"exhibitionists" poems
the sounds are there, they come through walls
right around the corner
they're not visual, they're miserable and in need
they're equal opportunity exhibitionists
lovers of a family get together, taking everything in
parasitic and aware, destitute and stuck
but they're also there at the wrong time
the wrong time for the person who's alone
the wrong time for a person who's disconnected
because they want to be enjoying peace and quiet
alone
by themselves in an old house
with summer outside making its noises, crickets
trees rustling under a jeweled sky, the pinnacle of up high
breathing in the home air of cannibus, lotion and food
being disturbed is far from a thought, but unavoidable
simultaneously
because the house has a strange history
the basement floods, and the machinery kicks in
the mind ponders as the constellations wander
the nights grow and shrink, the body is dry, bone dry
the shower is turned on, soap, shampoo
lost in the mind on autopilot
until the spine stiffens
its without a doubt that I'm not alone now
a minute ago i was the master of this house
a minute ago I was naked in the hallway, smoking a cigar
now I've been usurped and I just want to barricade myself
in this house that I've live in for 15 years, now i beg for permission
to stay just one more night
I beg because how could I possibly fight
It's my conscious or the pontius pilate
I hope it's the former, because if not, blowout the pilot light
There's little hope for re-ignition or stellar recognition
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 2:30 PM UTC
Naturist, skinny dipper
But never ****** waver;
Some of us are exhibitionists
A point I hope you savor.
I am into keeping clothing
Something more than minimal
But, I should not ever be
Thought of as a criminal.
After all, the same people
Who piously point to their Bible
Ignore that we are born ****
And every other word is libel.
It simply makes no sense
To impose laws on a poor sod
And then paint yourself with
Trappings of some ancient god.
I don’t take my clothes off
To discomfit you even a little
But your frothings-at-the-mouth
I regard as simply spittle.
I have never agreed with your
Mesopotamian mythology,
And I disagree with it all,
With no remorse or apology.
But bear this in mind, please
I resent you pushing on to me
A way of living that I feel
Is very uncomfortable to be.
I don’t ask you to be naked
If that is not right for you
But to tell me I must not
Is an offensive thing to do.
The idea that a tiniest bit
Of what is so honestly me
Is such a horrendous and
Disgusting thing for you to see
In a world of thongs and bikinis
And pushup padded wonder bras
Is a matter of gross hypocrisy
And to me, an ignoble cause.
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 10:07 PM UTC
I walk among the
too-tall pines,
lonely sentinels who
alone still bare their green.
They are
unashamed
in the colors they show,
natural exhibitionists
in a world of barren arms
and almost-snow.
I squeeze around their
stuck-out branches,
sometimes stabbed
and sometimes poked.
That’s the thing with trees—
there is no tenderness,
there is no intimacy because
it's all a joke.
Their pines and their needles
stick to your warmth,
cling to the heat that
rolls off your body in
thick
moist
heavy puffs.
How I hate them
and their everlastingness,
how I despise their
infinity.
One by one
I have cut down their branches,
have snipped off the green
in thick, poky batches.
Carefully and
quietly I
arrange them
in the slush,
build them into
a body that I can
slip into when
there is green abound
and the Earth
is lush.
