"fatale" poems
"I can’t figure it out.” She said.
“I like cigars,
and pretty dresses and crossing my legs.”
She paused,
then continued,
“And I like smoking cigars in pretty dresses while crossing my legs.”
She uncrossed them,
then crossed them again.
One smooth limb over the other.
Just like that.
“But I never seem to have a lighter on hand.
Could you— sir,
please light my cigar?”
“You see, I have no pockets to hold such things and my purse…
Well,
You’ve confiscated that, haven’t you?”
“Thanks.” She breathed,
and inhaled,
and exhaled;
Sluggish wisps of smoke dissipating into the air.
Just. like .that.
“I didn’t know L'homme was into women who smoke cigars in pretty dresses while crossing their legs", She said.
“I mean, how was I to know?
I only noticed him noticing me.
It was probably the way my hair was tousled like so,
Or how my lipstick shone a deep, dangerous rogue,
Or the way I sipped at my champagne…
That made him walk over.”
“But I never asked him to light my cigar
Or comment on my dress…
Or stroke my legs.
So when I whacked him up top over the head with my glass,
I bet he never expected it to shatter and split his skull like so.
He dropped so sudden, sir. I…”
Another ringlet of smoke, a sigh, an uncrossing and crossing of legs again.
“I had no clue,
what else to do,
But to sit still in my pretty dress, with my legs crossed, smoking my cigar trying to figure out...
Just how I'd committed ******
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 5:10 PM UTC
There's gods all around that pound you
While the men in high heels surround you
How much longer 'til they've found you?
Suzy, do you know what you've done?
She had her ways of seduction
A femme fatale if there ever was one
A high class killer and a smart one
But everyone fails once or twice
You spent the night in the hacienda
Curled up on the white veranda
To kingdom come they'd like to send ya
Suzy, do you know you're on your own?
The sun will rise tomorrow
Do you need some time to borrow?
Listen to the morning swallow
You've got to come up with something quick
How does it feel to be a rebel?
To wake up dead next to the devil?
You've got one more deal left to settle
Suzy, I hope your aim is good
Is that smoke in the distance?
Is it a campfire or an instance?
Is there anyone out here to witness,
Whatever Suzy has up her sleeve?
The gun that she carries
Belongs to the man she married
And tonight, along this lonesome prairie
Suzy will meet him once more
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 2:28 AM UTC
Young women know all about style -
how to fix the decimal point
between them and their mothers
differentiate themselves
from Special K over 40s wanna bees
mini skirted and high heeled
trying to catch their husband’s eye
Yummy mummies in their 30’s
are separated from the new stock
by firm elastic flattened midriffs
no bulge or wobble
unlined skin taut sometimes
navel peirced or *******
their legs wear the 4” heels again
on winklepicker pointed toes
for a mid century crop
of bunioned feet.
No scraggy necks or waddle
no tea tray arses only
plump peaches
in the bend over show
of skimpy, lacy thongs
of ****** floss
So, **** femme fatale is cool
body object the thing to be
flouncing and preening
flirting and *******
random hook-ups on the run
in the alleys of time on the net
in the warp of space
Killer ! Whatever !
Wicked ! Yeah feral !
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 1:08 AM UTC
She is a gypsy queen
My queen
Who sees sadness in my eyes
And falls in love
She is on the road
And in the stars
Hanging over me as clouds
Shining over me as suns
She is a gypsy queen
Belladonna
A femme fatale fatally stricken
And falling further
She lives by her own rules
And in her dreams
Where our bodies intertwine
And in our hearts
We both know
We know it well
Nothing last forever
Not even pain
I wondered if she could love
But I know she does
Even love that is ending
Never dies
She fell in love
With the sadness in my eyes
And broke her own rules
To see me smile
May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 2:02 AM UTC
Dressed in black, dark eyes amused
She strolls into a room
With the specialised tread
Of a femme fatale,
Tossing her streaming hair in arrogant joy.
Her perfect body
Contains the calm and unexpected force
Of the sea, shifting in a moment between
Reason and fury.
