"harlot" poems
The last kiss from you
Lasted like a huddle in
The snow blitz
Rocking my anatomy
In the frosty glitz
The last words from you
That barged in my eardrum
You were in a hurry
To smell a new leaf
Draped in a diamond dew
The last gifts from you
Was an instrument
Which still I use
To recognize people
Or to refuse!
The last time
You said I love you
I remember I was laughing
Hysterically as if I was watching
Jared Leto’s jaded mimicry of Joker in YouTube
Intriguingly, when the last time I saw you ****
It felt like pretty Ivanka’s embarrassment
Noticing her dad is a lewd
The last time I was chatting
With you on Facebook
I was wondering why
I shouldn't hack your account?
To check your inbox
Yea, it was filled with the message of *******
F- Bombs, **** shaming and tagging you as harlot
All they were asking was your service of escort
Either in full discount or in hefty cash drops!
The last time I wrote
A letter of love to you
I discovered my Keyboard
Began to blurt out
No more, No more, No more…
The last time I had a chit-chat
With you in the Burger King or Pizza Hut
I listened to your hissing clack-clack
That someone else has become your puppy cat…
The last time I became sick
When I was with you
I heard you threw a party
Where you were whispering
To your besties, how
I become your double whammy!
The last time I was
With you in the bed
I felt like I was indentured
To **** a dummy toy
Sans spirit and flesh!
Loving you was like
Santa Claus gifted me
With a Pandora’s Box
As soon as I opened it
You decided to release
Our *** tape of your having ******
In pornhub’s forum of interracial!
The last time I heard of you
Is that you were giving an interview
To The Cosmopolitan’s board of review
Facing the barrage of inquisitions
You calmly joked, the series
Of latest uproar about you
In the social media or Internet
Is because certain people always
Love to rave about Women’s body
Shoving in and out of their pigeonhole
With their one night stand queen trophy
To flavor your form in their fantasmic mouth
You also smirked in a raspy voice
Defiantly declaring “we (women)
Have been locked indoors
With no air, no food, no water”
My last boyfriend is also no exception
He certainly thinks I came this far
Through ******* and deception
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 12:33 PM UTC
Flora and Fauna, the sisters of Season
Of Spring and of Summer
Allow now our drummer
To drum out the beat
For the feet of the sisters
To glide and to creep
Like the encroaching sleep
Which may perch on your shoulder if we cannot keep you awake
And on the edge of your seat, sir.
Now the former, sweet Flora, will finger the flute
While the other continues to glide and to slide
Like a sequined Venetian harlequin bride;
And now Fauna will mimic the movements of bird and of beast
As she graces the work of our landscape artiste
And all is completely unfeasible
Completely lacks reason
We guarantee.
Presently
In the eye of the beholder
Sweet Flora seemingly draws from the aether a lyre
And with flourishing fingers she plucks from the heavens
A song of the seasons, a pagan ode to Pan!
Behold! No aid of hoops, no strings
The vestal-virgin-harlot sisters sing
Of beautiful Persephone
And with unseen damselfly wings
Ascend from mediocrity
All melody forgotten
All the drums create cacophony
And you will find serenity in chaotic monotony
Now let this climaxing crescendo banish all your sorrowing!
No more that light; no more that sacred realm
Life’s door was dappled gloam; now all is black.
A man of wax with saintly, hollow eyes
Devoid of sin, devoid of love and light
That golden room is lost – you can’t turn back.
Now love has lost its lustre - lust lost joy
And coy eyes turn to watch the empty man
Struck by eternal beauty, and condemned
To haunt the broken world of mortal men;
And shrilling wind caresses empty hand.
Jul 2, 2012
Jul 2, 2012 at 12:01 PM UTC
When did Wishes become as commonplace as pennies in Fountains?
When did Unicorns stop dreaming?
