"fishnets" poems
goodmorning
the **** convinced me
not to move the black bracers-
killer whales wanting to dance
but i stuff them with threads,
knots of ebony and fishnets,
so they hang over my body
at night during my journeys.
are they looking after me or
are they after that red bead
in my center?
burning woodsmoke now, patchouli
melt creamy- as venus sways one
hip from the fire pits of aries
she ends up on the other side:
the dirt finger grove of the steady
bull chanting "hold and touch and stay."
goodmorning
when has the sun glided his way,
as if upon the hips of a sea nymph,
across miles and angles of what
was a dark night?
keep your water, i am weaving.
i am breathing every taste of it
i am touching infinitely that center,
so sought after, like the walls of palaces
when tongue touches lip
i am rubbing every color through me
i am watching your scent drizzle gently
all over my pools of skin.
tend me like the earth, goodmorning
string me like the grape vines bursting forth from soil.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 7:01 AM UTC
Waste my time.
Distract me from the pain of other earthly things.
Raise my Hope from the dead.
Give it mouth to mouth,
Sloppily,
Spit-flying,
And So *****
Inflate its lungs.
Out & in, in & out.
Bruise its lips.
We all are just Living to die.
Right?
Take me to church--
Show me God, boy.
Bring me to my knees,
Make me sing his praises.
Shed your tears on my bare back while we break classroom desks apart.
Piece by piece,
You use me.
You shape me,
And Create me into yours.
Make me wear skirts with stockings.
Make me play nice.
Make me smile.
You know you want to.
Make me wear fishnets.
Make me tease you.
Make me want to please you.
I know I want to.
Let's play dress up for the night.
Let's Spider-Man climb the walls of our insecurities and broken hearts.
Let's bite each others shoulders,
Don't you wanna get primal with me?
Tell me I'm pretty.
Say it,
Say it,
Say it.
Be good and I'll reward you.
Be bad and I'll ignore you.
Make me feel all nasty.
Make me feel so graceful.
Make me feel so perfect.
Pedestal perfect.
Pedestal perfect.
Pedestal perfect.
Let's just pray I don't fall.
Dec 3, 2019
Dec 3, 2019 at 10:23 PM UTC
Isela
takes it in
the mouth.
She'd get on her knees,
positioning herself
half-in,
half-out
of focus.
Just enough for Joe,
behind the Cannon,
to capture
the whole thing.
Eric,
the producer,
was on his hands and knees
beside Joe.
'Come on Izzy
work it,
work the dick.'
'That's right,
stroke it,
make him sing.'
'I love it,
Izzy.'
Izzy wanted to bite
down.
She hated each and every ****
she ever saw,
but she had a few things to do.
Her **** had to be new
and renewed
on the daily,
her ***** had to get wet
on command,
and her stroke had to be
so fast
they'd burn the dude
as her mouth
cooled.
After her mouth
was littered,
and her face was a mess
of spinal glitter -- You could make a man
come out of his
brain, Eric would say.
Izzy would get in her car,
wiping her arm
where'd she'd gone
to the clinic
to get pricked
and tested,
and pull a long haul of Virginia Slims
down her throat.
'
It was always the first sweet thing
she tasted.
Izzy would pull into the Terrace View apartments,
all that long black hair,
and wipe all that make-up off,
three napkins-worth,
so she could kiss her baby.
Because Rocco was in for a bid,
and not coming home anytime in
the forseeable future.
Her microbiology degree was somewhere
in her closet underneath those pink stillettos and
more fishnets than fish.
And Izzy knew
that with those double d's;
*** like a backseat,
mouth that could grease
a ****
and her hands
Eric liked to call his own,
that she could pay the light bill
and maybe
put Romeo
into a daycare center
that wasn't full of roaches
and
angry *******
"Someday I'll get out,
but it's illogical
to say
with all the money I'm making,
and it's just a job
when you get down to it,
I've ****** a lot of *****
and never gotten
paid."
Rocco Jr.'s cheeks were always the second
sweet thing
she tasted.
"I know a lot of girls
that got defeated by this game."
