"debutantes" poems
Dostoevsky dreams
And Pushkin lines
And rhymes...
Like Bolshevik bullets
Tear into me
Seething
Hot sleep!
Dead Tsars and Anastasia
Mean nothing to me
But I miss them
Sometimes...
Aristocratic nonsense
But tiaras are pretty
With diamonds shining
In a Russian night
As kulaks die
The diamonds glitter
A worthy reminder
Of a beautiful time
When debutantes danced
And the little Tsarina
Could dream in peace
Mar 24, 2019
Mar 24, 2019 at 11:56 AM UTC
A gaggle of glamour girls,
Debutantes of Times gone by.
With talk of Aruba,
White Sands and clear blue waters,
Spoken to inspire jealousy to all those around.
And of organization,
Motherhood and label makers,
Construction of pigeon holes for every part of life.
And the Latino Girl at work,
Whispers of the lasciviousness of a life unknown,
In the silliness of two glasses of white wine each.
I smoke a barrier between them and me.
In an effusive hurried rush they leave,
In search of sustenance of the soul,
In search of Sisterhood.
I sit in a Dewar’s drought.
She walks by and grazes her fingertips across my back,
A touch of familiarity,
A touch that I long for.
Gently, I speak,
Within this microcosm,
You stand as Aphrodite.
Smiling, she goes about her work.
I return the appreciation,
The warmth of bad bourbon,
Exuding from my pores.
Cause I sit in a Dewar’s drought.
They sit down in the virility of youth,
Testosterone tilted hats,
Speaking the language of Poser Street,
In the melody of white noise.
Showcasing the uniforms of a self-created culture.
I turn and tune them out.
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 2:47 AM UTC
Walking, always walking,
Puzzled youth being funneled like cattle,
Seek shelter from the sun,
Jeer and poke at each other,
All from the safety of their cell phones.
Constantly seeking that one undesired retention
Of jukebox explosion catapults.
Thrusting us deeper into the mind/brain paradox
What is this?
What are these strange mutterings in the dark?
Babysitting wasp nests by electro shock railroads,
Disgust in the face of the many.
Where is this golden eclipse we’re all waiting for?
How can I not see the spiders on my windowsill?
Are these anguished, infantile youth truly desired?
Aggravated Neanderthal men
Try to impress pulsating goddesses of Light,
All to no prevail.
Sickening feeling in the gut,
Why aren’t you here?
Well I suppose,
Things have changed.
The Empress of the tunnel
Seeks out the empire halls
Of the tunnel-bound angst,
Musicians in the hall strumming
There thoughtless musings,
While the the debutantes watch and listen.
The intensity is unbearable to them,
They must seek shelter in their ipods.
Milk, must have it.
Watching them creep through the cafe,
May they one day find what they’re seeking.
Where are they?
Sitting here by myself,
Look at them jeering at each other
In their own jargons.
Have they seeked out the pleasure of life?
Dream-like meditations,
Well-rounded views of life,
Happiness within.
Dumbly smile at each other,
Seeking closeness,
Mind/body consciousness
Feb 28, 2011
Feb 28, 2011 at 1:05 PM UTC
my roman nose did not
fit the cupboard womb
as I stared at
the silhouette
of a ketchup stain on
a breakfast table
raw burger meat,
ripe debutantes
all bathed in
glycerin and
self-destruction
waiting for teeth
or the occasional knife
I pressed
against
the greasy
diner table
arms crossed
to hide my face behind
a promise to be
waiting for it
open mouthed
and mute
chiaroscuro, blind
Apr 28, 2019
Apr 28, 2019 at 8:08 PM UTC
Time and the sea stripped gold from his face.
Caesar lay in ruins on a burning velvet bed
round him danced the debutantes and believers.
His sullen chamber lit by his burning velvet bed.
Through his window, mottled amber and blue
passed as shades long lost. All that remained
of Caesar, as gold was stripped from his face
now framed by a brilliant half moon;
A memory sent foreign on bitter tides.