She graces the men with sure-footed Arabic,
Stark, sibilant, passionate words
Laughing like a poem.
A Moroccan beauty,
Guedra dancing in the sun,
From the desert coloured mosque of Casablanca
Punctured by the worship Of 70,000 songs,
To the unremitting souks of Marrakesh,
Her complexity
Emboldened by the courage
Of poets.
She has a silence in her intellect
Such as few have,
Unusual evidence of a soul
In a world of franchises,
Her past imaginings deeper and wider
Than that of her peers,
Dancing to fast Gharnati rhythms,
Beneath imagined Andulusian sunsets
And glowing skies.
An effervescent scintillating gasp of fervent
Desert air, beating across her limbs
Moving gently towards silence.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 10:55 PM UTC
C'EST PRESQU'AU BOUT DU MONDE..."
( IT WAS ALMOST TO THE END OF THE WORLD )
She believed that
deep deep inside her
the flame of a femme fatale
burned brightly.
Could imagine herself stepping out of
some classic Film Noir.
Cultivated herself
to look like Marie Windsor
opposite the dangerously gorgeous
John Garfield.
But her life it seemed had her
stepping into an Edward Hopper.
The isolation and the paint
still wet.
The lonely lady
glimpsed in an hotel window
from a passing train
autumnal rain.
Still she acted always as if
she was in her own movie l
walking around her tiny flat
naked
except for red stilettos
red earrings...red lipstick.
Making up her own snappy lines
to some imaginary leading man.
"Are you decent?"
"Yes""
"But you're....you're naked!"
"You only asked if I was decent!"
The mirror laughed
catching the reflection of who
she could have been
given half the chance.
She never
stood a chance.
She threw a cigarette up in the air
caught it between her lips
her one and only
party trick.
Lit or unlit.
Searching for middle C
on a battered piano
her mind off key
abandoning it
the piano's yellow smile.
She watched the sunlight
carve a block of time
out of the dividing wall.
fading the wallpaper roses.
The bed that was always
empty...always unmade.
She danced to Weill's
Youkali Tango.
Put it on again...again.
Scratching an already scratched record.
The needle gathering fluff.
The porcelain milkmaid...dust.
She disliked the way sweat
gathered under her *******
They were always a little too large.
Hated men staring so hard.
Ahhhh the faded romance
a sunset heart attack.
Couldn't have wrote
herself a better script.
Staggering in her dance
gasping that all too unsubstantial
air as if trying to
catch time
the presentpastfuture
falling out of her hand.
The wooden acorn
of the tattered blind
tapping against
the ***** window pane.
Neon going green.
Then red.
Now blue.
And then green again.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 3:16 PM UTC
She spits fire
Stands strong
Feet planted:
No mercy
Unyielding
She is belladonna
She is the femme fatale
She is unattainable
And she revels it that.
Solitude lends itself to sweet dreams and optimism
Without the threat of slowing down
Without the weight of children's bodies
Without the teeth and claws of responsibility
Sinking soul-shudderingly deep
Into her body
Or so she tells herself
When faced with her
Swarms of unhappy thoughts
Gnat-like they flutter
Around her head
But she will not let them in
Because that is vulnerability
That is admitting weakness
That is being human
And she will never admit her hamartia
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
with eyes spotted with stars
and lips painted with blood
the perfect mix
of your best dreams
and your worst nightmares
she loves like Aphrodite
fights like a fatale
bleeding light
spitting blood
people touch her and warm
people abuse her and blister
with hair as soft as silk
but hands as rough as granite
she smells of honey and jasmine in spring
but tastes of rusty iron and lemons
her body is a wonderland
but her heart is hell in an ***** form
a voice as soft as fleece
but a scream as sharp as a blade
many fight for her
many fight against her
she is a shooting star
and a fallen angel
satan loves her
gods envy her
you won't learn her name
or her heart
but you’ll learn her history
and the list of names she broke before you
Nov 11, 2018
Nov 11, 2018 at 2:35 AM UTC
she's a wild unconventional girl
her hair flies about her in wisps
she seems to be the one with bare feet everywhere
her friends call her a mystery and a tease
but not in the alluring curl-of-a-finger sort of way
in the way that she is deep
deep as her eyes are blue like the ocean
eyes that are so old, they tell stories of pain
buried beneath layers no one will ever see
including this femme fatale herself
she attracts those with the purest hearts
she doesn't even corrupt them, just makes them think too much
she's the other woman who is as beautiful as her photographs
she throws her head back when she laughs
she is familiar to everybody and yet always seems untouchable
if you touch her you are brave or a fool
she will always be that one
the one that got away but also you got away from
Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 12:30 AM UTC
I lay my head on the concrete pillow..
