"gawping" poems
Exotic ladies flaunt their wares
to joe publics wanten stares,
'They' do this to earn their crust
'They' do this out of lust.
In the darkness of the narrow street
the gawping public shuffle feet,
The lights illuminate carnal pleasure
while 'they' peruse at their leisure.
Here is a woman drenched in red
a female who works from her bed,
How did she get here?
Why does she stay there?
A parade of cat and mouse
at the seedy brothel house,
Gestures of blazing desire
fuel the burning ****** fire.
Dec 30, 2011
Dec 30, 2011 at 9:02 PM UTC
The autumn winds ***** her mercilessly,
as idle hands lunge for delicate petticoats.
Their ugly, pockmarked howls pinch her deeply
with each new limb they expose,
until her tears drop like leaves, unheard
and become soiled.
By the winter, she’s left leaning awkwardly
like a slapper against a lamp post.
Her body but scattered, bent baguettes,
freeze-set with the frigid, nightly chills,
which preserve her stark immodesty
and her malign revenge.
Yet spring adorns her with tentative protruding buds,
glazed like freshly shellacked fingernails,
as her body itches with the swellings of youth
and foliage fastens frills around her chest,
summoning the dewy-peach lustre of virginity.
Now she basks in our wanton, forgiving glares.
As the summer teases, she writhes Lolita-like
in a raincoat that clings to her, just so.
Her barely concealed fruits spilling out,
as the sun caresses her skin hotly, until she ****
with that cacophony of lilac bells gawping, grape-like,
ringing out the sweet moans of her petite-mort.
Oct 7, 2020
Oct 7, 2020 at 10:53 AM UTC
Pleat, pleat, pleat,
Fix that drape,
Cantankerous petticoat,
Is all bent out of shape,
The mirror jeers,
That's a singularly inelegant drape,
What are you gawping at,
It's time to undrape,
Watch those ankles,
Stop dancing like an ape,
How hard could it be,
To simply undrape,
In walked Mum,
Her mouth agape,
Laughing uproariously,
Got me shipshape
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 5:48 AM UTC
Long distance gazing
exercises the imagination
filling the mind with out-of-reach thoughts
and within-our-grasp possibilities.
You need to pace yourself however.
Over-stretching can cause you to topple
into sorrow.
Short distance grinning
close up gawping
is bred from appreciation
for the unexpected
and creates opportunity
for shared mirth
and reflected smiles.
Over-stretching causes face ache
and further laughter.
Apr 4, 2021
Apr 4, 2021 at 2:59 PM UTC
Through the night,
rode the poorest knight,
o’er vale, o’er innocent glade
with thundering and beating heart,
that matched the quickened pace,
of the steeds nimble stride.
Tho’ the stormy gale opposes,
and the might of winters snowy,
blizzard, should keep him at bay,
he rises to the challenge
and crushes them ‘neath his heels,
When at times the spirit is low,
and normally a liquor does restore,
he hastens past the tavern,
to where his mount does drink and eat,
and makes fast the saddle,
in order to make advances on his merry
quest.
When the day he has been riding
for presents itself with fate and circumstance,
at its left and right,
and this poorest knight, tho’ stout of heart,
and a little bit stout of figure,
might be bequeathed with one
small gaze at Her.
He had ridden many miles in many days,
for what purpose he had no knowledge,
although, now that fate has blessed him
with the cause of his lengthy travels, and quest,
he might smile, and become the richest knight,
that other might envy, and wonder at,
indeed this is what did happen.
the village, town, and city,
all were amazed that this poor
nobleman did acquire someone
such as her, whose looks were
stunning at the least, and were
nigh short of some divine providence,
and making.
That when he rode through town,
with her arms wrapped around him,
the down did gawp, and wonder how,
that he did prove them wrong, and
hadn’t a care for their rude gawping
faces.
He and She,
carried on unto the sunset,
whereupon not a soul saw them
again, nor needed to,
they knew where to find them,
they were happy, and needed not to
be bothered by the troubled
villagers, and issues.
The poor knight,
is now living as a king,
though not wealthy of riches,
or prominence, or land,
but of the true happiness,
only love can bring.
Jan 19, 2012
Jan 19, 2012 at 11:54 PM UTC
All we are,
delightfully lost.
Is that all it is?
Heading feet-first into sunsets.
Whirlwinds.
We crash, grab,
forget to blink,
rely on breath alone.
Here words tumble in a torrent,
recycle in your mouth
and back out again.
Clichés cannot die.
On a loop,
a worn-down yo-yo.
I roll them out for you
on a goldenrod carpet,
you skip across them
as though they are red-hot coals.
What set you off
like a sparkler in the night?
The sea brings us love,
vice versa.
Waves like mounds of sugar
embrace your torso
in a way I can only dream of.
Camera exhausted
under the weight of today,
puddles of polaroids,
enough to smother the floor.
I smell snapdragons,
candy fizzing
on both of our tongues.
Soaked.
Fade to black.
Your language
is blossom
slinking into my ears.
Wet sand
slips in a mustard waterfall
through our fingers
and I trip over my T’s and P’s.
I’ll keep your smile
locked in my pocket
for black-cloud days.
A triplet of cartwheels,
sticky palms
and panting as if
you’ve run a marathon.
Give it a go…
I try and collapse,
a soppy sprawled mess
gawping at the sky,
before blue eyes
smash into mine
and I fall again.
Dripping.
In-between seconds.
Flaccid strands of hair,
frizzled spaghetti
clings to your neck.