In a place where Unicorns can Dream
And Stars are Paths
And Fat Orange Cats are Sullen Irish Dancing Potatoes
With Biscuit Legs and Waterfall Eyes
With an Everything complex
Due to feeling the Absence of all
Whilst having felt an overwhelming Nothing
And Ant Butt's full of Honey and Air
Pirouette and bend their slim Amber eyed head backwards
To see such hopeless Unicorns Dreaming of
Trollops and Almosts who don't know what Mermaids are
Mermaids that only Sing Underwater
And watch Sullen Irish Dancing Potato Boy
With Biscuit Legs and Waterfall Eyes
And an Everything complex
Because Garfield can't figure out
If Fat Orange Cat is okay with loving Selfish Harlot Mermaid
Or not
Maybe we should all just stay Honey-Eyed Harlots
And Hero Twin Flames
Maybe the penny can be a Wish
And the Star's dust pathways
And Unicorns can see black instead of Dreams.
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 9:05 PM UTC
First glance, I’m a good Christian girl. But dark purple flecks decorate my neck.
In leather and lace I forget to pray and let you do what you want with me
because pain is complex and melded with pleasure.
Do you know what they say about girls that enjoy ***
They never dare to say it to my face but I can feel them staring from the pew
at the dark purple flecks that decorate my neck.
Your hands, more powerful than God, make the earth of my body quake
while I draw fault lines down your back with my nails under the broken
crucifix above your bed. The pain is complex and melded with pleasure.
Deep, growling voice shakes the dusty rosary on your nightstand when we ****
Your handprints are left on my flesh and the hand around my throat
leaves the dark purple flecks decorating my neck.
Coffee in the narthex and I’m labeled a harlot. Sinner. Sacrilegious. Branded as freaks…
Brush it off. I know what you like and how you like me. God will have mercy.
Sensations blend because pain is complex and melded with pleasure
and I can’t have one without the other. To reach our peak
you leave me red, marked and breathless, gasping, “Oh my God.”
Questioning my beliefs with dark purple flecks to decorate my neck,
I know pain will always be complex and melded with pleasure.
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
The black snow runs down from the rooftops;
A red finger dips into your brow;
Blue snow flakes sink into the empty room,
They are a lovers’ dying mirrors.
Heavy and torn to pieces the mind muses,
Follows the shadow in the mirror of blue snow flakes,
The cold smile of a deceased harlot.
The evening’s wind weeps in the scent of carnations.
7.4k
Clayton
How I know you
Paternal parenting
DNA infused
Carbon contribution, to my physique
Father
In everything
My skin, eyes toes,
Unfortunately; inside my mouth
Spitting plaster-walled
Copy-paste personality
The same
Intimately
Close-dangerously
Different
Me a bold-faced fraction of ill abated love
Something that didn't work out
Photocopy
Blond-blasphemy of useless flesh
Reminder of her
Mom
Enough!
Teeter tottering
Tip-Toe tangling opinion
Excuses
Words fermented
Rotting-rigor
I know you.
Slit-eyed palefaced ****** of bigot ideas
Bearing pronged poker
Clicking glinting-clawed finger fondling fake religion
Suppressing supplement thought
********
God's love the good life
Living a life to be proud of
Excuse me!
For not being as I am "supposed" to be
Eatting rancid lies
Your reality relative
To kiss-ass preferred siblings
Who like the taste of ****
What you shovel
Hung on lipsucking harlot, hinged hip hung-over
Descending oppressidly upon willing wanton will of man
Letting cracked-cackled toothed
Field Gap-smile
Decide your next move
I know you
I see what you push into hidden corners
The bias, nasty film of your character
Under whitecollar shirttails
Citizen, Patriot
Americas American
I know you
Your oppression
Not new
As underhanded and seedy as it was
And still is
I know you
As much as I'd like not too.
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 4:18 PM UTC
Midnight just stands there
It watches me with a stare
She doesn't like to sleep
Yet she sleeps with everyone but me
I'm calm as it storms
In this mental fire I am warm
I'm not without but within
As I let midnight in
There's a hollow in the sounds
Resounding through the pounds
Of my insomniac heart
In the silky black dark
She was made in the light
But lives in darkest night
Solemn and upright
Like a high-end socialite
She makes me feel alive
Before the sun slowly dies
A martyr for my dreams
But nothing's what it seems
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 9:10 PM UTC
*** Worker to a house wife -->)
Entertain not for me hatred
It is only for a daily bread
I take your husband abed.
