"leathers" poems
Your eyes are my *******
Your kiss leaves me breathless.
Your fingers are my toys.
I submit my body and my heart
For your abuse or adoration.
With you the red bag stays zipped.
Don’t you dare give me a blindfold
Don’t you dare gag my mouth
Don’t put leathers between us.
Only one thing does it for me.
Call it a fetish or call it love.
I just want you.
Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 1:17 PM UTC
I frequent a little taco stand
Every time that I'm out west
With Elvis behind the counter
Dressed in his leathers best
Janice Joplin doing dishes
With Southern Comfort breath
Arguing with fry cook Jim Morrison
Over the best way of cheating death
Jimi Hendrix works the tables
That they have set up out front
Recommending the mushroom taco
With the psychedelic crunch
Marilyn Monroe...the entertainment
Nightly serenades the gents
While wearing here favorite T-shirt
Bobby Kennedy for president
I highly recommend the little taco stand
If you ever find yourself out West
Who's going to show up to take your order that day
Could be anybody's guess
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 7:51 AM UTC
Sick and cyclical memories linger, how unjust it seems
In somber city streets, her father's name she screams
When the fix is late and her body sodden and shaking
Her childhood recollections waking, every joint aching
Falling on tarmac, tearing stockings and fleshy knees
Through the distant mist it's a saviour that she sees
Marvin on a white steed, motorbike and leathers
To get her straight he only requires her nethers
What difference could it make to such a worn woman
So little that her eyes glaze as he announces his comin'
And she's immediately put to work after initial transaction
All night shifts, ****** abstraction, customer satisfaction
Returning 'home' to Marvin where the earnings are counted
Giggling schoolgirl as playful stories of John's are recounted
And Marvin's insatiable perversions are compounded
****** cocktails and deviancy, her psyche confounded
The **** sleeps blissfully beside his new top girl
And through ****** daze, she examines her world
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 9:51 PM UTC
I'm not a person who collects things
I live a very minimalist's life
But I have a bag of treasures
I keep close to me day and night
I sleep on an old painted daybed
It squeaks softly as I lay down
Most of my clothes are second hand
And my shoes a little worn down
But I have some precious treasures
Hidden in bags of different names
Fendi, Burberry and Prada
Leathers and fabrics of worldly fame
My treasures are hidden deep inside
In makeup bags and zippered pockets
Shiny compacts full of velvety colors
From Paris, Milan and Rome
A black cloth bag of 8 tiny bottles
Protected from the sun and rain
Bottles of perfume oils made in an alchemist's lab
With names like Dragon's Milk, Snow White and Bliss
A Christian Dior handkerchief or two
Hangs delicately inside the bag
In case the breeze brings on a sneeze
Or I notice a tear in the eye of a friend
by Mark Lj
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 1:53 AM UTC
There you were on your camo Kawasaki
Riding leathers on, in racing position
Pacing the metallic beige Subaru
Pacing the vintage blue Volvo
Pacing me, in the back seat,
Hungover.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 2:46 PM UTC
You and Ingrid
bummed a ride
on the back
of the coal truck
the spring holiday underway
Ok
said the coal truck driver
but keep
your heads down
don't want to get
pulled over
by the rozzers
and so you both
climbed in the back
of the truck
settling down
between sacks of coal
covered over
by tarpaulin
with just a slit
for light and air
and you and she
just sitting there
she clothed
in an old green dress
and cardigan of grey
brown scuffed shoes
and grey socks
you in jeans
and blue shirt
open necked
and sleeveless
patterned jumper
never been
in the back
of a coal truck before
Ingrid said
mustn't get too *****
in case Dad finds out
and leathers me one
you watched
as she sat there
in the semi-dark
gazing out
through the slit
at the thin
aspect of sky
hands on her knees
biting her lip
been once before
with Jimmy
but then it rained
and we got drenched
you said
what did your parents say?
