality. Behold: in cryptic script of spectral apparition, in tracery of coded illumination, amidst the dawning rays of torment I write thine unknown name on the threshold of daylight. And from within the mortared wall of self I speak forth from my sepulcher the Sibylline utterance,
unsought, unheard, undreamt:
JUST WANTED TO SAY ‘HI’ !
☻
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC
We meet again, young debutante!
but what next?
shall we ponder over coffee,
or dance through the streets
with only our thoughts to keep rhythm?
Let us ask thine friend, the caterpillar.
nay, he says, neither are to be,
it is a picnic that you seek.
where the ground is warm,
and the sun is hot.
What a grand idea!
I shall go right off
to make thy picnic one of perfection!
but where to start?
to the butcher for meat.
the baker for bread.
...............................
Why must he bother me yet again?
He stalks me like a shadow,
claiming I talk to caterpillars.
he’’s raving mad!
A picnic? I will do no such thing?
however, I can use this to my advantage.
The butcher’s cleaver never looked so beautiful,
the soft glimmer in the light,
Oh but if i could get my hands on it!
His back is turned, now’s my chance!
.................................
Oh dearest! please have some ham and bread.
come sit by me and tell me of your day!
Oh I pray you tell me about your learnings!
What beautiful hair you have!
It glows like the sun shines,
and your dress is even more beautiful than before,
tell me, how do you radiate such beauty?
................................
I will lie.
I can feel the cleaver in my bag,
a weight on my shoulder,
the meat and bread are horrid.
he is so pathetic!
Beauty is the way the blood spurted from his chest!
glowing is how my face feels when it is splashed with his blood!
gentle is the wind over his lifeless body.
Oh what a grand picnic indeed!
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 6:15 PM UTC
She applied the latest fashion tips to her lips
and put on the newest dress to cover the mess.
I held her as she swayed in front of the mirror.
"I want to get away from here," she cooes in my ear.
It rains ridicule as she tries to be classic cool;
storms that brew from within-
and there's no way of knowing how it'll begin.
She'll say that she's a succubus
but I promise that she's a star and thus
destined to implode but shine beautiful before death.
And I await to be burnt by her deathly breath.
She says that she feels detached,
I read the message that has hatched
from ten eggs thrown from a wrist.
Her lips are mine but all I do is miss.
Her lips aren't mine and all I do is this.
I **** time with new noise and old sights.
She asks if I'll be home tonight
and I wish I could because I'd clearly sway thee,
macabre debutante lover baby.
Her name is Tricia and as I whisper,
her cheeks blush.
"Don't break hearts or mine too much."
I could say the say the same for you, my Josh.
Couldn't we all break broken signs
with the love we reallign?
I tantalize her lullabies with eager hands
and lethargic eyes.
I shoulder her and press her near,
and kiss her from neck to each ear.
She slides hands and traces each crease.
She runs her hands as soft as fleece.
My hands hide in her underwear
and she says,
"How did you remove all of my air?"
She fixes her hands and grabs my base,
I kiss each corner of her face.
Stroking, stoking my desire,
I ask her to lay naked by the fire.
I disrobe and throw each cloth on ground.
Tricia takes off her bra and there is no sound.
Her ******* make me eagersome
and, suddenly, I'm no longer numb .
I tell her that if it doesn't feel right
that we don't have to make love tonight.
She walks and her feet kiss the tile.
She says she wants to stay for a while.
We get lost in blanket and the cloth is soft,
as we move from the fire to a loft.
I tell her that her lips are silk,
her chest plays songs,
and her taste is milk.
Her feet appear behind my head,
and she bites her lip until I feel dead.
I place my hand between her thighs
and listen to each moan and sigh.
I hear her shudder as I break her soil
and I feel my body start to boil,
as I push in and kiss her nose.
She throws back her head
as her mouth can't close.
I wake up and she's next to me.
I kiss her forehead to thank for harmony.
I pick her up and let her bloom in my arms like a flower.
And then I walk her to the shower.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 12:48 PM UTC
We knew limited evil.
We base-valued desirable evil.
We unharness a nice, obedient, satan-tail.
She was fresh.
A raw, vile, unwashed beast.
A love-lorn evil bear.
She ate you so loud
-Idle Wrath
——————————————————————————————————
Would you believe,
I can’t lie?
She was a runner.
I was a bleeder.
She ran fast.
She was a love I’ll never know.
She was a debutante.
she was vaudeville.
I don’t believe
I’m losing it.
-Wild Heart
Oct 8, 2011
Oct 8, 2011 at 3:07 PM UTC
The poet’s quill scribes a vision of the debutante
as she rests amongst the bluebells
Scattered like jewels over the meadow.
The delicate voice of the robins
Echo through the valley,
Where the gentleman tells of his ardor
As they shelter amongst the weeping willows.