Since you are so timid
In haste, you leave your husband
Restless and discontented.
********** is an art
My dear sister
You should surely master
Than on me nicknames pester
Harlot,Slut,Hooker and a *****
Read a lot on the subject
With your spouse develop the art
At long last
When you prove your dexterity
In conjugal felicity
A tip it would be for mental integrity.
With affection and suggestion open
Your spouse,you can turn
A ********** machine,
What else do you need in return.
By and By
You may not seek a hit on the sly
(<--A housewife to a *** worker)
My dear sister in Christ
I know there is nothing foul in your heart
Except,you are a *** worker by ill fate.
Thanks a lot for your comment
Which I will second no doubt.
Dear sister in Christ
At times if both
You and my husband
Get debouch of beer or Highland
Check you have a ****** at hand
Just when you hold him inside,
For otherwise
Severe will be the consequence
For me and my child.
So you are morally obliged
By "No ****** no *** to abide
I am also willing to you extend
A helping hand
That could help you
On your feet stand
Than barter your body
For a daily bread!
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 8:25 AM UTC
across the Liverpool plains
the gas exploration
goes on without
being contained
drilling is never ending
holes sunk
which invariable
cause in the farming community
a disquieting funk
Santos
cares little
for the environment's
well being
its pipeline
must garner
all the gas
in the stream
landholders and those in the green party
have banded together
to protect the agricultural lands
from the rabid abuse
which the company
will wrought on
the water table
flora
and
fauna
they cry ****
as the company
exploits
the countryside
making of it
a harlot to be pillaged
and misused
the state government
is at sixes and sevens
so many competing
interests
must be listened to
should it give
Santos
permits
to
**** and plunder
or
will
it
allow
the
broad acres
to
continue
without sunder
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 7:35 AM UTC
Blue
The color I always imagine your eyes to be
Same as the sea
And I'm always pleasantly surprised
When they're both bluer than
I'd dreamt they'd be
Blue
The predetermined color to represent sadness
But I like the color blue
More than I like being sad
The only thing about blue that makes me sad
Is not seeing it
Blue
You imagine the sky should be this shade
Yet are always shocked
When it blooms a magical purple at night
And turns the softest pastel pink
At dawn
Red
The known color of fear, it scares me also
Reminds me of bad things
Dreams soaked in red
Are never ones to be retold
Though it looks magnificent on brown skin
Red
Representative of love
Yet war
Maybe that's why love always turns bad
Why we can get so angry
With the ones we hold dearest
Red
Reminds me of sweet apples
And sweeter lips
Of harlot lips, like the one's on that girl
The one you left me for
That Saturday evening the sky was blue
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 3:53 PM UTC
Whose women these are I think I know.
His housefly’s dead on the vignette though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his women pick snowdrops.
My little hornpipe is quite queer
He stops without a farce or sneer
Between the women with their frozen ‘la’s
The commonest everyman of the yawl.
He gives his harlot beldams his shaft
To assure they are his mistresses.
The only other soundtrack's the sweat
Of easy win from downing flagons.
The women are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promenades to keep,
And migraines to go before I sleep,
And migraines to go before I sleep.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 9:54 PM UTC
I have just met you, and have already judged myself for you.
Should I be thinner for you?
I have just met you, and have already become addicted.
Should I give up on you?
I dont feel adequate.
I dont feel worthy.
To tell the truth, I want to be more.
I want to be more than just a common harlot
I want to be important to you.
I want to have *** with my Lover.
Not my **** buddy.
I need rough coitus,
And heartwarming cuddles.
I need all that you are.
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 10:22 PM UTC
Tell me why it has to be this way. I don’t want to hold on to one side of this conversation and have the other person falling off a ladder. Yeah, down there on the ground. Get up and look at me!
I wasn’t sleeping, I swear—he said hastily.
Yeah, whatever, buddy. Tell me what you’re doing in my head?