Ingrid asked
nothing much
you replied
Mum moaned a bit
but the old man said nothing
just stared
as he blew smoke
from his cigarette
through his nose
God my dad'd go mad
if I had done that
she said
pulling her knees
together hands
holding on the top
I'd not be able
to sit for a week
he'd beat me such
she added
moving
with the movement
of the truck
you said nothing
knowing her old man
seeing him often
walking through the Square
swaying with the *****
or seeing her mother
bruised and battered
crossing to the shops
enduring neighbours' whispers
for a while she was silent
looking through the slit
as the sky drifted by
as the truck moved
you swayed
side to side
her shoulder
against yours
her arm touching yours
the smell of wet washing
and of yesterday's dinner
captured on her clothes
seeping in your nose
now and then
she spoke
of this and that
of kids at school
of names called
of hair pulled
and how she liked it
when she saw you
enter school
and your kind words
and helpful ways
and when the driver
pulled off the tarpaulin
to get out sacks of coal
daylight blew out
your eyes
and made you smile
and cheered your hearts
you shared the sandwiches
you'd brought
and bottle of lemonade
factory made
sitting on the truck floor
she nibbling a sandwich
and drinking shyly
from the lemonade bottle
after you'd wiped
the top with the palm
of your hand
her eyes on you
her lips open for words
her knees pressing together
to keep the balance
as the truck
moved on and away
just you and she
on a bright spring day.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 8:59 AM UTC
You say walk a mile in your shoes...
Fine,
now you do the same...
Here's mine.
The souls well worn...
from front to back,
one size fits all...
Only colours black.
The leathers aged...
and see that crack?
That's paranoid anti-social depressive disorder...
WHAT
you want your shoes back.
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 7:27 PM UTC
There are some pronouns we cannot uncompose. Yellow leathers, blue April tides, and red licorice red, unconsolidated red and blue and yellow first person pronouns. Can it not be favorite contact season again, with the lips touching too. I am evil's ruthless seismatic trepidation.
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 2:56 AM UTC
the snow falls sincerely sorry,
like a pale yellow skirt at the foot of your bed-
i always said, "i didn't mean it".
but i meant it.
it's that time of the year,
where you'll wrap yourself in wool and leathers,
in hopes no one will feel just how cold you truly are,
but i can feel it.
you drink your whiskey straight,
yet feel too inhumane to rest your lips on the same bottle
as the only people who've ever loved you drink from.
your glass gets frosty.
you blow hot, pungent air between your teeth like steam,
in hopes we'll see you as some frightening machine,
instead of how you really are when you forget
that you should be holding up your fashionably unfashionable walls.
you're just another washed up actor,
who somehow lost the ability to differentiate between being on-set,
and being alive.
so you lie.
frantically,
frivolously,
and frusterated,
that nobody you trust can trust you to be you.
the scenes that you build get muddled and confused,
rendered too busy by your lack of attention
and over-use of the exact same hues.
you used to seem so beautiful,
until i found your pallet
under your worn-down mattress...
you only paint with grey.
oh, how you tried
to hide the colors that i am under a tweed cloak of comfort ability,
but i don't fade,
and i most certainly do not run.
i change every day,
and when i begin to hate the direction that my masterpiece is heading in,
i change course entirely.
i abandon the compass,
and the guide books,
and stampede across the pages,
until i become the new and improved version of who i was yesterday.
stop pretending,
and just be.
you wear your "fight" face everyday,
as if you may have to chase a pride of giggling hyenas away
at any given moment.
put down your knife and act right,
no one here wants to hurt you.
you hurt me,
you tried to hide me,
and you lied to me.
still,
all i want to do is teach you.
teach you to let go of your charade,
to embrace the life you've made,
and how to paint the sunset as a sunset-
not a eulogy.
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 3:16 PM UTC
Well let me tell you bout' Amazing Grace
A Devil body and an Angel Face
When she kneels down on the barroom floor
She offers up forgiveness and a whole lot more
If it's redemption that you're trying to find
Her Absolution is one-of-a-kind
And I can attest that She can Blow Your Mind!
My Sweet Sweet Amazing Grace.
Her Patent Leathers are a sight to see
(If you look closely you'll know what I mean)
Her double pleated plaid skirt can knock you down
But then she'll raise you up boy
Without a doubt.
She's such a Cutie
A real Beauty but
You wouldn't take her home to Mom...
Daddy wouldn't mind it
If you thought that you could find it
To sneak him in the backseat and tag along...
So let me tell you bout' Amazing Grace
A Devil body and an Angel face
She'll let you baptize her all over her face
My Sweet Sweet Amazing Grace
(Gimme an AMEN!)
My Sweet Sweet Amazing Grace!