Mar 23, 2012
Mar 23, 2012 at 1:08 AM UTC
Blues Haiku
Freddie King’s guitar
Waits for a big leg woman
Fishnets adorn mine
Self Portrait LIII
Reading street hieroglyphics
comfortable in it’s dark caress
Buildings like promises
Broken and lost
The wheels spinning
My mp3 jazz loop
Sing that skit skat baby
The things I tell my pillow makes it blush
Self Portrait 54
Weekend
Books at half mast
Reading a book on Af Am essays
Wondering what happened to
The ‘Dream”
Monday
Listening to Bob Segar and Snoop
Tatas at attention mode
Bopping to the
Unemployment office
to see a lady about a check
and a “Dream Deferred”
Sep 16, 2012
Sep 16, 2012 at 11:10 AM UTC
It is no night to drown in:
A full moon, river lapsing
Black beneath bland mirror-sheen,
The blue water-mists dropping
Scrim after scrim like fishnets
Though fishermen are sleeping,
The massive castle turrets
Doubling themselves in a glass
All stillness. Yet these shapes float
Up toward me, troubling the face
Of quiet. From the nadir
They rise, their limbs ponderous
With richness, hair heavier
Than sculptured marble. They sing
Of a world more full and clear
Than can be. Sisters, your song
Bears a burden too weighty
For the whorled ear's listening
Here, in a well-steered country,
Under a balanced ruler.
Deranging by harmony
Beyond the mundane order,
Your voices lay siege. You lodge
On the pitched reefs of nightmare,
Promising sure harborage;
By day, descant from borders
Of hebetude, from the ledge
Also of high windows. Worse
Even than your maddening
Song, your silence. At the source
Of your ice-hearted calling --
Drunkenness of the great depths.
O river, I see drifting
Deep in your flux of silver
Those great goddesses of peace.
Stone, stone, ferry me down there.
3.6k
This looks very strange to me.
I am from the Island,
And...
You never see it.
This blue sky spreads a beautiful
Calmness amongst everyone and everything.
The birds chirp, the people do their gardening
And speak nice things about their neighbours.
And yet,
In the corner of a dark room,
There I sit.
Alone.
Alone and angry.
The path has split and cracked
And I stagger with drunken fury.
All the way home.
This endless rage burns,
And burns through my words.
But at who?
What for?
The sea is dark, blue and empty.
The ship bobs in the churning water,
As one man pulls endlessly at fishnets,
But vultures circle above waiting for him to starve.
GRAHAM MURPHY
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 7:31 PM UTC
I'm more than just a little girl with a daddy complex.
I am someone who has been hurt, abandoned and betrayed,
I'm a little girl who has been brave.
And I still know how to behave.
Not an alcoholic, not a smoker.
Still a ****** never touched dope or
Anything harder.
No fishnets on these legs, crossed at the knees.
Nothing tragic about me, just a hard, young shell.
You can't compete with me and the lessons I've learned,
the girl scout badges I've earned.
Daddy's gone, so toughen up,
things are set to get rough.
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 4:25 PM UTC
cut fishnets, cigarettes, whiskey breath
your tounge probably taste like lemon
i just forgot
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 12:53 AM UTC
I'm addicted to
RED lipstick
fishnets
cigarettes
I fall in love with
wit
intelligence
arrogance
I need
passion
love
arguments
I feel
insane
hysterical
elated
She is
everything
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC
have you ever held the sun in your hands
sometimes i carry it around in my pockets and forget it’s there
sometimes i feel so full of it that i believe in god again
what else is there besides
the streams of light peeking through magnolia leaves
who am i to the baseball shirt
to the blazer or the black fishnets or the crooked bottom teeth
it doesn’t matter
i smell lemon verbena laundry detergent and it’s like time travel
i’m in our west hollywood apartment again falling asleep on my right hip
sometimes i am forty-two but i am always fourteen
do you see me on the page or in the sidewalk cracks
i wish i didn’t care but i always do
where does it come from
the longing
the need to be loved by the things that we love
i hear a song or read a poem and i’m on my knees
i hate being looked at but
i’d do anything for you to see me
Mar 27, 2021
Mar 27, 2021 at 8:44 AM UTC
She thought she had it;
Significance
Muddy dress, an outfit depressed
The sunshine blinds
A use for her view
Then realistic features come walking in
Scolded shoulders tower over
Her fishnets and black lipstick hide her
mildewed heart
She fights
Fighting submerged her feelings
Numbing the pain she became hate
Hate became her soul
A control
A defense
A way to save her from death
To bad the devil has a toll
A fee
He envies ugly
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 8:52 PM UTC
I walk along Pacific Avenue
Santa Cruz, CA
I walk down past the nice parts
to the bus station
near seedy bars
and a sandwich board reads
Cafe Pergolesi one block
with an arrow pointing
It's not too early to scout locations
It's the location of my opening scene
I approach, and I see, it is still alive
in this summer evening
people outside and in
a trod upon, worn and comfortable air
various levels to the porch
even ash trays on the tables
like Vegas, everyone is welcome
Inside, this is no Starbucks
You don't see a line clearly where you must order
and pay
like a theme park
or a hospital
or a slaughter house
where you are funneled
It's not too clean
But it's filled with comfort
Huge couches beckon
A Victorian house
One people lived in
with spaciousness and windows
Real air permeates the place
An ATM is casually smashed between a couple of tables
but no one cares
you can't mass produce this wonderful mess
A friend's band CD blares through the speakers
badly recorded
a barrista in carefully torn fishnets sneaks a break
on the back porch with her cell phone
I buy water and a cookie and settle into a huge worn chair
Every room has a different theme
But I want comfort
I pull out my notebook and write
I have a shopping list of scenes
And I add another one for this place
Would they let me shoot here?