Repainting. Repainting over the old spots, the worn out spots.
But those are the best spots, the only ones with character. Can you tell me who sent you?
No sir, I cannot.
Then it is ok. I suppose I’ll have to watch as you put varnish on top of every dream and aspiration I have ever had. Do you know who the girl was that I first loved in the springtime of youth’s blossom?
It was Ashley, sir.
I believe I did not love her, guest worker. What are you wearing there?
A pair of overalls, a cape. What’s the difference?
I’m the one who speaks to you first, and don’t be short with me. I don’t like you standing there in an open room with no windows. How is that possible?
I’m sorry, boss. It’s just, I finished painting over that memory but the paint’s still wet. You loved her very much, I’m afraid.
Ashley? I never gave her a second thought. Perhaps you are right. I only remember kissing her shyly and asking permission to see her ******* They were the biggest of all.
Yes sir, I thought so too. She was a sweet girl though.
Sweet? I’ll tell you Mr. Painter; Ashley was the first girl I kissed. I kissed her in my first love’s house, a different girl. I loved Ashley more than that first love and I’m serious. No one can ever make me forget the day we lay on her mother’s sofa in the basement.
--I’m sorry, sir.
No, say it is impossible. Say you have some form of soap that can make up for your treachery!
No, I’m only wearing orange overalls and marching on the word from above.
But who sent you!!!? I have to know. I’m crying.
Justin, it’s ok. It’s Ashley. She said you need to stop crying. She has a family now.
Well, alright. That house. That basement. That unconscious.
We are worms, sir. Worms, slithering and boundless. Please accept my apologies.
No, it’s quite alright. If you must take every memory of my second love, take my third. And take my fourth and every other woman who crosses my path. It’s not my choice to keep them captive in the imagination of what could have been. You know, it’s been years since I truly cared about someone—
Since Ashley?
Who’s that?
Ashley.
Goodbye forever, harlot.
Sir, you’re being brash.
No, I don’t remember that name and I hold you at an arm’s length in my mind. Please, finish what you’re doing and allow me to rest. What color are you painting the room?
Green, I’m afraid.
Then so it is. Goodbye, good friend. Goodbye sweet love. Forever, in the spring. Temporal boundaries and endless playlists. Be the verve, be the melody. I love you!
So it is. Sleep well, sir.
Oct 18, 2010
Oct 18, 2010 at 10:24 PM UTC
Captain Scarlet
Had a weakness for harlots
Who always wore scarlet as well.
This could sound
The death knell
For the show
Thundered Gerry.
It's so deleterious
I'm deadly serious
Less of the hoes
And more Thunderbirds Are Go.
Captain Scarlet's
Favourite starlet
However
Was no harlot
Even though
she always wore
Scarlet as well
But it was quite difficult to tell
That she was not so
Even if one was very clever.
Unlike Bobby Shafto.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 2:59 PM UTC
by
rgpage
Now slipping from my quiet night
my captive mind in swirling motion.
From my cold and darkened room
with hollow days and lingering hours;
from this life i slip away.
And journey now i cross the seasons
time's own boundaries hold me not.
I course my way from winter's cold
past infant spring and summer's hot.
'Til on the sandy shores of fall
as in the past i gently land.
I cast my gaze out toward the west
across an endless stretch of waves,
and sit upon the sand.
An evening breeze now strokes my face
the autumn sun is on the wane,
and as it goes it takes the tide
as if its journey needs a friend
to stay it from life's friend less pain.
And like a harlot in the night
to keep me from life's friendless pain.
I strive to seek and hold her near ,
her softened shape clutched next to mine
to keep my lonely heart from fear.
Yes to her side i often journey
her calming presence soothes my mind,
her pulse the breakers on the sand;
the sand her softened skin;
the evening breeze, her scented hair;
with her a gentle peace i find...
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 9:01 PM UTC
I am not some street cowboy punk
i am a quiet sweet rampant drunk
i play the spoons with the air of a saint
i have a tongue that can swallow paint
sour and acrid, the tone of my voice
i have never left without a choice
punched back sideways
even more today than tomorrow
for your heart i will bed, steal or borrow
Superman don't have ***** on me
don't need no wings now i am free
saving the restless, curing the weak
you can laugh at me when i dance like a freak.
