"flapper" poems
Friday- the most promising day of all.
The beginning of the weekend, but the one day that will spark appall.
Down on Mainstreet all the girls
In their fringed dresses, pouting their foxy lips and their hair waving in short messes.
The hags frown as the winged ladies pass by- displaying their carriages a little sly.
Oh, but Jane's favourite speakeasy was 'The Back Room' down on Norfolk Street: the place where the lost creatures meet.
Tin ceilings, velvet wallpaper, plush thrones and back in that dark corner, there is the sound of low moans.
'A whiskey, neat, please' as a shadow in a tuxedo walked towards her and he whispered 'Hi,' in a sensual purr.
'Who are you?' he stirred,
'Oh, I'm Miss Doe' and he lept into the stool with a swift flow.
And the jazz trumpets married the spontaneous harmonies and the saxophone created sublime melodies.
So they sat as idle as ghouls in the dim spotlights, until Jane asked Mr Buck:
'D'you fight in the war?' And he whined 'Cambrai, Amiens and Lys' - his lips seemed a little sore.
'I'm sorry - do I know you?' His face looked as familiar as Jay to Nick. A brief pause in time at that smile.
That was the final chord to the "lick".
He drove her down to Roslyn- to his replica of Versailles and Jane looked intensely shy.
'Oh, do come in,' the desperado soughed. And she walked into the gilded palace which Cupid's presence bowed.
'I have a favour to ask of you, Miss Doe. Would you be as kind to wash away my woe?'
And as they congressed under diamond chandeliers, his comrades gathered around the bed in amorphous silhouettes; watching disgustedly.
As for Mr Buck he was an alien, skin-to-skin with a haunted beauty and Miss Doe- a labourer on duty.
Jun 24, 2017
Jun 24, 2017 at 6:32 AM UTC
not since nor silk.
Mother's milk for the generations.. yes she was .
Greeted Lindbergh on touchdown.
Society clone. Rich ************* could not leave her alone. Tall tale teller.Paperback
construct. Stepping into the ball with no invitation and stopped the music and conversation.
Pale skinned poser.
Gettin over.
Her daddy was a man of means.
Hired by the Majesties to count jellybeans.
He loved the local **** to the tune of
Poppa was a rollin stone.
The magistrates and potentates in the republic of bananas. Pinkys up tea sippers .
Could not get hold of collective zippers.
Faded portrait. long dead poser.ball buster. Pretty as crystal.Tough as pig iron.
She was high flying flapper. Cutting a rug. Charleston,Jitterbug. Short skirt flirt. Grandma ?
Smokin hot and smokin when women did not dare. C.O.P.D. and a hacking cough came the pipers toll. The Wages.
Just keeping it real.
Slip sliding away.
Drove a Jalopy.
Aiee Pahpi chulo. Bestin May West with a smaller life jacket.
Turn the century.
Trench warfare.
Over the top.The war to end all ? shiiiit. Great Grandma
was a show stopper. To the very end.