Dec 16, 2011
Dec 16, 2011 at 2:24 AM UTC
you might have to stare into neutrons
to un-bond the Marmaduke con
your large doggerels are farcical in a feline fashion.
what harm you do -
fondles the rabid scabies
of our scathing
debutantes.
we are
an affront to the baklava
where the syrup is fierce
and yet the spirit
is amber
locking swift Hymenoptera
into place....
you might have to stare into space
to see me...
but be me,
and you might
gain a wee thing as fabulous
as when we bent knees to no god
but had demons
in our **** larceny.
you polished the rogering,
you foggy bogged
the biscuit.
had your druthers whisk
the cinch a
bit.
till we nipped, went.
had our coffee
spent.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 2:53 PM UTC
The warble frocks and debutantes,
Soprano trilling nightingales,
The extras dressed as elephants
And tenors with their penguin tails;
They mingle at the opera house
With canapés on silver trays;
Then dine on pigeon, goose and grouse,
To reminisce their finest plays;
When Romeo found Juliet
The crowds were on their feet for days,
When mighty Caesar’s end was met,
The press regaled with highest praise;
Such fine upstanding citizens,
So crisply draped, so brightly gowned;
The marvel of these denizens,
So rarely seen, so well renowned.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 2:29 AM UTC
She is
the Ethereal Wonder
and I am her trusty sidekick
Dream Boy.
Her obsequious protégé,
I chop at the shadows
of the baddies
and glass ceilings
to which she delivers
swift kicks and merciless punches.
In the Dream Mobile,
my eyes are at her hand
on the stick shift,
her thumb flipping the
oil slick switch and pressing it—
the sounds of cars screeching and
careening off cliffs
fail to deter me from imagining
the gloved hand in mine.
Off she darts into the fray,
and I hear
the shocked public
gasp,
and the narrator expound,
“Faster than men less qualified but
more likely to get the job,
as powerful as histories
of suffragettes and debutantes,
able to leap over the confines
of impressed domesticity
in a single bound!”
Into her arms fall
the thankful victims
at the last second,
and the baleful embrace
of malevolence
gropes at thin air
where the Ethereal
Wonder once was.
She receives thanks
with a wave of a gloved
hand and bounties
of humility.
She is no damsel in distress,
she is no mere love interest,
and to be her partner
in this great dangerous adventure
will be the most heroic story
ever told—
And perhaps one day she will need saving,
and I will rise to the occasion—
owing my strength, wisdom, and ability
to all she has ever taught me
of being a hero.
Jun 16, 2017
Jun 16, 2017 at 7:13 PM UTC
Standing fifty years high
I wonder if we need clip on light meters
to resurrect non cds slrs.
Of course I would want an auto
diaphragm and thirty six exposure counter.
Against this I would really like you to have a beehive
and to successfully do the twist
with a full debutantes figure.
What is more see Man city go down again
like fifty years ago
just after the Beatles
wanting to be loved
showed their mettle
by doing away with our Pete Best.
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 7:19 PM UTC
The debutantes unfurl their game faces
For Southern gentleman with fat wallets
Credence is given to long held family names with distinguished pedigrees
They reserve their special womanly charms
For the ones with plantations covered in Spanish moss
And men whose business interests in Savannah and Charleston
Take them away for weeks on end
The slaves toil in the fields and are tallied in ledgers like livestock
But these civilized belles only see the wealth of white men
And the servility of the servants, the burdens of back lashes of no concern
Perspiration glistens off cleavage,
Perfume strategically placed
Wafts through the air as an aphrodisiac to the affluent
The genteel manners mask a well of emotion
Rippling right beneath the surface
It only erupts as the slaves turn in and the guests say their goodbyes
The click-clack of hooves on cobblestones in the distance
Announce it’s time
Then dresses are dropped
Corsets are shed
And the night is pierced by the moans of lovers
The indentured servants take their turns giggling silently
With their ears against the door
Passion begets lust
And lust begets fornication
All manner of depravity is exposed when the manners are off
Women possessed of ****** desire
I have witnessed many things in my day
But nothing is more evil or more beautiful than a Southern belle
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 5:13 AM UTC
Did’st thou forget where hopeless lover sprang from
Not your modern sparkling blood suckers
Not your star crossed werewolves
Not your dainty upper crust debutantes
But from poetry
From the poems of life
Which art does so poorly imitate
From the scripture of the worker
From the not so quite ancient days
When lovers sailed away
To find their place
From the rash heartbreaks
From those verses of yesterday
Not those shades of grey
That displace your face
And find your faith delayed
But from the plays we played
And the words we said
From Romeo and Juliet
Began that creative trend
Rushing full blushing
In to their foolish end
But then again it is their love I covet
Hence my love poems are birthed
Pale imitators of past affections
So when I say I love thee
As the sun loves the moon
When I rush to reach what can never be grasped
If ever we are together
Knowing it will never really last
Let me hold you in Shakespearian affections
All lust, and love
All ash to ash and deadly brash
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 8:08 AM UTC
Spinal necessity exists
Between ludicrous *****
And the pulsating brain
Lumbering and slobbering
Separate from the mind
Which is tuned to distraction
Feeling every nuance
As a ricochet
For this sensitivity is not delicate
But damning and demanding
Tentative toes step around
Lightly sleeping memories
Which will bawl upon waking
Demanding delivery
Into the light of recognition
But, evading perspective
They become demonic in aspect
Causing crashes
Stamping all over corpses
Bringing them alive
And each of these ghastly debutantes
mutters softly
"Dream of me"
By Phil Roberts
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 1:02 PM UTC
A rude dawn over the city
Where Pepys once fought with his beautiful wife
After seducing whatever servant-girl chanced
To be around, where kings
First ruled from cold castles full of cockroaches,
Murderous cousins
Lurking through the baleful halls of history
Eyeing the empty throne. The stinking
River long shorn of fish sweeps elegantly before
The crimson petticoats of multiple ******
Promenading along Thames Street,
Winking at under-washed gallants.
