"hostesses" poems
Through the nature that i've travelled
There's so much to unravel
And the sea's that i've swum
Whether fishes are dumb
And the skies that are blue
Do they wear lace shoes?
Those dinosaurs which were ugly
Did they shave their legs regularly?
Do flying fishes even fly
Or its just a rumor spread by cats
So that it can eat every time a human has its catch
Did apes develop into humans
Or totally vice-versa
Before we know it we'll go extinct
And apes on trees will have sips of *****
Do kangaroos have pockets from birth
Or did they buy from Denims
Before i know it dogs will purr
And rocks will have feelings
Do owls sleep or act their way through the day
It will not be Meryl Streep but them, catching the oscar and walking away!
Do snakes hiss by nature or just be angry due to their body folds
Before i know it others will wear Jimmychoo's and all they'll do is catch a cold!
DO lions have smelling ability or they just put a tracking device
Playing billiards in 'Catsino' and using cell phones made of mice?!
Do eagles, the pilots of the sky have pretty air hostesses attend to
Or locate and make a buffet out of the, that's exactly what i'm referring to!
Its this jungle or paradise, or what a new age city?
Casino's of lions, oscars for owls, that's my LIFE'S EXPECTANCY !
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 12:18 AM UTC
Not seen or heard from
you
in awhile.
I sat on the bus today,
with the strength of vinyl,
and a girl slinked by me
in a flower-print sundress.
Her plastic bra-straps stradled her shoulders,
akimbo
and slippery wet.
And the man in the front seat
almost lost his head,
when the bus rolled.
Not seen
or heard from
by some other woman.
Took a drive this morning,
ate my cigarettes,
inhaled gasoline,
put my feet on the curb
leaned on my hood,
and not seen or heard from
I waited for the movie to start.
The bobcat yowl of an NSX
pronounced the night
as quick,
and your serrated memory
cuts
like it should.
Not seen or heard from
you
in awhile.
I bet you smoke
with the other waitresses
and waiters,
busboys,
hosts,
hostesses,
managers,
line cooks,
and
chefs.
I bet you have a good time
in that tiny cafe,
where you run
from table to table
with that wild hair,
and can abandon yourself
to short-term memory
and long-term
loss.
Not seen or heard from you.
Jul 22, 2012
Jul 22, 2012 at 11:06 PM UTC
we're gliding through the clouds
we're enjoying the in flight movie
we're talking to our fellow passengers
all is good at twenty five thousand feet
we're all comfortable in our seats
the pilot makes an announcement on the intercom
he alerts us that the flight is going to experience turbulence
the air hostesses reassure everyone
that the pilot has been on many a turbulent run
suddenly the plane drops down some several hundred feet
a fair bit of buffeting is happening
passengers hold on tight to sides of their chairs
a tad of wind shear is in the air
some start praying for the turbulence to subside
as they aren't having a stereo-typical smooth ride
the plane lurches and dips
in a pocket of thick air
it is rather disconcerting
dropping and flopping so high in the air
some ten minutes later the pilot again speaks
saying that the turbulence
is at end
so when next you're on a jet plane
don't forget
fasten your seat belts it's going to be a bumpy ride
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 11:16 PM UTC
Benedict met Mrs Cleves
in one of those
out of town bars
and they had a few drinks
and she told him
about her ex and
what a ******* he was
and how he used
to mess around
with those air hostesses
(he being a steward on a plane)
and he'd even boast
how many of them
he had had that week
and Benedict listened
and drank his drink
knowing that after this
they would go back
to her place
and drink more
put on some Delius
on her hifi
and have ***
on the sofa
or maybe make it
to her bedroom
if time and passion allowed
but she talked on
about her ex
and how she met him
after she came
out of the convent
(Benedict couldn’t picture
that scenario)
all innocent and pure
and thought love
had been found
Benedict sipped
the last of his drink
noticing how her hair
was like that French queen
he’d read about
who’d had lost her head
on the guillotine
and still she yakked on
about the ex
how he liked
fast cars and women
and drank too much
and disliked
her Scottishness
or her whiney voice
Benedict wondered
what she was like
back then
before the pounds
had landed on her
before age
had begun to settled
into features
and remembered
that time they had ***
on the sofa
and they’d fallen off
( too much *****
or what he couldn’t now say)
and the downstairs neighbour
had banged up
from the room below
and she said
shut the **** up
you old hag
and all said
in her Glaswegian tones
and they lay there
on the floor
she **** naked
and he semi clothed
with Mahler’s 5th bellowing
in the background
and as he came back
from his thoughts
she was still talking
of the ex
and he wished
she'd finish up
her drink
to get back
to her place
for more ***** and ***
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 1:47 AM UTC
boeing 747-700x
they say that size doesn't matter
but i disagree with them
and say they're full of ****
size DOES matter
this is why i fly my jet
a boeing 747-700x
my baby is f8cking huge
a touch under 280ft long
i can carry hundreds of people
all around the world
flying in luxury in my jet
served by **** air hostesses
with bruce dickenson my co-pilot
take it from me size does matter
and yes my jet is big and black
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 6:57 PM UTC
fifty years young and she asks no one
directly,
how will she compete?