I don't know
But I think I could live here
It's so non judgemental
People buy things
But there isn't that corporate pressure
There are no special names for dumb things
just small, large, cookie, beer
This is cafe bliss
Jul 21, 2012
Jul 21, 2012 at 4:09 PM UTC
The weather
it's sobbing, but not really.
My heart
it's trembling, really.
Cause I look,
and sometimes I see
but sometimes I don't.
So I wonder as I look her,
Fishnets, mascara and hair
like silk
(I must admit to envy).
And I do see
Your hat- hers now, if only momentarily
(I must confess to jealousy)
You make it delicious.
And I ponder and hash and squirm about
This **** Symbology.
I hover on knife's edge and ponder this to:
Shall I fall
jump
or tightrope?
Maybe I'll astonish and grow wings.
Such marvelosity.
(I'm feeling whimsical- practically bubbly
And yet, still morose).
And so the weather cries
And so, too, my heart.
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 6:11 PM UTC
I'VE NEVER BEEN THAT GIRL ALL THE GUYS BOW DOWN TO.
IVE NEVER ACTUALLY MET A GUY WHO WOULD DO ANYTHING FOR ME.
NEVER BEEN A POPULAR PERSON.
NEVER BEEN PERFECT ON THE INSIDE OUT.
NEVER BEEN HOMECOMING QUEEN.
IVE NEVER BEEN ON A CHEERLEADING TEAM.
NEVER HAD GIRLS THAT WANTED TO BE ME.
NEVER BEEN CALLED PERFECT BY GUYS ON THE VARSITY FOOTBALL TEAM.
I'VE NEVER KISSED KEN.
BUT,
I AM ME.
I'VE BEEN THE GIRL WHO ALL THE GUYS HAVE RESPECT FOR.
I'VE BEEN THE GIRL THAT ALL THE GUYS CALL FRIEND.
I HAVE BEEN THE GIRL THAT HAS HAD IMPERFECT BUT PERFECT GUYS CRUSH ON ME.
I'VE BEEN THE GIRL THAT SPENDS HER WEEKENDS AT THE SKATEPARK OR RIDING DIRTBIKES.
IM THE GIRL THAT HAS SARCASM EVERYONE FEARS TO HEAR.
IM THE GIRL THAT WILL BE TOTALLY HONEST EVEN IF IT WILL HURT YOUR FEELINGS.
IM THE GIRL THAT CAN BE PRETTY.
IM THE GIRL THAT PREFERS SHORTS OR PANTS OVER SKIRTS AND DRESSES.
IM THE GIRL WHO LIKES FISHNETS AND COMBAT BOOTS.
THE GIRL THAT WILL GET CRAZY.
THE GIRL THAT DEFENDS HERSELF AND PEOPLE SHE CARES ABOUT.
I WILL GET IN YOUR FACE IF YOU GET IN MINE.
I WOULD RATHER HAVE ONE SPECIAL GUY THEN HAVE TWENTY FAKE GUYS.
IM THE GIRL THAT RESPECTS YOU IF YOU RESPECT ME.
IM THE HARD HEADED GIRL THAT IS STUBBORN AS HELL.
I DON'T FALL IN LOVE WITH JERKS.