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 12:41 AM UTC
Little girl with wide blue eyes
Dreams as boundless as the skies
Surrounded by dust and dead ends
Waltzing in a land of make pretend
Freckled, fervent and coy
Twirling past the neighbor boys
When she moves, she slips away
Lost in a smile and a happy place
Left to wander the desert dry
Alone and forgotten no matter what she tries
Looking for affection in an empty well
Fading echoes of forgotten church bells
With her reveries she swiftly dropped
A leap of faith and the whole world stopped
Warm blood and dampened grass,
A mangled foot and a binding cast
In dark days she prayed for help
Wanting to step and perform
Not ready to give up her last chance
To take the stage by way of dance
Ten years later, she's swaying
and twice as stunning as before
Sculpted cheekbones and brooding eyes
Grabbing audiences by surprise
She's reborn a star of the movies,
With a new name and tiny waist
Pretty young flapper with a striking face
The little girl has finally found her place
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 8:48 AM UTC
blood
blood patter and splash
leads us concrete toward
tracing back til the scene
i’ve flashing thoughts of the brutality
the violence that must of cussed
between persons
in fear fray and inebriation
down the steps
my four year old child and I go
the greasing bleed in bronze putters
growing and leadening
on stone labours
glowing citrus the refrigeration
of the underpass
‘flips the bird' at the summer blaze
grey dead coral bricks of urination
seasoned in deep beading now cold
the broke up weapon
candy slates of brittle teeth
glass / bottle / beer /brown
the neck its' hilt
and the main mud of the bleeding
the flies are the thing
that bothers my ‘little nipper’
usually a flapper of queries on repetition
no other queries are raised
just eager for the vibration
of train carriages gatling over our heads
i stopper any words i may have on the matter
he holds my hand with his hot hand
we progress under a port arms
procession of caged floodlights
and walled in by fresh graffiti
fingers dripping retching for the guttering
Dec 22, 2023
Dec 22, 2023 at 3:05 PM UTC
I knew a lady trapper
who would trap out in the styx
she used to be a flapper
back in nineteen twenty-six
I met her in a diner
well not really just a bar
and I told her I'm a miner
as she puffed on her cigar
She said 'Gus your kinda ugly
and your breath stinks awful bad
but I been fussin with my fugly
so I'll tell you why I'm sad
See I love to hunt for ******
it's my passion I can't lie
but I left my love's receiver
cuz she won't eat ****** pie
Now I could have dried some jerky
guess I should have fried some pork
but my ****** tastes so perky
fugly wouldn't touch her fork
Gus I miss her I'm so lonely
she's my only, what a dish
I can't leave her over ******
so from now on tuna fish!"
©2011 Lyn
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 7:29 PM UTC
Timmy the tortoise shell
Lived a tortured hell
When he fell
And cracked his shell
As Timmy tortoise
Had a timid soul
That would spill
From the cracks
And stack in tow
But Timmy was a loner
Quick to ******
Closed the traps
Of deviants and attackers
With his snapper
Even happier
He'd turtle slap ya
But Tim's dapper days
Were done
He was a flapper in the ****
Of an overly populated pond
Technologicalcated and wrong
And it tinied t
Under its beams
Of ruining
Until he
Eventually
Was gone
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 1:04 AM UTC
He gave me a ring
With its facets glazed and cracked
Insisting it was once his great-grandmother's
She who
In rot-edged vintage photos
Wore a mink stole and flapper beads.
_________________________________________
She pulls at seams
Takes up and brings down hems,
The stole pushed to the back
Of a web festooned attic
In a steamer trunk slapped with decals:
Moscow
Austria
Monte Carlo
Rio de Janeiro.
On cold days she wears it again
Dancing to old melodies on rough boards
And when she hears the front door slam
It's made to disappear in haste,
Her engagement ring clacking
Against the trunks flip locks.
That night as she makes biscuits
For her breadwinner she sees
The crack, the chip
Through a glaze of milked flour.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 3:51 PM UTC
I am a walking glass
Transparent
An overflowing rim
I hope it’s not too apparent
Don’t tip me
I might just spill
Was it one drink or three?
I’ve drunk my fill
I’m your whiskey girl
Bubbling over
A sequined, beaded twirl
another lover
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 12:32 AM UTC
I poeticize, proselytize
Punctuate and pontificate.
I write couplets and rhymes
And I really do it all the time.
I exacerbate and exaggerate
With no desire to intimidate.
I make similes and metaphors
Indoors and even out of doors.
There’s cussing and discussion
And sharp literary impressions
Through diversions, conversions
Allusions as well as conclusions.
And with luck, no delusions.
Just syllabically deft fusions
Of some deferential references
With a deft touch of reverence.
I rhyme thyme with fresh lime
And cardamom with cinnamon.
Sweetbreads and shortbreads.
Chicken bones and licking scones.
Rhyming pumpkins with dumplings
And matching up filets with filberts
Just as cocoa goes well with Kona.
Marmalade can be a good marinade.
I rhyme chrome wheels and automobiles,
Freeway off-ramps and Tiffany lamps.
Cellophane and vintage airplanes.
Flapper vamps and streetwalking tramps.
Also Cinderella coaches and cockroaches,
Nothing is unfair game to a busy poet.
As well as RCA Victors and boa constrictors.
Since I’m a poet, everyone should know it.