she is tail and blonde and thin and all that
='s
pretty,
but,
single and
pretty at fifty,
slender, athletic,
currently unemployed
knowledgeable sports fan,
courtesy of her dad and no brothers
is not good enough
none of it, cuts it
when, in summertime
she only sees
youths coupling and rosy
older men with
young babies rosy
every place,
every restaurant
we take her
(the 19 year old tan,
embarrassingly,
almost bare
dumber and meaner than dumb
hostesses,
all look up,
inspect our arrival,
yes, in need of seating,,
we are three
and stupid youthful smiles,
yes, three, smirking, I get it...)
she slips it
out loud,
@ our "dinner for three,"
loud and yet inaudible
because we all want it to be
invisible unheard
a private thought,
part gasp,
part cri du couer,
wail plain and female plaintive,
can't compete, can't compete
cannot respond with a fatherly
there, there,
for that would be ridiculous,
even insulting
she wandered in and out of
purposeless, prepared for failure
relationships, and now
it is a look-back, lost,
Thirty Years War
find her a friend!
reply, they are,
sad and married,
besides you know,
I travel alone
in the
company of women,
and so by now,
they have stopped asking
it hangs there,
a hanging atmospheric decoration,
till enough seconds pass
and it is restaurant-noise
clinked away,
time erased,
never was said
I kick myself under the tangible table,
so no one else has to,
reminding me that you cannot be
poet~healer to everyone,
always,
try as you might
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 1:34 PM UTC
That codeine buzz
Johnnie Walker high better in lounge than air
because you don't fly enough for them to love you
**** it down while you can.
Proportion pharmas well
No Xanax pre-layover
Nobody likes an airport sleeper
And only your mum catches wheelchairs
off planes.
Give me night trips,
hot hostesses
to while away the time
while I burn my life through
this strange jet-propelled existence
loving only freedoms expressed
between confines of steel.
Freedoms reduced
our liberty sharpened,
exalted with easy available power points.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 10:42 AM UTC
*hard as a feather
capture the weather
polarities are kindred souls
i long to hold you close to my *****
and assume the unassuming
is all you have need for
our hands are hourglasses
broken on the seashore
sand has spilled out like rice
justified by time
another victim of the sublime
i miss her kindred spirit
although happiness and density
weighed heavy upon my soul
i chose to wait for comfort and shallow tide to control
the outcome of this poem
is like an ancient story
where the gods are getting hungry so they eat their own
brownness
forgotten
in fields of rotten tyrants
and brooms
sweep the countryside
like fire
burning through streets
tearing down the feasts of dionysus, bacchus, and eurypides
orpheus’ daughters
sold all of their water
to the maitre d’s and hostesses
so your own emotions could rent rooms in their vacant hallways
i saw all your warnings
and yet i chose to run right through them and into your arms
accept this token of my heart
a piece of fabric torn from sober wisdom
and spun with threads of copper
it becomes a blanket
and wraps your fragile nakedness
as the corn and leaves used to do
forgetful one
please heed this
your memory is naked
respect the unexpected
your lies are being collected and written on papyrus
sirens are awakened by your cries in the wasted light of the moon
perhaps we still must make amends
say amen
and sweat
your swathing blanket
your **** angels
swear by their creator
saying: do yourself a favor and let me enter you*
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 2:37 PM UTC
In the private club,
the hostesses are blind, eyes --
painted on the lids.
Apr 7, 2024
Apr 7, 2024 at 3:05 AM UTC