Jun 12, 2011
Jun 12, 2011 at 10:39 PM UTC
We have defiled her
She screams silently while we claim we have refined her
She grew up inside roses,
a single dress with footsteps of needle sets.
Her thighs now smothered by ropes of skirts, each embedding it's mark, these are the scars she must bear.
Her parents are skeletons, pendulous in coat hangers, dressed in old leathers with jaws fractured.
have we refined her as we claim?
Silently she screams
We have defiled her!
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 4:16 PM UTC
I can't look good.
I'm not wearing the right clothes,
They're just not for me even though I want it to be that way,
to be that way would be nice.
Waking in september,
I could use a splash of color today,
I could use an advancement today,
somebody special may notice today,
these new clothes I have on,
maybe notice me, too.
Trying to stop the threads from wrapping around my neck,
the spools laughing like fools,
Trying to keep my skin unseen,
Because that vulnerability is dangerous, so I now,
prepare for a ****** day.
Years pass by like strangers in Manhattan,
Head to toe, covered in fashion,
Hat for a head,
Shoes, socks for feet.
Belts, buttons, silks, leathers, gloves,
all wrapped in heavy jackets.
Sunglasses. My eyes are faulty,
They can't be seen. Must remain shaded.
No skin anywhere so, my wish is granted.
Big brand names all over my body,
but somehow nameless.
The seams start to wither,
Like nature does do,
Arms of sweaters fall to threads,
Fibers of cotton fill the area,
Moths become alert.
All the garments fade into oblivion but the interesting part -
No nakedness underneath the glamour, only nothingness.
A plume of fattened moths and dust scatter,
The clothes fell down and there was an empty space.
Mar 23, 2012
Mar 23, 2012 at 2:22 PM UTC
ooooh,
look at the head lights.
And then glance at the wheels.
See, how the body shines?
Don't the wax appears tight.
Feel the leathers.
Smooth and soft to the touch.
Check out the dash board.
The interior is appealing.
And the bumpers impressive.
I listen closely to the engine.
The motor sounds great.
And you thought I was talking about a car.
When in truth I'm speaking of a girl.
Yes, it might sound sexist.
But then a woman might think of a man like a truck.
And, I wonder what they compare them too.
A GMC.
A Chevy or Ford pickup truck.
Sure, I wants to drive.
Just the same as them.
Yes, I be happy just riding along.
If she don't wants to come along.
We better look out.
When they starts to speak about him.
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 7:30 AM UTC
When I think of our love to date
All that we've done together
these are the moments that stand out
first
New Year's Eve
We woke up early and went to a diner
then spent the afternoon going for a drive
sitting in your car
no music playing, little conversation
enjoying the snow covered scenery
you stopped to buy mice for your snake
and I stopped to chat with the parrots
Second
A January snow day
We spent all morning and afternoon in bed
watching the snow from your window
you took me furniture shopping
we wandered through the store
debating shape and color
learning about leathers
afterwards you took me to the mall
showed me a small shop that sold art
we finished off the day by cooking together
and ettouffee I shall never forget
Third
lying in my bed in February
listening to folk music and your heart beating
a nervous rush pulsing through my veins
I told you I wanted to tell you something
that I was scared
and that I loved you
Fourth
driving home from a beach vacation
your dog snuggled on my lap
fields of corn dancing as we drove by
daydreaming of our future together
my heart hoping that you wrote me into your plans
May I write a million moments on notebook paper
May our love last forever
May we grow old together
They are both my questions and my hopes
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 12:24 PM UTC
I know
a single thing that
you don't know
It's hiding below the car's
seat belt!
laces knotted like phrases,
not praises
and astounded with
places
dusty in my heart's
spaces
clean leathers you don't love
like distant hands
at
night
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 6:48 AM UTC
The elderly man sat reminiscing over his life
now unable to walk far.
Breathing in oxygen through a nasal tube
he knew it wouldn't be long.
Shortly after in his sleep he quietly passed
at his funeral the truth masked!
Outwardly thought of as a charming man
inoffensive and kindly.
Nobody knew he had once been in prison
for an unsolved ******
Evidence against him they tried to seek
but it was too weak!
For all those years he had kept his secret
the body was never found!
They knew he had committed the crime
but they had no proof!
He had put it in the large leather chair
nobody guessed it was there!
Playing on his mind sitting with the victim
who was not at rest.
And in the end hounded him to his death
as in the chair it still laid!