Knowing it's another sleepless night..
Haunted with your eyes..my dearest love..
My worst enemy..
If passion was meant to be warm..
Then why is this cold dark void tightening my chest?
I lay my head on the stone pillow..
All I needed was two days..
For me to become an outcast..to hide under the sheets..
My anguished soul demands relief..
Crushed like the petals of a withered rose..
Slowly embracing decay..gladly welcoming death..
All it took was two days..
For me to reach the verge of insanity..
A shattered piece of glass..a train going nowhere..
I lay my head on the iron pillow..
In this mess of mine..nothing seemed so clear before..
How plastic life is..how phony friends are..
As I stare at the scarlet pool of blood on my iron pillow..
I realise it was you,my curse,who showed me..
That their smiles hide hatred..their embraces hide a knife behind your back..
That power is only for the ones who fear not killing to claim it..
That adulthood is a lie designed by governments..
To cage our sheltered whispers..
Uttering the words of peace and war..
To suffocate the memories of childhood out of our veins..
We can stay young forever,my sin..
Just keep dancing..and I'll stay mesmerized with my femme fatale..
Still out of my reach..
I lay my head in the wodden pillow..
Remembering the short time we had..
clenching to every moment..grasping every detail..
The your body sways..the sweet aroma of you golden locks..
my burning desire to taste the rouge off your lips..
How hard you tried..that lingerie you hide..red as the scarlet pool of blood on my wodden pillow..
Blessed is your dress..revealing what's hidden..a feast of beauty to my eyes..
And when you sat next to me..our hands inches apart..
So close..yet so far you were from me..
On that scorching day of summer..
I lay my head on the feather pillow..
The pool of blood is larger now..
the water tastes gloomy..sunshine brings sorrow..
Meaningless is the sound of snowflakes descending calmly on the ground..
Pointless is my dance..without a partner..without you in the crowd..
So I scream..as hard as my lungs allow..
Nothingness echoes back..the embodiment to my fears..
All it took was two days..
For you to live an eternity in my dreams..
But when my eyes open..
Without you..my endless regret..
Nothingness is my pillow..
void..plays the final sonata in my heart..
Jan 2, 2018
Jan 2, 2018 at 2:24 PM UTC
Sore’ us
Ooze
‘da poor ‘ust ones
Black scotch and de’wars
**** ‘um is fin’er
As I run from life
‘a from any at all.
‘dis ain’t ‘dey party
Fa’ de’ parted departing
It’s just ‘dey way
Of getting ‘duh deed done
It’s not mystery
Nor ‘duh chance.
See?
Pure despair
‘nings discernment
Evils low ruse
Vindictive benedictions
Pleasures ease
Smell’s clear
While here
Something’s sick
’nings’ fatale
‘ah a‘traction
Sum treacherous torture
Of sentenced de jour…
Jeer’us!
Infectious disease’us
Runnin’ rampant
Of spells complete
Consumption ‘us
Divergin’ opinions ring
Must be sick ’o
Is pathetic delusion ’o
Imagine
Is just imagining
Flashbacks of ole
Smackums’ hymn
Kind’a makes me laugh
But truth is too
Much to rash
That woman’s
Complete
Abusive…
Trash!
Got the world?
