Mydriasis Sep 2013

Get your finery on and let the games begin,
Does it look like you'd trust him?
Blackout suit, purple shirt,
Crimson tie, dangerous eyes.
Sly, slick, sardonic and wicked
wearing a gentlemanly disguise.

The dinner was alright
now get ready to fight.
White powder on the counter,
A dusted card and a rolled-up fiver.
Finish up your line
and get out there.

Codine chills, calm is instilled,
Colorful lights, relaxed thrills.

No chats so I'll settle for that.

A while later
and we're back in black. Hometown
Lets get completely smashed;
Go hard or go home.

Messy nights never get old,
River of glass across a broken road.
Tonic wine is best served cold, though
the medicinal properties remain unknown.
A bottle of B from Buckfast Abby, they always
blame it on the buckie, infernal commotion lotion with its cough-syrupy sweet nectar.

Just the end of one other debutante night,
Staying classy while we drink and fight.

Making hedonistic debauchery stylish
because we're Irish.

WomanOfTheNow Dec 2014

Pushed down a flight of stairs
The word “asshole” is forbidden
But two little girls dancing, flinging their hair about
Zoom, zoom on developing breasts
I loved boys the best.

One, two, three, four
Enchanted and consumed in the world of my handy cam corder
I would hit record a thousand times,
Perform with me.
Like another limb, a lens could speak all the words I couldn’t say

Dialect so thick and heavy
Lined eyeliner
Everyone was southern
I was so southern
I am so southern.
Full circle.

And the boys, they truly are gentlemen
Perhaps we are slow in updates
And it takes time to adapt
But everyone here tries their best to be friendly
And kind.

Getting off of a plane
Looking around as if you have encountered another planet
And then slipping so fluidly, so simply
Right back into it.
But grateful to see things--me
Have changed.

Privacy is not frequent
In a house quite so big
But camaraderie and eloquent drunken conversation
Fill your heart
No matter how much you change your destination.

Zoya Springwala Aug 2014

Her stained lips,

Red and incorrigible,

Polluted with lust,

Kissed a hundred men.

Her hands were gnarled like her words,

Profane and seeking.

Debauched were her fingers,

Mysteries hidden beneath her long nails.

Her legs were long and slender,

Wrapped around masculine secrets.

Men fell at her immaculate feet,

The thin, shapely waist

Filled with tantalizing, surreptitious tales.

Her heart black like her soul,

Her years young and numbered.

She was a dream,

The worst kind of a dream there ever was.

She was a nightmare.

Joshua Haines Dec 2014

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 kill 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 breasts 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.

David W Clare Jan 30

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 nude 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 tramp 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

She was only in his mind... film noir drama black and white movie Hollywood 1942 style movies original works by the author.
A Lopez Apr 2016

A dress
Nappy hair
Or a ripped
Pair of jeans
And the finest of wear,
No matter
If I look
As if a girl
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

Dieter Muniz Oct 2011

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

molly sheeves Aug 2013

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.

i wrote this on cocaine one night in like ten minutes. this shit just came to me like it never has before. i wrote it about the boy im seeing. and a side of him that ive only seen come out for me.
antony glaser Apr 2012

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 Playboy 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.

Brian Oarr Aug 2014

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.

John F McCullagh Jan 2012

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 slut”
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

A poem in honor of Phoebe Prince, an immigrant to America who committed suicide in response to relentless bullying.
Ashley R Prince Oct 2012

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.

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