I will kiss you when i drink too much wine
when i am restless and hungry you will be mine
I will do nothing when you are nothing to me
i will drive you crazy with all you can be
no more talkin no more of that ****
i'll hold you apart, break you bit by bit
if you're too polite i'll bite my tongue
i'll whip you and shake you, then i'm done.
carefree to be careless, shareless boy talk
tell me to go and i will surely walk
don't ask me to be kissed or hold my hand
i am not that girl that you left unplanned
i am a midnight demon on ferocious terms
i grasp you and hold you tight and firm.
I am not lost, or fragile or broken bound
i am not looking for someone to make a sound
i am no paige boy scarlet harlot wild child thing
i am not yours, can't you hear your telephone ring?
I am a sordid freak of gigantic endeavours
i will solder your heart regardless of your tremors
i am torturous and painful and weak to the bone
i am the mightiest fallen, can you not see my throne?
i have a **** me, buck me, tie-me-tight gaze
if i look at you slowly, be patient but don't wait
i want everything and all and i want it now
i am no gleaming bronze statue know-all-know-how
i am surely what you ever thought you knew
i am surely what you never thought when i met you
i am free to please anyone at night
i am free to sit and cry by candlelight
alright now, oh baby its all right now
**** me gently and i'll show you how
to be nothing more than anything is something i suppose
but i really can't tell for the state of your clothes
you dress me up slightly more than your vision
i've never met a person with such succint precision
and well here i go, superbly astute and blunt
never did i see such a spectacular *** ****
and well that is really the way that i go
i fly here, there, everywhere i flow
i am not some pretty naieve little thing
i am a mess of entirety with 2 engagement rings
i'm living with despondence and its ******* me off
holy **** batman i hear you cough
come see me, come stay a while
come see me, come see me, and i will **** you in style
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 1:41 PM UTC
Sinner
What have I done to my world?
Egrets
Pelicans
Whales
Are you diving into the plume
A 10 mile depth of black hell?
Are you in another dimension now?
Have you given up on this world of
Easy living?
I am guilty.
I work too much and care less
As one superficial lifestyle Blends into the other
Money seems like security blanket
It is Not.
My land is covered in a part of me that dies
As the sea spits up the overdose of
Consumerism.
Each time I feel the powerlessness of hope fade
I take my plastic water bottle and throw it into a
Bin labeled
RECYCLE…
HA!
Plastic
OIL OIL OIL…
PLASTIC
******* Hell,
I bet oil is in my food chain somewhere
A box that makes it easy to cook in
A packing tool to deliver me the goods
OIL OIL OIL
Saturated Guilt
I feel like a harlot
A sinner
A part of something I cannot stop
I don’t want my world to look like this
Stop Me.
From the desire for convenience
Let me take living down a notch or two
Let me see with a part of me that is lost
THIS IS A CRY IN
(the
sledge of redemption)
I remember my body gave me another chance
When I filled it with poisons that made me feel good (you know what they are)
Will you do the same?
Oh heavenly body that holds my own.
Can you ever forgive me?
Linaji
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 1:02 PM UTC
God ******
mercenaries
vipers
hypocrites
The Lamb of God
sold into the marketplace
led into the slaughter
The Love and Heart of God
now a harlot
for the desires and pleasures of perverse men
--honestly, I have more respect for a Lady of the Night, than religious ****** who traffic in holiness
The Spirit of God
miracles transformed
into entertainment and to rake in filthy lucre
The Banner of God
leads an army of hate
The Pastor of God
exiles a member of Christ’s body
The sacred Writings of God
twisted into a message of
judgement, guilt, intolerance
I am dismayed
disturbed
disappointed
disgusted
… I have seen too much
The Heart of God bleeds, tears fall from His eyes
How long will this go on?
Is there vengeance and a special place of punishment reserved for those who commit such travesty?
For those who trample on the Blood of the Savior?