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 5:22 AM UTC
When the titles turn to grey
Each bitter ash a story untold
A breaking mold on the fray
Your a big girl all the way
But what do I need that I don't have?
Each breath a sin, each exhale a salutation
We are God's unwanted children
There on the horizon is our unholy pollution
When I knew my mind I knew myself
But the press of the matter is not there where it starts
I have a room and it is mine, but the key
Is nowhere in a place that I can rightly see
Listen to the blows of the wind without your ears
A children's scream echoes, so rightly near
Poe danced in the asylum's of madness and its prayers
But whose to say that love also doesn't Fear?
I can hear the whip of the way
The way our forefather's used to play
And of course our skin tingles as we mingle
With the one's we used to enslave
I wear the cloak of eternity
You see my eyes but lo', they are not mine
I dance beneath your very veins
And the pen is where I hold my flaming reins
I ask only for bread
I ask only for butter and
Water that tastes like the tears of mother
All others should be left by the door, unbothered.
Take me for what I am
A mule with only a man's mind
A body that one day will break,
A recognition that I - not myself - keep in repression
For the sunset keeps me amused
The tools of my own body screams
And as I watch the cream of the scheme rise
To the tip top, I inhale to make time stop
I've got my hat on, but where's my love?
I see a bed, but the sheets are made of lead
I need a road, a story untold
A life whose line will never run cold
I see where the line is supposed to end
When the words end n' you've got nothing else to send
But whose words are these if I've got nothing to lend?
My rose bushes are fine, I've got nothing in this world to tend
Each lonesome note
Across this valley of tears
Is what is just too hard to bear
A turn in the tide
Time in my own memory
Too tough to tear and throw away
A thorn I'm forced to hold near
One day I'll see clear
Why it was even there
Minutes on minutes of minute time
In pendulum we justify each step
Our heart beat is our unrest
The beat of our neighbor's walls our anxiety
There are no more blankets to cover the world
We are out of detergent to keep ourselves clean
The lines of the supermarket are too long and
Were out of cream to keep our girls rightly esteemed
I'm headed out of this place
But no time soon
As for the weather
Ask for the flapper's in the smoky ballroom
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 5:41 PM UTC
Table,
My father and I sat
In our timeless silence
That brewed away beneath the lights
Like a sweat that never breaks.
Sister and the Stranger
Sat flanked by pillars,
With two full glasses of
Blood-lit wine
Simmering warmly like
Lamb's hearts
Dropped into bowls.
Never do I love my sister more
That when she wears that little fishhook
Of a smile,
A grim refusal of her lips to flicker down,
Making mincemeat of photographers,
Men in bad jumpers,
And garrulous psychopaths.
It was crueler than any frown.
Far more efficient.
The Stranger buttered her bread-roll all at once,
(A damning thing to do this afternoon)
And dinner turned to coffee
Without a hitch.
I noticed that the whole evening was
Done in a deliberately cut-glass way -
Two siblings painting themselves
Into the people they never wanted to be,
To make a bloody-minded point.
*She’s not one of us.
She’s nothing like us.
She’s nothing like mother -
Absolutely nothing like mother!*
And as we stood waiting for the car
My sister turned to me and said –
“I thought my expectations of daddy were low.”
She swiped at her flapper-girl haircut,
“Turns out my expectations
Have a basement.”
We only notice class
When we need to shut someone
Out.
We only notice class
When it's all we've got.
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 6:31 PM UTC
my grandmother typed poems out for me,
she was almost 100 years old, and still the women
lashed to the mast, half-naked, screaming in lust
in pain, in poetry from Anamae's imagination
straight to my brain, turning me into a flapper childe
wanting gin and jazz, I did, wanted to wear her skin
even at 6 years old, she knew what she was making of me
Anamae was proud of me, in a way my mother could
never have imagined
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 10:10 PM UTC
Chime, clatter, clank, ring,
Clink, dream, shuffle, rub
What’s that you say?
Where’s that racket coming from?
Why, it’s the wings on my heart, a flappin’ together
Having one hell of a party
Watchin’ all the pretty people go by.
Red and blue figures running strait out of the aorta
With flashing clappers in their hands.
What racket? It’s a celebration!