Or her wrath
Taken out the best…
Mother Natures Son
Everything he cares for
His family and chill
‘da heir
‘dey run
Only pain and death‘ eruption
Ultimate relentless destruction
Her kind of fun
Yeh ‘dey disorder of disorders
Kin‘da be a gun
Yud luve to be swift
For such ‘da gift
That takes you from ‘dat world
She’s so horrid
From hell they’d tried to bar ‘er
They’d hope to have starv’n out her
But souls she’s quick devour’n
Takes you out
To bear pain upon ya’
Despair, would you’ve joy
Preparations of
Desperations…
She’s suicide!
She’ll get ya on her dream sensations
Thee unforgivable debts
War crimes kinda’
You’ve got comin’
Lest her best compensations
U’d try n try to escape
Marked for pain
Marked not to make it
As prey unto desolations
Of the desperate
And ultimate violations
(She is Suicide
Kind’a be a gun)
Jun 10, 2012
Jun 10, 2012 at 9:14 PM UTC
Miss Maiden,
might I compare you
to that of the guillotine?
Your swooping grace
like the edge of a
shining
silvery blade
that curves and cuts
across the sky
so seductively
slitting the throat
of the horizon
From the threshold of dreams
to bring a new day
Where we feed our blood
back into the monotonous machine
then drop to our knees
and pray for divine intervention
My femme fatale,
Could you take me out of this?
to break cycle
before you wax away
You know you were always
my favorite deity,
*Artemis, Artemis
You’re the art I miss
from a life unfulfilled
From the music*
The untold story
agonizing inside
writhing for a release
So I’m drawing you down
to this plane
to hunt me as a willing sacrifice.
Won’t you drop from the sky
and come blow my mind?
Just leave my head in the basket.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 2:25 AM UTC
As I’m standing in the spotlight
I see look-alikes swiftly passing by
But none of them pull off
That red dress like you do
And I follow very thorough
Each and every one in my mind
But all roads lead to home
Where rooms are filled with memories
You’ve always had me caught
Between the fire and your vicious sensuality
Playful debauchery
I’d never would have thought
That everything would end up in this way
As you take me by the hand
And lead me down memory lane
A love in black and white
With hints of perfume in the air
You hold on to the leading role
Despite the fact that you’re long gone
But no-one would be able
To replace this femme fatale anyway
With passion and despair
You always lured me into petty ambiguity
Mental disparity
If only I had said
That life would stop being the same
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 8:09 AM UTC
I tried to write
a novel
once.
It was about a town
called Foxtrot,
Kentucky
in the hot Georgia summer
and three people
that lived there.
There was a symbolic
dogwood tree (it stood
for innocence)
and it rotted away
when the femme fatale
was *****
Her lover ***** her; he was
apparently a violent man.
Her other lover mourned
but was not sad anymore
once he had shot
the ******
Then in recompense
the lady opened herself to him.
"1+0=3" she said.
And that was when he realized
that the universe is
*** a battle
of creative impulses.
Someday I'll go back
and try to write about Foxtrot,
Kentucky again.
This time, the man will be *****
and we will see what
the universe is like for him
then.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 5:04 PM UTC
*She sat around a huge throng
At La Bellevilloise where the music turns up
matches her red lips and sultry dress
Pouring a bottle of Musigny under a frigid night
She curled her brunette hair an hour
chose the best stilletos
with a drop of parfum in her wrist
Tonight, the moon's her spotlight
she drown from every sip of wine,
as she dances her heartache
and catches his eyes
Her smile stings a heart
her words create an echo
enchanting to his ears
A poison of desire
a canvas of picturesque scenery
she was the quintessential beauty
that burns in sight
But on midnight,
where they said their goodbyes,
she looked at her face
with the mascara lines
and messy hair in the mirror
whispering, "tonight was a terror"
slowly wiping her eyes and exhaled with a smile*
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 8:59 PM UTC
Ms. Del Rey says “the world is made for two”,
but her idea of two is some fresh hell;
it’s seems that Lana thinks a girl’s abuse,
is cinematic fodder one can sell.
The other woman sings about her man.