--Serge Banderet
Nov 11, 2018
Nov 11, 2018 at 3:48 AM UTC
invisible friends are gods, Christ in bed reading the news
& listening to Mary's magic ****** seems When Jesus
was asked about the standing recognition of the right
of her daughter's wall; simply talking ardently fell power
to meet **** & Satan forever on unknown ground
leaving it to a computer to maintain the angel prostitutes;
receive gifts, the smoke is full of alchemy, and the fat,
cut off in the field, it is not for the robot to understand
the point of madness; they turn their strippers into many
broken to pieces, rain all through the south & the lowlands,
& the wind guns, the sails & the rich man, on Bob into the ******
of the dog, who is not the kiss on the stripper's lips of a tree
to scratch the muses about the winds, he who is putting it up
at the last time the spirit of it was a monster, holding them
in a small amount of the size of the heart to change the mirror
of a gypsy; Mark & Bettie & the Chinese sense of how much
the light of the angle of the wall of the city, to think of the buried
sand & fled to lay down the knowledge, has set out how
the Christians of the world who are so, he loved the angels,
from its smell in front of the cleanliness of heart, producing
an end to gun fire, Einstein's bag, & the fire would have been
liberated from the dance movement in defiance of the State
for abductions; invisible friends are gods, Christ in bed,
reading the news and listening to Mary's magic posts,
was Jesus when he was asked about the standing enlarged
cheated death by a third just to the right of her daughter's wall;
Top simply talking ardent fell power to meet **** & Satan
forever unknown land is one of the PC of the angels to play
the harlot they are given and that the smoke of the alchemy,
the fat to cut off the fields did not produce the robot to
understand the point of madness they turn their stripper
in many broken to pieces, the rain & of the south,
the plains of the wind, the torments of the sails of
the rich man Bob in the sheath of a dog, who is not
the kiss of strippers is of a tree with the fingers of
the Muses of the winds, who laid down the wall of
the city to be; invisible friends are gods, Christ in bed,
reading the news and listening to Mary's magic posts
was Jesus when he was asked about the standing enlarged
by death through a third just to the right of her daughter
walls; Top simply talking ardent fell power to meet ****
& Satan for ever unknown to the soil from the PC
by the angels, there shall be no such fornication,
that these are from the smoke that is made in the alchemy
& the fat, that he may destroy out of the land of the fields
are not producing out of it the robot to understand the point
of madness they turn their stripper in many broken to pieces,
and storms of the south, the plains of the winds of the torments
of the sails of the rich man Bob into the sheath:
with the Muses, who has not denied the strippers is a tree
of a dog & put it on the wall of his fingers into his invisible
friends who are gods; Christ in bed, reading the news &
listening to Mary's magic posts of Jesus when he was asked
about the standing greatly enlarged, of a third just to the right
of her daughter's wall; Top simply talking ardent fell power
to meet Dick's century Satan and angels; Bob is rich
in its sails quickly with the Muses & denied the tree
strippers from the dog, put it on the wall with his fingers
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 2:54 PM UTC
Acerbic antagonist alliterates agonizing accusations,
blasting ******* backbiter butting beautiful bombastic brainy blond bomb.
Cumulative cranial casualties cease caveman's cognitive coherence.
Doom digger derides Daddy's dangling dire dreary ****
Eclectic esoteric eccentric egotistical estranger;
Forthcoming fathoms fetch faithless fleeting father.
God given goblins gather gossamer ganglions;
Hell's hairy harlot harpies hover heeding Hyperion.
Ignatius imbibes irrevocably insisting,
"Jesus juggles justice's joy jarring jams."
Kindness kindles Kilimanjaro;
Malicious mountains melt, Mmm, morning marjoram.
Nothing negates Neanderthal ninnying.
Overt obsessions obfuscate original object of
purest passions, paltry past pinings,
quickly quieted, quelled,
resisted, relinquished, readily, ruefully, roundly
saturated, suffocated; surreptitiously silenced,
terribly torturing the thrashed tamed tormentor:
Ugly, ungrateful, unapologetic,
Vanity,
woefully wallowing, wailing, "Where's
Xanadu's
zeitgeist!?"