I PLAY HARD TO GET IF I FEEL THAT YOU WANT ME TO BE EASY.
IM THE GIRL THAT WILL KICK YOUR *** IF YOU MESS WITH ME.
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 12:43 AM UTC
sinderella was a nickname
because i was the sinner
and unlike cinderella
i was not a charmer
i was the known kid of sin
doing bad to make a livin'
never the girl scrubbing floors
i was the girl looking for new drugs
keen to experiment with death
and the guy i fell in love with
i wasn't a princess in disguise
or a servant dressed in rags
i was the troublemaker
in her fishnets & leather
wearing less than a dress
even during winter nights
drinking whiskey to fill me
to keep me warm as i
walk in the big city
stiletto heels and dark make-up
with a cool NYC diamond jacket
swarovski crystal encrusted
with chanel nails
a mcqueen bag
with my drugs
& all that ****
a wallet for
my few dollar bills
even though i
get drinks for free
because i'm young
attractive, little
darlin' me
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 3:27 PM UTC
I'll be at the ball in my tutu and fishnets
While I idolize the girls with the long hair and dresses
The money thrown at them by loving parents
While my outfit is made up of spare change and short tresses
But I'll wear my mohawk high because even though
I look out of place and not as royal as you
I am me and true to my name
While you are just the same ******* dolled up
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 5:57 AM UTC
Insomnia came knocking on my door at half-past three.
The Angel of Death had long passed out,
fishnets tight around her throat,
a ***** needle dangling from just below the knee;
the Tooth Fairy was trading milk teeth for *****
on the corner of Fear and Doubt
with a nervous gentleman who had a head like a goat.
Insomnia knocked three times, and let herself in,
tatty robes behind her like torn leather,
scraping over cold tiles, over my skin;
sweet lullabies oozed over her chapped lips
in a voice as old as dry weather,
a storm of emotions conjured, a concoction
of cold blood, sour grapes, and bad trips.
Insomnia stayed the night, stretched out on my bed,
told me to write something nice about her,
or the curve of her armpits instead;
I can’t, I said, they’re dreadlocked in fur,
so I crawled in next to her, put my head on her breast.
A sigh of satisfaction moistened her lips,
There, there, deary, lets take a rest.
Feb 7, 2011
Feb 7, 2011 at 10:25 PM UTC
I am not confused simply busy
Now leave before I get grizzly.
Whatever do you mean?
I am here under strict orders
Of spontaneous curiosity
And I demand to know your work!
There is no work, only pieces.
I am a man of completion, not creases.
You are a mule molding in mire!
Old as rules and just as amusing.
I can see very clearly that this is
A pile of stones playing with
A pile of paper!
By my own universal exclamation!
I could not find a greater quotation,
If I remain as rocks, this is my notation.
One stone for each adoration.
Adoration? I see nothing of the sort
Only lines and space and ink and air
And breath and fire and ash and an
Old man with far too many abandoned
Projects.
Where do you see this fire?
Of yearning and burning, I do tire.
I have wheeled through many a choir,
Each lie is a life and each man a liar.
Now, do you understand my profession?
Not in the slightest,
You could be a blacksmith for all
I want.
My young vision has cast fishnets
On your old hands and we find you
Are not a sea creature,
Not a fish
A bird
Trash
A man
An oracle
A mortal
Nor a machine.
How am I to pull together this puzzle
When the only pieces i may use,
Are the ones that were never there?
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 4:30 PM UTC
not on a lvl
with the rest of animals
(offended I'm sure)
an echo of prejudice
flailing on deck; fishnets, I guess,
are a sort of
birthmark
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 4:42 PM UTC
I am strong…
I endure what you cannot.
I fight what you could not.
depression, regression
pain, tears…
heh, you would run to your mommy if faced with my fears.
I am determined…
to have my dream
without watching it all burst at the seams.
to make people happy
and to show them they are strong,
to teach my future children right from wrong,
to marry the love of my life,
to hear him say he’s happy that I’m his wife,
to not let you get me down,
to smile, when everything is pointing toward a frown.
I am free-spirited…
fun, wild, crazy…
I live out
I laugh loud
I cry hard
I love strong.
**** hott,
sophisticated, or not,
black makeup, blood-red nails,
fishnets, ponytails,
emo, gothic,
it’s obvious I have inner magic.
my thighs move like thunder,
while my wit is like lightening.
my presence is commanding,
comforting, yet frightening.