Vauxhall gardens a pithy cavalcade of priests and doxies,
Of flower girls, flaxen haired girls selling fruit,
Anxious to reach home before the ****** hour of early
Evening when beaus gather in alley ways establishing
A testosterone gauntlet in the dust-spawned gloom.
The road to Tyburn is littered with lost hopes!
On hanging day bodies swung like debutantes dancing
To jazz tunes-
Aristocrats quartered with precision squealed like common folk,
Bleeding as much. The city watched all this
And didn’t murmur-never complained-
Smiled, as only a city can smile, at gin-drunk matrons, pie eating aldermen
And the ****** activity in street shadows by relieved young women on
VE day 1945.
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 6:04 PM UTC
Amelia from Lostralia found herself in Belgravia where the opals that shone reminded her of some place she had gone long before.
Through the doors of pretension where belief is suspended and dreams never ended she defended her right to keep hold of the key,
and the key was the key to set Amelia free from the shackles and anklets placed on her by the withered old aunts who were once debutantes in some place she had been long before.
On the skeleton coast of which Lostralia is famed for,she once went through one more door which led to another or rather an exit,a way out to find out just who she'd become and that wasn't fun,
when you look and you see through the ways that will be and the ways that they were and there's no one to care for,when the doors disappear and the trembling fear is all that you own
and the way back to home is shrouded in mist and the list that you made of the good things you had shrinks into nothing and everything's bad.
In Belgravia her saviour a man from the East or at least East of the beckoning hour,showered her with praise and saved her a reckoning with some higher power which she had seen long ago when locked in the tower by the wicked old prince.
When she woke someone spoke and asked,'how are you my dear'?, fearing the worst and feigning a thirst she replied with a dry throat,spitting cobras and omens and opals and amen's,'I'm okay,I was dreaming of my home in Lostralia and Amelia was back where she'd started from'
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 6:19 AM UTC
Spinal necessity exists
Between ludicrous *****
And the pulsating brain
Lumbering and slobbering
Separate from the mind
Which is tuned to distraction
Feeling every nuance
As a ricochet
For this sensitivity is not delicate
But damning and demanding
Tentative toes step around
Lightly sleeping memories
Which will bawl upon waking
Demanding delivery
Into the light of recognition
But, evading perspective
They become demonic in aspect
Causing crashes
Stamping all over corpses
Bringing them alive
And each of these ghastly debutantes
mutters softly
"Dream of me"
By Phil Roberts
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 2:17 PM UTC
CORTÉS
Trailblazing pioneers, God’s harbingers:
The shining daylight of the Renaissance
Now swiftly dissipates the blindfold gloom
Of this benighted, dark, and iron age.
And as this dawn of culture greets the globe,
Our own Castile, of all the hosts of Europe,
Emerges as its greatest modern power.
If we receive the bounty of these lands,
So must we bear our duty to convert,
And shall redeem these hell-bound debutantes.
Coincidence?- That as the graceless Moors
Were drubbed and shunted from our Christian sands,
And in the very year our spiring cross
Eclipsed that toenail paring of a moon-
That new horizons opened in the west?
Do you not feel, my fresh adventurers,
That you are precious to the Lord, and chosen?
Strike sail! Exit.
ALVARADO You heard the captain. Up and at ‘em.
You porters, lash the tents to tame these winds.
The horsemen will untwine the provender. Exit Garrido.
SANDOVAL
The women must find tinder, turf, and fuel.
The sun is down. We race against the dusk. Exit María.
ESCUDERO
These heavy, gathering clouds have opened up,
And threaten to bestow unwanted gifts.
DÍAZ
It is the cyclone season out at sea.
SANDOVAL
Such scuddy weather bodes a sudden turn.
ALVARADO
Let’s hustle then to fumble up a camp,
And save our “oo-” and “ahh”ing for the dawn.
Exit all but Olmedo.
OLMEDO
Thus shall the ardent lights of Europe come,
And pour upon these newfound neophytes.