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 5:28 AM UTC
When autumn comes
Trees become exhibitionists
Shaking off their clothes
Standing proud in the rain
The increasing cold
Matched by an increasing nakedness
While humans plunder wardrobes
Nature strips itself off
Back to the essence
Of what autumn means
That Fall is the fall
Of the empire of pretense
So I cannot pretend
And clutch on summer’s façade
And hide under the foliage
Of warmth and joy
I must let the rain
Wash away my pretense
And I’ll humbly lay myself bare
Amidst nature’s nakedness
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 5:59 AM UTC
Consumed with bitterness
Fading into the darkness
Tearing up decency
Creeping towards immorality
Feminist turned *********
Manipulation creating exhibitionists
Religion lost in the lust
Lying destroying the trust
Men in suits with ****** hands
Thirsty woman giving rash demands
Young kids immune to commands
Teens doing anything to gain fans
They salvage in the danger
The boys seem stranger
The kids exasperating over meds
The couples are in over their heads
The shy turn to the cocky
Experimentation over observation
The right thinking turning foggy
The topic of *** raises anticipation
Thunderous beats invading our ears
Drinking to avoid the fears
Infatuation creating obsessions
Abandoning books for sessions
Squeezing into tiny clothes
Morphing into hoes
The money is on the mind
*** driven youth is our kind
Emancipation polluting our earth
Nothing is significant about birth
Young girls with swollen bellies
Dating guys older than their daddies
Enigma in my mind
I'm losing it God give me a sign
Enigma in my mind
I'm losing it God give me a sign......
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 4:36 AM UTC
you tiptoe around them
as though they are museums
paintbrush in hand to dust their
egos
veil in hand to clothe their
insecurities
but tell me,
how do the exhibitionists serve you?
Apr 25, 2020
Apr 25, 2020 at 3:07 PM UTC
Here’s to all the people that photobomb my holiday pictures,
unsuspecting exhibitionists in my summer memories.
After a while, I become fonder of them than of the places I’ve visited.
They now seem to know me better than most of my friends and relatives,
we start sharing secrets and unspeakable thoughts,
we become connected by an invisible red line,
that passes through all the virtual mess
and intimate celluloid of our afterlife.
I’m sure that somewhere,
in Russia,
or maybe in the Czech Republic,
there’s some poor *** schmuck that’s working up the nerve
to ask me out for a drink
or for some pasta,
not caring that I’m rushing through his photo,
on my way to a public restroom,
or a bar that serves all you can eat, drink and love.
The photos holding the proof of my existence in a certain moment
are facing the ground,
while their owners rehearse their speech
in front of the mirror,
leaving me and all the other tourists through life
behind the black hole library shelf,
in perfect equilibrium,
not knowing if I’m coming or leaving -
an impersonal group of pixels and dots, on a white piece of character.
Here’s to all the strangers in my heart!
Here’s to all the hearts to whom I’m a stranger!
Aug 29, 2017
Aug 29, 2017 at 10:27 AM UTC
to the tune of "My Favorite Things"
Poems in all caps and no punctuation,
Mixed metaphors and clichéd observation,
Roses and rainbows and angels with wings--
These are a few of my least favorite things.
Morbid obsessions and self flagellations,
Self involved rantings and dull ruminations,
Exhibitionists’ ****** preoccupations--
I’m just not dying to read these creations.
Statements of true love to those I don’t know,
Plodding prose poems that go way too slow,
Syllable stresses that aren’t found in English--
If only I’d see them no more is my true wish.
When the urge strikes,
When the words flow,
When you grab that pen--
Just take a moment and think…again.
A good Dictionary, and a Thesaurus,
Some time to read poets who wrote long before us,
Revising, rewriting and time to review--
It’s only these small things that I ask of you..
Jul 15, 2017
Jul 15, 2017 at 7:42 PM UTC
transparent disparages
ensnare carefree societies
implying unreliable disguises
with a flair for pageantry
daring prayer, rare hares prepare
hairy Unitarians to marry
shareholders in gay Paris (Pari’)
repairing the tear
offering free-range diversity
university perversions revert
extroverted exhibitionists
to airline reservationists
impatiently, first-world philanthropists
**** on lists twisting
the anthropologists mood into a balloon animal
this scandalous tryst helps
black-balled priests insisting
on peace to release persistent
victims’ names to mass media outlets
disabled vets regret investing
as corporate jets rest on golden runways
dark days on the horizon
implying these lies perpetrated
cause an uprising that surprises
those late to realize
the fly’s on the eyes of
poor black children
are all of our future –
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 12:58 PM UTC