The blonde grenade
I keep writing,
cannot control
but adore to see explode,
catch the thirteen
or more little fragments
of you,
keep them ‘til next time.
When you leave
I can follow your footprints,
mementos back home,
tread where you stood
and exuded light.
We sit cross-legged,
water dribbling over our toes.
I memorise your heartbeat,
you plonk your head
on my shoulder.
Minutes wash away.
Stop the clock.
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 11:34 AM UTC
Though magpies they are,
love birds they be.
And oh so, drawn to shiny trinkets.
Content was he,
yet his offerings of humble stolen objects,
that could stop her gawking could not
stop her gawping,
for ill affordable gold.
Though magpies they are,
love birds not quite.
happiness was of material dependance
in particular her new flame;
an open window and a pendant.
She fled for warm jewels
but found only cold steel.
A pursuit for prettier rings
befalls a neck that is wrung,
by bigger predators
with human hands,
and by greedy choices
that shun the real gold in others.
Nov 30, 2017
Nov 30, 2017 at 4:33 AM UTC
The eyes are the doorways to our thoughts and hold in all that we see
They can make out the figure of a man in the distance watching as he draws closer
They can notice how he's walking and can spot what's in his hand
They can peer through the trees to observe a crime. They can avert themselves so they don't have to take stock of what they witness.
They can examine the crime scene or inspect it for clues
They can glance across to a colleague whose
gawping at the sky
They can survey the database and scrutinise suspects
They can ogle a coworker and behold her beauty whilst they study the facts and peruse through evidence
They can scan all the records till they see a match
They can look up the address and bring them to the court
They can glare at the perpetrator whilst he gazes down at the ground as he is taken away.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 10:18 PM UTC
dagger beak
and garnet eyes
feathers stolen
from the stormy seas
scalded legs
and gawping mouth
tis
the gull come
to call
with mouth a
begging, shrieking gape
alerting
the whole **** clan
to clamour and fight
for the measliest of bites
once proud fishing birds
are now just feathered,
scroungers, grifters, ****
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 5:47 PM UTC
I used to be a dancer
during World War 1
your paternal grandmother said
as she sat next to you
on the seat in her
back garden in London
and your grandfather
would come and watch
with his army friends
and afterwards
he’d come
to the stage door
with flowers or chocolates
or just stand there
with that awestruck look
on his face
and she looked
at the flowers
that your grandfather grew
along both sides
of the garden
and she smiled and said
Look at him now
sits in the same room
and says nothing
or moans about the bills
or how the country is run
or the noise of the traffic
by the front gate
and you sat there
on the seat
in the back garden
in your new suit
and with your hair
cropped short
and that fifteen year old
I’m bored as hell look
on your face and you said
Why did you give up dancing
you must have been good at it?
and as you looked
at your grandmother
with her white frizzy hair
and stocky build
you couldn’t imagine her
as a dancer on a stage
with men gawping at her
especially not your soft spoken
quiet grandfather
who sat in his armchair
by the fireside
in a silent mood
occasionally reading a book
or giving that
I’ve seen too much
of mankind’s foolery
kind of look
and your grandmother said
Well after we got married
I fell for your uncle Fred
and beside I wasn’t that good
a dancer and your
grandfather didn’t want
a wife of his
to be peered at
or have her legs
gawked at
by other men
and then she was silent
and watched
a white butterfly
go by
fluttering its wings
but
she said softly
getting up
from the seat
and doing a small
Can Can dance
the shows not over
until the fat lady sings.
May 24, 2012
May 24, 2012 at 1:51 AM UTC
grateful to the grave
I plank right out
my bed a cross pounded
foundation of maul emotion
fast out kipping
not in keeping
a widowing and not a kingdom
milling out gawping
a fish mug
tourists chugging at the gallows
dread heaves ugging repulsions
my sleep is a gagging panic
livers of the hours
the minutes are a live toil
difficult digestions
the sour beat n' breath
a particle flecked arena
this slumber is harmful charge
(a battery matter)
capable of a faulty
reversal of surge
depleting sleep
not a springtime emergence
ejected from the unconscious
: a drained agent
reduced and submissive for duty
Sep 15, 2021
Sep 15, 2021 at 10:14 PM UTC
flesh on bones
muscle and sinew
squidgy eyeballs
gawping
bikini clad mermaids
men acting like boys
the beach naked
of the tidal sea.
Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 9:48 AM UTC
at the back of the shop
gawping around
like a little lost boy
you
trying on a dress
****
a bit revealing
but not too revealing
and an utter bargain
for what it is
you said
I see your feet shuffle
under the curtain
Christmas is coming
so I think don’t buy it
I’ll get you it for Christmas
your face will shine like tinsel
a gigantic grin
job well done from yours truly
but you step out
into the light
body wrapped in blizzard-white
a blaze of lipstick
and my heart
roly-polys
twirl
gorgeous
really
yes
you think so
as you check your exquisite figure
in the mirror
yes yes
wear it all day
all of tomorrow
oh my
steady now
yes yes
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 12:27 PM UTC
Have I told you how my words stop
At the opening of my mouth
And my heart feels like time has ripped it out
When I look at a picture of you
I can't cry at the feelings I have inside
Just sitting there gawping at the now
Holding tight everything that I had
To know you left me on pain
Did it feel exciting with him
Does he know how your neck likes to be kissed
Or that passion needs a gentle hand
My face is streaked with tears you gave
Now falling upon the photo of what used to be mine
So many questions I have for you
But the biggest is
Did love just get up and find the breeze
To carry it onto another heart
For all my world I gave you
And all I'm left with is
Nothing
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 4:51 AM UTC