Watch the jumpers swirl,
The tumblers whirl,
My own arms flap as I want to hurl
Up all my faults to make room for more joy
To allow my body the ability to express,
That which it cannot.
What is a skeleton?
Just take it away! And my limbs can join the heart runners
A wobblin’ and bendin’ and flappin’ each way
Kiss the day, kiss, kiss the day
What are my innards?
Just take em’ right out!
I’ll have more room
For the smiles of children,
Golding leaves,
And black ambition.
I’ll be able to **** in the morning air with all my being
And fill the cavity where my intestines once were
With real soul soup—savory sweet
And people say there’s no heaven?
This I’ll never believe.
Sep 5, 2011
Sep 5, 2011 at 2:03 PM UTC
“Why can’t I see you every night?”
When I’m still afraid of dying, you should know better
-The show feather with a 1920’s twist.
A flapper, with someone who slaps her
But only her closest friends know.
In unapplauded tones they tell her to split
While she’s ahead
What’s in her head is:
1. Chewing gum
2. Her finger and thumb
Calling for a cab.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 3:50 PM UTC
It's just a New York night in lower manhattan
nineteen twenty nine december time
this place has been dry for over eight years
but for the last two months the bars have opened
and oh boy do they sell some crisp cold beers
There I meet my girl
her with the sparkles in her eyes
that crazy girl
who loves so well
my flimflam flapper
She is a goddess of con tricks
a purveyor of ***** play
yet she is near freedoms reach
she does not care if you call her
by her flapper name
queen *****
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 5:53 PM UTC
I believe in my delusion.
By definition...its real to me.
I am sleek, mysterious, sought.
grand piano, flapper dress, long cigarette sought.
Unseen but expected garter holding me together.
Perhaps the only thing holding me together.
Scoffing advances because I have that liberty.
Cognac ..no champagne.
No mother to advise proper.
No need for etiquette when I intimidate so well.
The quiet masterpiece in the room.
Their whispers make me
And I love me
Not adored but renowned
I shade my eyes and exit
Taking all of the air with me
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 10:36 PM UTC
call me MCDJpjs
one you can look too these days
keep ya kids out the muthafukkin freeways
see a roof and I give that ***** a raise
see I’m not
a traditional rapper
ima ex-trapper
spend too much time on the crapper
wannbe flapper
but not with birds wings
I wanna go dancing
in a 20’s gin ring
drunk with a tommy gun
come and get ya some
I might come undone
I’m just havin fun
see I like to smoke ****
grow it out with no seeds
give it away freely
destroy the system completely
**** capitalism its
causing a schism and
how you livin cause
I was born for given
natural social-ist
creating my own religion
******* wanna front like pigeons
actin like they grantin wishes
still sharing, but not an Osborn
I’m the new norm
At least in Ore-gon
Call me MCDJpjs
call me MCDJpjs
one you can look too these days
keep ya kids out the muthafukkin freeways
see a roof and I give that ***** a raise
Homeboy I tell the truth
to today’s youth
like a real sooth
let me show you proof
see I don’t pull punches
about GMO lunches
and throwin punches
putting fools in the crunches
slammin cell doors at my 9 to 5
watchin young lives
be hypnotized
by the flawed system
one that lets them
keep coming back to prison
instead of giving them a vision
of success and grace
as part of the race
that we all belong
ya’ll sing my song!
Call me MCDJpjs
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 1:46 PM UTC
You deserve another girl;
I would be a flapper in your world.
The bad guy in your fairytale,
the one to reject the veil.
Feb 1, 2021
Feb 1, 2021 at 8:41 PM UTC
She never wore nylons,
preferred stockings instead.
Her hair
coloured blue and her
lips violent red.
She said it's the new thing
this queen's for a fit king
I never said anything.
And time only told when
she got very old and
the lines that were drawn out
and borne out
in her fragility.
She mentioned me once
in an ambulance,
'Save me'
but she never gave me
a look when she looked
like a princess.
it's how we look at and take it
that we manage to make it
and the ones who can fake it
seem to go far.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 8:30 PM UTC
It was a normal day-
I went for a coffee at the Jazz Café.