Before long the furniture had to be sold
the dark secret still untold.
To the furniture auction the chair was taken
there a young woman was thrilled.
A real brown leather chair for sixty pound
what a bargain she thought.
Always wanted one of these she shouted
of this none doubted.
So pleased when it arrived at her new flat
it did look out of place.
Keen to show her boyfriend the purchase
he was on his way.
As she smelt the leathers strong scent
it made her content.
Sitting in the plush chair she felt important
for a short while.
A sick feeling filled her retching throat
through blurry eyes!
There a man stood struggling to her feet
managing to retreat.
Blurting out what had happened to her friend
together they returned.
Nothing was there on the chair saw a tear
pulling it a body part fell out!
Soon the police arrived to the address
to clear up the mess!
The chair for evidence was soon removed
the case against the old man proved!
The Foureyed Poet.
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 8:13 AM UTC
When the wind whispers o'er the prairie
When the grass swells like the tide
When old leathers mew as they tend to do
When they stretch the fresh rawhide
When the sound of cowboy's jingling spurs
Across the canyons ring
When the cattle bawl their haunting call
These are the sounds of spring
And every spring is round-up time
When cowboys earn their pay
Gathering herds together
And locating every stray
This is a time legends are born
As heroes come to light
In stories cowboys love to tell
Around campfires at night
When cowboys die along the trail
Few monuments are found
They're often buried where they fell
Pushing their herds to town
And though no funeral may prevail
To honor one who rode
New songs and ballads may arise
For that's the cowboy's code
And Mistrels sing in stories true
Plucked on rusty guitars
New tales of cowboy heroes
At rest beneath the stars
Jul 28, 2011
Jul 28, 2011 at 5:03 PM UTC
Moving shapes
Of hulking, blackened,
Highlighted shadows
Going every which way
Without the slightest
Clue as to
Which way
They’re going
Or coming from
And they’re painted
And draped
And covered in straps,
Shreds,
Trails of furs, leathers,
Plastics of every sort,
And it gets hard to sort
Them out,
The monsters
From
Their
Costumes.
How much depravity
Is enough or too much
For the depraved
Before the irony
Is too clean
To waste on themselves?
I’m standing in the
Midst
Of a mist
Of sweat and ****
And my jeans
Are soaked to the
Shins with *****
Or sweat,
Or ****
Or hopefully blood,
And I’m staring into
A shifting cloud
Of tall, thin, cold
Glasses of water
Waving skinny limbs,
Twisting and flailing
As the show
Is put on for the
Other bony, ragged
Appendages by their
Androgynous semi-owners,
Draped in furs
That are just as
Flea bitten as
Their desire to
Create substance
Through the flagrant
Display of debauchery
And purposeful
And tactfully
Tactless
Effort
To prove
A lack
Of substance.
Dec 22, 2012
Dec 22, 2012 at 10:27 PM UTC
contagion of hope
her soft blonde hair brushed back
over one pierced ear
the tones of her eye was one of hesitation
i asked her of what such a beauty could fear
after all she would have a thousand strong souls
to nail their backs to a wall at a
word from her feather light lips
but she insisted that the soft touch of her cheek was enough
to be a contagion of hope
to even the most desperate of soulless men
i must have been mad
because i did stop to caress that sweet face with my weary eyes
i sought out her lock and key heart
and found that she desired to be desired but never touched
and there came a burning in the dark forest of my mind
i would wander a time without count before i would see the burning for sadness
meanwhile she apologised profusely but could not contain her dream to flee
and away she rode on a black mare
'her riding clothes brown leathers from Portugal
and they were as soft to the eye as she
she spoke quick to the man at the gate
and he shut out the night
and sealed her eyes with tears
so i kept the watch though i am no professional solider
her companions did sneer at my reckless behaviour
but she in passing let one hand trail over my face
that left welts on my soul
what price is a good price for such heartache
"such is love" she said to me
and i began to see that i could never save her from herself
she will forever ride from one ancient kingdom
of bone dry dust to the next
forever unfulfilled but forever loved
by her army of nights in shining armour
desperate to save her from her own distress
her ice cold lips are painted this night
a light shade of pink
and what a thousand strong souls wouldn't do to feel
their tender touch
but iv been in that prison
and in the morning i shall ride free
of this blinding hope
i can bear no more flags of the hearts defeat
the last i saw her
she lay swooning at the gate
one breast bared
and her handsome knights milling about
in a panic
forever unfulfilled but forever loved
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 6:13 AM UTC
The best burn I've ever felt
came from a small reflection
tucked away, strong,
removed from temptation.