Curls tumble from the confines of her hat,
Parasol tilting to hide girlish blushes,
Careless of her silk skirts
they are crushed, lying as broken rose petals.
She glows with the joy of an un-chaperoned picnic
Scent of cinnamon scrolls tempt her senses,
as her beau offers cider to moisten their suddenly dry throats.
Dapper in his impeccable finery,
Coat tails trailing, crisply starched shirt points lifting his chin,
Top hat tilted at a rakish angle.
Dark eye’s glinting with the thrill of his endeavors.
Sunshine silhouettes the glory of the lovers,
whom the poet has sewn together
as an artist creates a masterpiece.
Each syllable as a brushstroke on canvas.
A Monet made not of oil and brushes,
But ink and parchment.
Every word scribed by the care of the poet,
Transformed within the mind of the reader
Oct 21, 2009
Oct 21, 2009 at 12:59 AM UTC
An immigrant from County Clare
brought to this harsher clime-
Phoebe Prince, an Irish lass,
a gentle heart and mind.
First used, and then discarded
by one boy, then another.-
Object of the mean girl’s scorn
the consummate "outsider"
On her last day alive
They hounded her from school.
The girl they called the “Irish ****
disgraced and played the fool.
Her sister, Lauren, found her body
hanging lifeless in the hall.
Befriended by nobody
Phoebe chose to end it all
And on the day they held her wake
Those monsters held their dance
A debutante cotillion
for a troop of soulless tramps.
She’s buried here in County Clare
because the Ocean's waves
protect her from the harpies
who drove her to her grave
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 10:56 PM UTC
In the morning the mist arises
but some will say it is
yesterday's hubris.
I dont have an attic
to wayleigh communications
or require windows
to twitch gingham curtains
so the deep chill
void remains.
A debutante passed by my uncut grass
but she was no better served,
a dream interview with ******* Club
turned sour, this time of year.
At least she hasn't endless dealership openings
or humoured the word "exhilarating" in interviews
when inventing a rich Stepfather.
Like me there be few visitors.
Thirty stubborn years will pass
but at least she know the meaning.
The pride of the morning.
Apr 24, 2012
Apr 24, 2012 at 4:11 PM UTC
A child without water,
a rich man drinks his coffee.
A father unable to provide,
a rich kid gets a new car.
A mother lies awake, body ravaged by AIDS,
while the Hollywood hills expose their costly ills.
The dream of equality is nowhere to be found
while the lives of the many are repressed and pushed down.
Executives and suits lived gluttonous youths
while a father works to death to fill his children’s mouths.
There is a solution to this problem of society,
one which the telethon celebs won’t give up quietly.
It doesn’t involve guilt-trips on TV.
It doesn’t need attention constantly.
Socialites shouldn’t seek their own satisfaction
if the only result is our continued inaction.
What is really necessary, what really needs doing,
is to get out there and get ourselves moving.
It’s the work of us commoners
that will fill up the bellies.
It’s the donation of the middle class
that will educate young ladies.
The revolution of giving needs to be started
or else who will care when our own lives grow stunted?
The world all together relies on us all
to give out our hand and make our brothers stand tall.
It’s these simple acts which will strengthen the pillars
of mutual respect for our society’s sisters.
So don’t wait any longer for a celeb to rise up.
It’s these people below them who’ll fill up the cup.
No debutante or heir can fill every belly
by thinking of their pride and unearned glory.
Never before has it felt so right
to be the common man, helping a peer in his plight.
Mar 25, 2012
Mar 25, 2012 at 3:16 AM UTC
you’re the streetsign at the corner of intrigue and desire,
right next to melancholy hill,
perimetered in barbed wire.
you’re the bloom breaking through the chainlinked fence
crossing the border,
finally tired of the intense.
you’re the solar light when the
sun don’t shine,
the lie in our eyes when we
say we’re fine
you blur the lines between should and want.
a privilege for me, for others you daunt.
so fruitful now
but then, so gaunt.
but enter here, your debutante.
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 6:34 PM UTC
By: David W. Clare
I sorta knew better but became intrigued at the notion...
It all began with one lonely emotion!
Like a poisoned love potion...
Out of the blue she sent money to the front desk of my flop house hotel deep in the city!
More came later along with promises and lies...
The bellman was asking way too many questions...
I told him it was from an old debt. I bet he saw right through that alibi. He acted shy then the word got out I was a creep, I'm no little Bo Peep!
She and I made plans to meet I was convinced by her intense sense of essence...
She sent **** pictures in the mail, the front desk had opened to inspect!
I suspect an indirect suspicion, the coat-check girl even ran through my pockets stole my coins and matches.
Tough little ***** likes to rant, wants to flaunt her wants my way, asked me to pay for a roll in the hay after she got off work one day...
Then the diabolical debutante went away...