And out through the soaked windows
I saw a malign, wanton city
Vehicles perishing the streets
Pouring their sooty fumes into the
Gaping mouth of the crowds.
I took a sip of the cappuccino-
The sweet bitterness;
Casted me back to those long
Winter months (wasted) -
I spent mourning about you.
I would shroud my room in black
Drink, drink, drink until-
All hues of blue
Would drown me in the Ocean of Woe.
Then Chet Baker mellowed the room:
'Some blues are sad, but some are glad, dark and sad.'
I felt as if I was suffocating.
There was something eerie about that jazz.
So I walked out- of the light.
Let the rain rinse my sins, dance
Like a flapper: complacent, rebellious, dangerous,
puff away my eclipsed universe.
My blues were more than a cold colour:
'They're a moan of pain, a taste of strife and a sad refrain.'
Jun 21, 2017
Jun 21, 2017 at 1:07 PM UTC
Musky wine or sweet whisky
Can I feel the words?
Dense cheese and listful misty
sullen sorrow birds.
Hold me in their heart
They catch me with their eyes.
Flying by fly shiny pieces
Stealing all my happy faces.
Flapping flapper birdy types.
Flippy flirty wordy tripes.
So sappy and so sad.
God it makes me mad.
I thought I was the worried one.
But I'm the only one you had.
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 12:06 AM UTC
The New Future roar +
Gimme Gimme
Better salaries 2018
Hard years or light years
Galaxies
Hey 19*,20?,21$,
22 my birth number
September Saphire blue
What's true the roar-ins
The movies the cold cuts
Getting hot
Boar head bites
The crybaby nights
Roaring Twenties Flights"
It's time for the modern
"I Dare" to be on the edge
Just Dodge
Men at war draft ins
Pennies for their thoughts
Dr. Who am I drugs new
laugh-ins
She's the boredom
Monday- millenium
"Gatsby Gorilla"
Tuesday Tarrantula deadend
It been a long weekend_____
Money is the killer
Ransom not a fandom
The Samson and Delilah
"Gilmore Ladies" Halleluah
Stocked up on mercedes
Flapper dancers flipped
a coin
They marched in computer
lion
Whats in your pocket
Now Hewlett Packard
Hackers and fast and furious
snackers
(The Thirties) centuries gowns
Kitchen the wife cooks
Turkey tough food 4 the soul
Davie Bowie ground control
Bowing down "Beek Jerky"
The golf player the hole
in goofers those penny loafers
Coffee and cars comedians
"Seinfeld" is money gold
Jiffy peanut butter
Sandwiches spread with love
I love you "Mother" Miss Kleinfeld
I am getting married
Those emmy awards looking worried
What's edible Mr Hannibal
with attachmnents Mrs cannibals
The love can (B) incredible
Cornish Hens
Another day like Zen
Those Stepford wives perfect ten
Eyes of Fifty shades of poodle skirts
New Jersey housewives movie cut
Greek goddess of Ulysses lit
Greek yogurt creamy lips possess
New future what to address
Wordy so quirky time gets
spooky
Look alive get perky
The future for me is right now
Jersey strong "New Jersey"
All Excell moon solar system
The future I got the rhythm
Apr 24, 2018
Apr 24, 2018 at 5:27 PM UTC
Cancer didn't make me Cry:
I have not cried
Except when I think of leaving you
When I look at all the wonderful
Perfect moments that life has been
All strung together like a melody
The only true crime I could think of
That heaven could raise against us
Though heaven could commit not crime
But if life were to
Then it would be asking me to leave you now
I could no more die
In this moment than I could stop loving you
Than I could have stopped from loving you in the first
The reality is
That all the melodies bleed together
Into one simple symphony
One short desperate sonnet
And that is the necessity of loving you
Changes:
I know he loved my ringlets
Their lengths wrapping around him
Like the sheets we tangle around us
But now he calls me his little flapper
His hands wrapping in the short strands
The ones he knows will fall away
I know he loved my ethic
The way I worked everyday to be perfect
But now when I can do nothing to stay thin
He tells me to eat so I can get better
I know he loved the carefree
The way he didn't have to worry about me
But still he stays beside me
And something about that
Makes me think he loves me
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 2:58 PM UTC