Share your selection: perception.
Something about this weather makes me sick,
and cuddly. All I want these days is to be alone,
with a body, and nobody, and something to help
me forget a few things: less personal.
Moving around, faster, each by three.
So in love with this moment, I start to catch on fire,
a page full of **** and forget me please.
You tasted better in the morning, I hope I did too.
Contamination through determination.
We're going back in time for the last time,
it's the beginning of moving forward.
What haunts us haunts us only in subconscious,
so we lay on the floor, curl in the kitchen,
inhale: new decisions.
Getting on tracks, hearing about the ones that got loose,
and the ones that go too close
avoiding getting ran over,
running over,
rereading
listening
listening
listening
I can hear you listening in the silence you create:
thank you!
This progress is beating it's way inside
of us, the way we beat into each other.
Um, um um um uhhhh Ah cha rah cha cha cha
I love you,
and I'm not going to say it more
than I feel it
and I feel it, oh honey, it's coming
faster than I do on the weekends.
Sttttrrrreeeeetttcccchhhhhhhhhhhh
rip feathers, wash away the leathers.
Last nights reminder sent me shivering
shocked.
Your voice is changing,
there's more than one
and you can talk about her as much as you want,
'cause I spend most my day doing the same thing's
inside as you do outside, just we do everything at the
same time, so there's no need for questions, because
everything's an answer.
Answering yes.
Yes yes yes yes yes
yes yes yes
y e s
y eeee sssss
ssss
ssssss
eyy yeeuh yes
yesh.
I've always liked the shape of a woman,
long hair pulled back.
It makes sense.
Since when?
“I just woke up and you're already attacking me,
all I want to do is just go to sleep.”
you told me when I write,
and I proved you wrong.
Proved myself wrong.
Wrong is a word said quickly and distorted at the same pace,
it's manifest destiny in the form of emotions in motion.
Wrongwrongwrong
wrungwrungwrung
riiiing riiiing riiing-
don't answer that!
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 4:56 PM UTC
Brethren skulking from the daylight shadows,
we watched other guys **** up to chicks,
offering to trade their Beatles bubble gum cards;
lying about how much they dug "Love Me Do".
***** Stones fans, we snickered every time
the sycophants lauded Ringo over Pete Best;
stared in disbelief at enraptured female fainting
on Ed Sullivan's really-big Sunday show.
Displaying our leathers, we were anything but Fab;
Brian Epstein would have deemed us scrofulous,
a given that nobody's daughter would marry us.
Back then, chicks were rated by putting-out,
not how many texts backed up on their cell phone.
No one really gave a thought to "the British Invasion",
nor if our lot in life would "Not Fade Away".
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 4:08 PM UTC
You say walk a mile in your shoes...
Fine.
Now you do the same...
Here's mine.
The souls well worn
from front to back...
One size fits all
the colour black.
The leathers aged
and see that crack?
That's paranoid anti social depression...
What
You want your shoes back.
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 7:20 PM UTC
As thousands of migrants sojourned from Timbuktu
All destined for Libya from the ancient Kingdom of Mali,
One ,a patched lip skinny kid , greeted them''Assalamualaikum''
''Why are we dying in Libya ?'' asks the young migrant called Ali.
For several months , everyday , from sunset to sunrise
Ali said he too dreamed of being a part of the mass migration
'' Oh my dear brothers, I wish your plans were otherwise ''
For many of you will not reach your final destination.
Ali said Libya was the cradle of modern day slavery,
Death trap ,a magnate that lures desperate poor Africans
Escaping prosecution, economic hardships and poverty
Just for them to end up dead like sardines in cans.
Oh Africa Ali asks,where are all of your leaders?
What have we done to deserve this unspeakable evil?
Is it because of the hues of our beautiful black leathers?
When did we become the slavery anvil?
Man to man , is so unjust '' he quoted Bob Marley
'' But Arab to Black Africans is another sad story ! ''
'' Why are Black people being sold into slavery?
Why is the whole world sitting so supinely?
~ Ivan Brooks Sr ~
Jan 3, 2018
Jan 3, 2018 at 11:39 AM UTC