Jan 15, 2012
Jan 15, 2012 at 12:09 AM UTC
Under his mighty authority, he sent forth a pair of spies
Hidden by a harlot they now became Joshua’s eyes.
Saving her and all that she has for what she hath done
Later when they come to burn down the city
Her and her family will be spared, there the only one.
Assembling a band of seven priest’s in those strange lands
He’s ordering them to encompass and circle the city
While carrying the Ark of Covenant in their holy hands.
Preparations now begin for a symphony of destruction
it is for all the other inhabitants, due to all the corruption.
Commanded until the appointed time to remain in silence
After that, scream and shout loud with ragging violence.
Marching with the trumpets at their side and on their hips
It’s the seventh day, and now, they must make seven trips.
The walls then came crumbling down,
After they blew through those ram horns with their lips.
Taking there treasures, the spoils of war...
They took it for the Lord's treasury,
That is who they took it for.
AMEN
(SirCARSr. 11-25-13)
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 1:38 PM UTC
the ****** on fifth street
don’t ask you to buy whiskey;
they take it from you.
there are too many
words—lascivious, lewd, *****
used to describe them.
and too many names—
**** ***** harlot ***** *****
used to deride them.
you want one tonight
someone who’ll snort ketamine
whose laugh sounds like bells.
someone to talk to
for thirty bucks an hour;
the best ones come cheap.
the best ones come drunk
(when they’re not doing molly)
and dance in the street.
the best ones wear rouge
that glows under streetlights and
rubs off on your lips.
the best ones **** quick
and leave quicker—out through the
back door, and lights out.
Jul 25, 2011
Jul 25, 2011 at 2:09 PM UTC
Yes it's true I'm cheating on you
Blatantly with another site
I'm so enamored by her poetry
We're now hanging out in broad daylight
I keep going back and forth
Between both you and it
Pouring out poetry deep from my heart
Now I'm not sure I can ever quit
I do feel a tad bit guilty
This sharing of my poetic love
But like you heard, with the written word
I can't seem to get enough
She accepts me for who I am
Even welcomed me with open arms
I was thinking the whole time in the back of my mind
What could possibly be the harm
Now I feel I'm in way to deep
To swim out of this cheaters stream
The current is swift and the banks are steep
Guess I'll just drown in sweet misery
I'm so glad to get this off of my chest
Perhaps it'll take away some of the guilt
Although I sometimes hang with that other harlot
I want you to know I love you still
Yes the rumors are true that I'm cheating on you
With another poetry site
A month ago who would have known
I'd have more than one mistress in my life
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 10:00 AM UTC
You see her there
Right in the middle
Between innocent youth
And tired old age
The redhead
The harlot
Open
Welcoming
Eternal
You see your fantasies
In her mysterious gaze
Your carnal longings
In the fire of her hair
Open
Alluring
Mature
You see her confidence
In her ***
Her experience
Her empowerment
Open
Provocative
Determined
You see what she'll do
To you
You see her
Touching
Lustfully luring you in
You see her
The redhead
The harlot
Your mistress
She is there
In the middle
Between youth
And old age
Always
I am her
I am here
I am eternal
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 2:56 AM UTC
Phanerogams are plants which produce seeds.
The wanton harlot may be laid against the wall, with legs splayed, and may also have given birth to unbridled rage.
However, even though such stages of development can be entitled as “son of a ***** it is worth noting that all behaviour has meaning, my darkened companion of presumed sophistication.
The scholastic scribes will etch their wisdom upon the hardness of our vile vanity.
I hold in my hand a gothic stone, where those who stand before the courts accused of heresy and witchcraft can plead innocence before chanting crowds of bloodlust.
The reaper will gather the harvest at Lughnasadh, whilst the olfactory nerve propagates her funeral games amidst the cutting of ancient cornfields.
As we perch upon the gallows end, let us join hands and chant the mantras of old.
Photosynthesis is a forensic entrancement where there is no rest for the sinner.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 11:43 PM UTC