“sO pOPuLIiSt” with flowers on her head.
While some may come from poor & tell the tale,
Del Rey wears being poor like it’s a dress.
But voices that she channels in her songs,
Bespeak a femme fatale alone, and they,
Are both no one, and everyone in one.
The guardians of endless summer days.
Apr 23, 2020
Apr 23, 2020 at 11:57 AM UTC
Je tremble des lèvres et des cils
Tout en moi se raidit, je bande
Je suis possédé
C'est Ma Phénicienne qui est à la manoeuvre
C'est ma diablesse qui se manifeste
C'est Jézabel, muse fatale, qui est à l'oeuvre
C'est l'esprit de Jézabel qui m'infeste.
Telle Anat, la Cananéenne, la Sanguine,
Ma prêtresse de Baal, ma Sidonienne
Se farde les paupières d'antimoine
Et se coiffe langoureusement postée à la fenêtre.
Ses yeux de gazelle me dictent les mots
D'une rare luxure
Que je dépèce comme une meute de chiennes lubriques
Ses lèvres entrouvertes dégoulinent
De mots adultères
Et la débauche s'empare de mon trône.
Et le désir me piétine de ses chevaux emballés.
Mais **** de m'apeurer à l 'approche du combat qui s'annonce
Je m'agenouille et je vénère ma guerrière,
Ma prophétesse, mon YHWH
Ma souveraine et seule voix sur terre
Vierge de toute armure ou parure,
Jézabel, mère d'Athalie,
Jézabel dont je suis l 'homme de paille,
Le prostitué rituel,
Le moine poète
Qu'elle a défenestré !
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 2:07 AM UTC
It seems like the tales in my heart
are mired in my soul
scars on my body
are basically just tales of
intense violent mysogony
what I realized
was that my femininity is not what I hate
its the longing to feel safe
to feel okay
in my womaness
to not equate my womanhood with violence.
I am healing
I am working on separating this
on healing the patterns of violence
that I was brought into this world with
from a violent man known as my father
and the men in my family
I feel the anger in my heart
that I have always carried and pointed towards myself
now all I listen to is metal music
and I feel so much comfort
in this music ,
that explains my emotions in words that I can't even describe,
What hurts more
is that I overlooked so many good men
because of the way that my violence,
has painted me into a corner
in my mind.
This is why I choose my healing
above all else.
When we are so mired in our pain
We can barely see that our HELL is HELL,
because part of us thinks that it will always be that way!
I called you crying my tears running down my face
waterfalls of pain,
runny mascara,
In the back of an ambulance
you my brother told me,
you were sorry
but to stop talking
because it hurt you ,
and you were too busy to come
help me!
Well guess what
there was NO ONE ever to help me !!!!!!
I instead had to sit there in the hospital all alone
With nothing to my name
but Police records
Empty faces
pitying looks
And **** kits
I was too bruised too move,
There are some things one can't forgive
and this is one of them.
What's worse is this man who abused me ,
was like all the others
who preach modesty!
Why not preach kindness ,
love
equality
seeing women as equal,
as worthy of everything that you have
just because you have a *****
doesn't make you better than me !!!!
One man who abused me called me
his femme fatale,
oh Hunny,I am worse than that if you mess with me!
I think for so long
I have been more afraid of myself ,
than anyone else
for the rage that is held inside of me
is enough to build buildings with !
So instead of telling you
TO GO FUCKKKKK Yourself ,
which I have already done
to one of the abusers that I had met before,
I will say I remember it all
and my body doesn't forgive!
As the jewish new year comes around
in a few weeks,
I can count on my fingers all the sins that
all these horrific monsters of men
did to me ,
because men like these,
they aren't real men
they are monsters who pertend to be men.
Aug 27, 2023
Aug 27, 2023 at 6:31 PM UTC
Anopheles
Syringe aloft
Intone a twining tune to tempting ear.
By day
Mosquito
Hide incognito;
At night take flight,
Seek heat of vein to slake maternal craving.