(C) In perpetuity all rights reserved
(P) FilmNoirWorks
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 5:48 AM UTC
Today I am Cinderella!
Today I am going to a ball
and today I will get
dressed up with one of my
very good best friends
and we will wear pearls like
Audrey and Marilyn and
drink free champagne and
I am so excited.
Ten years from now I hope
I can look back on tonight
and be content that I wore
a thirty dollar dress to my
first debutante ball
and know that everything
happened exactly the way
it should have when
I fixed my hair and
went to the movies.
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 11:27 AM UTC
Beware the ugly woman who thirsts for admiration;
She's apt to take up the violin with zeal,
Or keep a parrot as a sign of independence.
Her envious heart makes treacherous her words
To pretty women with their petty self-idolatry.
Did Marie Currie suffer meekly the debutante?
Was "Little Women" a Louisa May ambiguity?
The ugly woman burns monopoly on praise,
Like coals shimmering in a furnace,
A night without neon unthinkable.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 11:25 AM UTC
Mano a mano
I will help, secure, and respect you.
Mano a mano
Don't knock me down
I won't hurt you.
Mano a mano
Pompous were your hands reaching up
Your pride got you, did it fill that prideful cup.
Mano a mano
You grew up a chicano
Went from man to boy.
Mano a mano
You kept saying pronto
I'm not your debutante rich *** I'm low class, with a poor home.
Mano a mano
You still haven't grown up
Will you sincerely love me, its a must.
I need
I
T
N
O
W.
Mano a mano
I d o
N t
Think
You
Can
Handle
M
E..
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 7:14 AM UTC
Bedeck the band and play a merry tune
The debutante desires her maiden dance
A farewell serenade beneath the moon
She's drifting like a Sunday afternoon
Each lazy sway a restful rhythmic trance
Bedeck the band and play a merry tune
Encircling suitors pack around and soon
She gleans the grating of each nervous glance:
"A farewell serenade beneath the moon?"
She casts them all aside her heart immune
To each until one voice, one piercing lance:
"Bedeck the band and play a merry tune!"
She falters and her bold facade is hewn
And nodding shyly greets his cold advance:
"A farewell serenade beneath the moon!"
Embracing him her heart begins to swoon
A maiden sunken at her first romance;
Bedeck the band and play a merry tune
A farewell serenade beneath the moon
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 6:52 AM UTC
A dress
***** hair
Or a ripped
Pair of jeans
And the finest of wear,
No matter
If I look
As if a girl
Without
A home, or
Some rich debutante
I'm made from gods own
Throne, I'm beautiful
Taken, I'm even better
Alone, I need no man
To complete what's gods
Own.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 9:57 AM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya; [email protected])
I loved you on your assurance of loving me too
I kissed you as you kissed me in turn
I showered you with the gifts and series of treats
I courted you on the shores of Zanzibar island
We hovered around and hopped in choppers
To give a toast of debutante to our love
I swell your account with all currencies
I paid your University fees and hostel costs
I financed wholesomely the wedding of your sister
I did all whatsoever you wanted from in time
You got pregnant and promised me a baby
Only you turned around to abort my baby
The second week I lost my job
Babie you are very bad.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 7:32 AM UTC
Good Morning,
Is it strange for you?
Is it strange to forget or is it the usual everyday story
There's clamor outside and I need to shed your memory
I am watching as the ties that never bound
lie threadbare, swept aside into a darker place not meant for prisoners
It is strange for me.
Very strange to be amongst the forgotten and re-arranged
Is that all it is, or was this, this strange little drive through the unknown
more than i wished, desired or paid for with the all the change i had
Are you pockets empty, were you the thief or I ?
Shall we be civilized now, will you play at the charming masquerade
and i at the debutante ball
shall we feign a friendly nonchalance, real as the time goes by
It's just that, well you see
I can't quite understand which is true
that you were worth the silence, or not at all.
Sincerely,
me
Sep 16, 2010
Sep 16, 2010 at 4:22 PM UTC
It could be the duchess
Or maybe the CEO
Or the media mogul
Who almost stole the show
Consider the brash *******
(He does look kind of shifty)
Then again there is the gambler
(Everyone calls him "Swifty")
Check out the carefree diplomat
With that fake smile but no charm
And then there's the airhead heiress
With tattoos adorning her arms
My money's on the senator
Always running, always winning
His wife seems kind of suspect too
With her endless mindless grinning
And then there is the debutante
Who flirted with the football star
And don't forget the pro golfer
Who spent so much time at the bar
But after all that guessing
Throughout the suspenseful show
Turns out the butler did it
...As if I didn't know!
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 10:33 AM UTC
I may not own the streets
or ride them in leather seats,
but if you can hear the beat
then that I speak isn’t weak.
And when I use my unique technique
you will feel weak and antique.