But will they be enlightening Catholic lamps,
Or a consuming fire to destroy them? Exit.
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 11:58 AM UTC
Spinal necessity exists
Between ludicrous *****
And the pulsating brain
Lumbering and slobbering
Separate from the mind
Which is tuned to distraction
Feeling every nuance
As a ricochet
For this sensitivity is not delicate
But damning and demanding
Tentative toes step around
Lightly sleeping memories
Which will bawl upon waking
Demanding delivery
Into the light of recognition
But, evading perspective
They become demonic in aspect
Causing crashes
Stamping all over corpses
Bringing them alive
And each of these ghastly debutantes
mutters softly
"Dream of me"
By Phil Roberts
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 8:03 AM UTC
Spinal necessity exists
Between ludicrous *****
And the pulsating brain
Lumbering and slobbering
Separate from the mind
Which is tuned to distraction
Feeling every nuance
As a ricochet
For this sensitivity is not delicate
But damning and demanding
Tentative toes step around
Lightly sleeping memories
Which will bawl upon waking
Demanding delivery
Into the light of recognition
But, evading perspective
They become demonic in aspect
Causing crashes
Stamping all over corpses
Bringing them alive
And each of these ghastly debutantes
mutters softly
"Dream of me"
By Phil Roberts
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 3:04 PM UTC
Beauty queens in
ballgowns looks like
they'd be hot *****
but debutantes in
swimsuits get to be
the bathing beauties
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 6:07 PM UTC
Is it the fools penny?
Or is it the debutantes dollar?
Could it be the tears shed?
Shed from a heart of love
Maybe the fancy gems
Or the shiny toys?
Surely it was the tiny acts
The acts of love and compassion.
Was it the fool on the steed?
Believing he could ever be enough.
If none of these?
Then nothing could ever please.
Describe the value of a fool in love.
Was it not enough to promise death for life?
Claw the eyes from the beast.
Rake the ***** clean of flesh.
Crawl through the mire and muck
Meander the path through hells journey.
The value has been decided by those that received
Decided when they said goodbye.
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 10:39 PM UTC
I survived things I thought were worth fighting for.
I survived worse things, so now I'm fighting forward.
I survived cursed things, that frightened more.
I survived things I fought but been slighted for.
I survived having to make ends meet.
I survived splashing cause the pool was more than 10 ft.
I survived a thrashing & jabbing the ****** concrete.
I survived the teeth gnashing cause we ain't have nothing to eat.
I survived about at least 4 foreclosures.
I survived ignoring doubt, just for closure.
I survived things that ended in my own exposure.
I survived enduring drought just for full disclosure.
I survived being back-stabbed and betrayed by my beloved.
I survived being flayed, filleted and flummoxed.
I survived being led to the lake by the lazy lummox.
I survived both blades and flames in my stomach.
I survived dreams where I was falling.
I survived falling forward on the path of my calling.
I survived calling it quits on the plans of my offing.
I survived apples with poisoned pits , that were offered.
I survived having to spare shekels and hide.
I survived my very own version of Jekyll and Hyde.
I survived diluted deities, Ms. Dee Dee and diabetes.
I survived debbie downers and debutantes.
I survived double doubters and deadly taunts.
I survived some double crossings - dealing haunts,
I survived tempted tantrums and tethered thoughts.
I survived the boondocks and the tricks of the babadook.
I survived bad trips and the trips that papa took.
I survived self destruction of the 3rd degree.
I survived self construction with less debris....
Jul 2, 2024
Jul 2, 2024 at 6:23 PM UTC
Two petite pretties
pranced before me
paragons of the
impoverished society
that values surface
over depth
The dancing debutantes
Dangled their dangerous
And dubious dispositions
Directly in front of me
Enter stage bad boy
Blustering buffoon
With a silver spoon
So far up his ***
He spewed silver polish
On his nice Polish pants
Cash in hand
He passed around
His affluences
Like it was influenza
Vomiting vague
Platitudes with
So much attitude
As if he had
Anything valid to say
But this crowd was rapt
With the vapid vocalist
He drank expensive ****
To prove he was valid
No valor just vain vagaries
On display to frustrate me
Greatly
They celebrated the success of a
Failing millionaire who was premade
By the fortune that his father made
To bail him out of all of his mistakes
As he played society like a broken violin
I was trying to bring talented art back in
But society placed me in the trash bin
Before I could even begin
To purge the poison
The incurably incurious
Perpetuators of
Shallowness
So I bow out of this
Cause I thought
We were working together
To make each other’s life better
But it turns out I was
Running a race
I did not even know about
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 7:08 PM UTC