Femme fatale
Fly ****** dance,
Alight let lance sip sanguine feast:
Soft kiss to ruddy cheek -- know taste of rouge.
Instill perchance live issuance
O harbinger of bad air,
Purveyor of fever,
Anathema of armies,
Ill missile of men made canals,
Evocation to slavery and Silent Spring.
Subtle touch to pulse of humanity:
Innocent tender to misery --
You mock our pride
In twining tune
Anopheles.
Sep 25, 2011
Sep 25, 2011 at 7:25 PM UTC
The buttery eye of a butterfly caught my sigh slipping shy to the windowsill where your lips spill insomnia powering watermills undefeated by the modern Don Quixotes. My muse breathes in higher frequency... I'm telling her to stop... Stop. My thoughts don't rely on my lungs anymore for they have organs of their own... as well as separate agendas. They paint you psychedelicate, frail and yet invincible. Murderously vulnerable. Violently tender. The hunted is the hunter. The femme fatale.
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 6:06 PM UTC
Beautiful, gentle, feminine grace
Her essence redolent of future nostalgic days
Supplement for the eyes
Taste of sweet hope
drive away consternation
Fragile, lithe confidence
Feline cockiness
unblemished control
So bold and self-assured
Insecurities tucked so deep
She walks with the air of
superior knowledge
And she has it
She knows things we wished
Intelligent in all her undertaking
As simple as they are.
likeness to the purest
Shes a magnificent creature
There is strength in her confidence.
Then there are the others
similar species
The ones who lack
Beastly
Trod like a giant
Callous to the touch
Gauche by comparisson
Constant yearning To be so sure of themselves
Constantly seeking others approval
Watching her
Studying her.
Long hours of staring And inhaling her
Pretending to be her.
Failing
Its innate
But only in women like her
"We are not all meant to be the same"
They are fed
"It would be boring"
She's manufactured by society
To endure society
Survival of the fittest
She will survive.
Don't we all deserve to survive?
Some say its science down to the atom
Invariably convinced that they are not members
of the "protected" feminine gender
But definitely not welcomed to the esteemed masculine gender.
Born in the right body
Trapped in the wrong mind.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 11:37 AM UTC
I swallow your story and
I WAIT I WAIT I WAIT
as civilizations collapse and--there's an uprising in Egypt!?!
and Kayne West releases another album and I listen to it when I kiss a girl and all I can think of is man,
I would make a great celebrity
I don't want you to **** me, I didn't know that-that-that text meant you were announcing you wanted to bounce back to my ***** and I
don't think I would say yes at first, to spite you.
KVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKV
KVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKV
I'm a mess. I love it. Everything is going perfectly and I'm b u s y torturing artists and dancing with queer girls in Oakland because I like getting what I want
because when I was younger I wanted to be a femme fatale
and here I am. Playing the villain
has been far more interesting that anything that I can lie up
and it's laughable that all my stories are true and that girls spread their legs and hold my hand after less than three hours of knowing me if I want to whisper in their ear.
KVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKV
KVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKV
I'm desensitized. I like liking, I like lust, I like love. I'm capable of human emotion, just let me wrap the world in a thunderous revenge for the piety I have shown thus far and I will show you a good time out in the Mission when you text
at 6 on a Friday night when I smell trouble, decay, ***** and light
and ask me what I am doing
right now
and I get nostalgic for the view of a smooth set of shoulders between my white sheets
KVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKV
KVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKVKV
I am young, I am alive. I will take advantage of those two things.
^^^^
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 2:10 PM UTC
Red Lace Is Something
I’ve only ever heard about.
Never seen.
Big Hips, Tiny Waist
Isn’t real in my world.
Just TV.
Tight Seamless Dresses
And a flattering sillouhette:
Flattery?
Danger: Curves Ahead,
Comparing me to thrilling.
Not me.
Real Women Have These:
It’s either me or my best friend.
Always neither.
Bossom Buddies, Close Knit
Shower buddies using soap.
Never clean.
Jan 28, 2011
Jan 28, 2011 at 8:12 PM UTC