I am predator…
vampire in bloodlust
trapping you with my eyes
my aura ***** you in, to your demise,
feeding off of your soul
drinking you in until I am sated and whole.
I am unpredictable…
unprecedented
I do the unthinkable
your rules don’t apply to me
I dance to my own rhythm
hum my own tune
walk barefoot in the rain
I do everything you wouldn’t expect
I so most things your average girl wouldn’t do.
you cannot dictate to me
who, what, or where to be.
I am Cocheta:
That You Cannot Imagine.
an anomaly, you cannot tell my origin.
I am:
love, hope
home, trust
power, lust
wind, rain
woman, ethereal
succubus, nocturnal
black, fire
poetry, seduction
color, confidence
shy, innocent
emotion, devotion
different, perfection
I AM ME
a force to be reckoned with.
and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it.
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 10:24 PM UTC
The click clack echoes of cheap stilettos on cracked pavement let you know she's near
There is no fear in her eyes
Lined thick and black as the night sky
For she is the goddess of these blocks
And men would sacrifice their blood and sweat wages to worship in her temple
She is a walking master piece
Crafted in the shaky hands of abandonment and abuse
It took nineteen long years to create a soul so dark you could get lost just staring into it
And she's been trying to find her way back to herself for years
She is a walking tragedy
Of Shakespearian proportions
Her love stories are not so romantic and clean
They usually take place in some stranger's back seat
After some hastily exchanged words
Some stranger's rough cheek
Pressed harshly against hers
And from the outside it could almost be called love
Two people finding themselves in the arms of another
But still being completely alone in the world
This is her existence
Moonlit rendezvous
Short skirts and fishnets with holes up the sides
She's just someone to call during the lonely nights
And as they spread her thighs
They don't realize that they're filling her and killing her at the same time
She sells her body and her pride on these streets just to survive
No one knows of the little girl that hides inside that cries inside
That begs you with her eyes to save her from herself
Save her from these streets
Kiss her on the cheek and let her ride in the front seat
She doesn't care where you are going
As long as its away from here
Where ever you and she stop will be called home
And she will finally be allowed to rest.
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 6:21 PM UTC
He tells me that I’m beautiful.
That I’m good at what I do.
He tells me that I’m worth every cent while the clock ticks to two.
The mattress is up against the window.
The door is locked x3.
I sit and watch as the smoke floats and drifts around me.
I use my magic words.
And I do my hair just right.
I’ll make a bunch of money if I can make it through the night.
The drugs make it bearable.
So my body hardly feels.
This is my reality now. This is what is real.
Makeup painted on my face
And Fishnets up my thighs.
I tell him that I need him, right to his buggin eyes.
His pipe and rock are on the floor.
So I watch where I walk.
When he gets it in his system I can hardly even talk.
The paranoia eats his mind
As the clock ticks to 4.
He locks us in the bathroom, so no one can see us anymore.
The last of his drugs are gone
As the hour comes to 5
He tells me that I’m beautiful. That I make him feel alive.
He drops me off at home
And thanks me for what I’ve done.
“Last night was great.” He says with a smile,
“I Can’t wait for the next one!”
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 10:35 PM UTC
You found me when I was down
Showed me the ropes then took me to town
Said you owned me now & forever
Told you I'll do anything to make it better
Look at me baby
I'm so flashy
You see my G-string?
They say money talks but I make it sing
I'll cover up these bruises
I'll keep it moving
All day & all night shifts
I'll do it all to make you rich
High heels & fishnets
***** with my cigarettes
My tools in this dark world
Baby, I'm your traffic girl
May 29, 2015
May 29, 2015 at 11:47 AM UTC
Those dangling chains,
I wish for them.
Just like a baby wishes for his mother.
They, the chains, jump around;
Just like wild and free kangaroos.
The holes so close,
Remind me of fishnets;
The livelihood of those at sea.
The hanging chains, like grapevines
Much like people, hanging onto hopes.
Dangling in the storm to save their life.
The chains still dangle,
Carefree, without concern;
Lost in their own world;
Like few people,
Those who stand out.
Those dangling chains;
So **** beautiful;
Just stare at them,
Like you stare at the stars,
On a moonlit night.
They keep dangling,
Undeterred by the world.
Chains are free,
Chains are dominant,
Much like the unfettered few.
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 5:19 AM UTC