I imagine, create, and contrast,
while you remain in the shame of the past.
And no fame or acclaim will frame
your lame claims of a big game.
So listen up;
let my words glisten
and strut
and enlighten your mind
to the blind kind of refined chap
whose strife in life is crap
in a shiny wrap.
And when you understand
that this land
is not about high-end brands
or powerful hands,
I will demand your attention
to begin an ascension
into another dimension
where we will find a divine comprehension
of our world.
In this new state,
where happiness is part of fate,
we will no longer ache
from the weight of our hate.
We will not longer become irate
when the worth of a great estate abates
and no longer fail to appreciate
dates with soul mates
and time with your friends,
while the trends will amend virtue
and not pretend and defend
vices that can only hurt you.
So please open your eyes
and let your mind fly into the skies
so that my goodbye
might manage to give flight
to what is right
and make all our dry lives
a bit more bright.
Because all I really want
is to see every gent, elder and debutante
from the Nile to Vermont
to flaunt a smile that does not beguile,
but genuinely shows how versatile
and worthwhile life can be
when we defile the hostile
and see that a college degree
does not advocate the ease of greed
and even those without
their abc’s and phd’s
still need to be part of the key
to unlock a world above thee.
We must choose to rise together,
for one missing feather will sever the wings of mankind
and leave us blind;
Always and forever.
Mar 7, 2010
Mar 7, 2010 at 7:13 PM UTC
I give my body up
To anyone that asks,
Just to have 30 minutes
Of artificial love unmasked
But when it’s all done,
It’s over too soon,
My face plunges my hands,
Tears turn my fingers to prunes
Like buzzing bees in a hive
They can’t seem to sit still,
On the edge of the loveseat paralyzed
With a defiled heart shaped box to fill
I’ve sampled it all
I’ve tried different styles,
I even bought new makeup
I toned and ran extra miles,
I bought myself new clothes
Hung the old with a noose,
Even with pained effort
They forever call me “loose”
So I starve, I suffer,
I pull food from my stomach,
I beg johns to stay but they leave,
After paying the hotel check
With nothing left I stare
Out into the dangerous distance,
With ripped, lace underwear
That to him, didn’t make a difference
Tomorrow I will try again
To make myself a debutante,
Easy gaunt bodies, and shiny hair,
Isn’t that what all guys want?
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 4:14 PM UTC
I-Can
U-R Loved
2-B my man
Did
you
ever
mingle
2-C
Army or Navy
Amy is my baby
Bermuda shorts
The sign (All sporty)
Love certain
Never
so
clearer
the 3
misses
So clever
Look!!
Behind
the
Deep-sea
Me
curtain
Front page
Eyes engaged
Never again
Villa number 4-Me
Quite the target
5 people-C
Death wishes
13-D
D- Deceased
Crossword
Puzzle
dazzle me
crowd
But all buts. . .
The tantalizing
temple People
Big Dimple
drink's
It never
Sips money
green____
50 shades
smiling
snap
anyone's
Snapple
The ending
battle
* * * * *
Bermuda
triangle
Just
beginning
Squared Inn
Beguiling
Making
round's
Never stones
Summoned on
Scarlet fever
Not giving a ****
Lady stays
up (Yes Nam)
Higher cheekbones
But all these buts
in between remarks
When
the
sunset
goes down
Going up > > >
Sword-like
Biblical Ancient
Bermuda town
That
kiss rarity
((Flattercalls)) Tipping over
her hand
((Waterfall-Gals)) laying over
Hearing her
moans of
sounds
I but... I need it
Let's mingle
we are
all talking
the same
language
Cafe...steams me
The hub or hubby
Bermuda
tropical
place
It rings *
But always a but____
I never
want
to see
you but__with her
Drinks Bondmen
Showcase stirs
Taxman
No buts
Oh! Sir
Or quite the Mr.
Burr Bermuda
Red tape
everything
on
((Google))
Never to
mingle with
ladies wanted
Goodbye waves
Ads
Never curves single
(Millionaires Harmony)
Suntan Bermuda bikini's
and buts____
Here it is
the buts. . .
But did
you see
that??
How I need that
My Alladin man
He gave me
The time
of
my
life
(Debutante all Detailed)
To be wed
The Peacock
Ladybirds
triangle
Fan
Spiritual
Traveling to never- landing
Applique Peachy tree's
Dressed 777
Thousands
the millions
someone's
breaths
Terrible two trillion
Her Bermuda
vacation so jaded
Check to check
Foreign kissing
remarkable
69 lips sipping
Ending up
with Skittles
The rainbow food
Hill of the Monk
Fish
Seven Fishes
of wonder
Sea Bass
Her summery
Bermuda shebang
* Icely but pricey
chilled bur $-$-$
tang
May 9, 2018
May 9, 2018 at 8:55 AM UTC