"playboys" poems
The Avenger from Oklahoma
she was a doll faced little lady
looking so demure looking so sweet
she would bat her eyes and smile
and then knock you off your feet
you see she was the avenger
looking for men who had done wrong
she carried a snub-nosed 38
and she would blow you away for a song
seems her sister had been slighted
left all alone and broken hearted
threw herself out of the window
and Annie finished what she started
she found the ******* who slighted her sis
made him fall for her with her magic lips
she shot him in his own bedroom
and walked away swinging her hips
but that wasn't the end of her journey
she decided revenge her life's passion
making heart breakers pay the price
working as a model in design and fashion
she would lure in all the playboys
make them melt with her charms
and just when they were ready to cash in
she'd put a bullet in each of his arms
she would disappear into the night
keeping the cops off her trail
her legend went on for over 20 years
most swearing it was just a fantasy tale
Gomer Lepoet...
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 10:59 PM UTC
hammock and a stack of playboys.
first emerged,
boy.
feature trees and teens and punch drunk lovers.
chalk murals,
girl.
into the quiet density of love.
quiet city.
dance party, usa.
we end up making movies about our fathers
whether we know it or not.
home videos.
we double down on arcade tickets
& spin for a kite to tangle.
climb the town hill and bury our warmth.
kiss to forget or remember this bliss
& strange language.
strange sprawl of lights seen.
the homeowner’s association melt a pile of plastic flamingos
into an idol osiris.
dead god.
& wait,
wait for halloween.
our parentals diligently sweat.
they are conjurors of snacks and supper.
they are creatures of the ritual routine.
we ritual.
we homework.
we breathe easy, waiting for nothing.
(except for more holidays)
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 7:15 AM UTC
Don't tell me to smile
Exhortations to "cheer up" will be ignored
You don't know how far you're stretching me, do you?
Your head still in the clouds of safety where imbeciles call out to each other
Listen. Listen, do
We're exploring the heaviest things in the world
Too heavy for Sysyphyus to haul
I'm that kid you can kind of see through
The one on the left corner
With the cool bootleg Pink Floyd t shirt wrapping his thin torso
He's got a box of Playboys beneath his nightstand and he's barely 14 years old
He reads and incorporates that garbage into his pre-adolescence behavior
With dreams of visiting Plato's
Retreat
Picking up some bunnies using some of the better Party Jokes
His expertise at 'lingus and 'latio are as well perfected as can be without having actually performed them
But he could sure bust out the ******* Philosophy and would have held his own with the old geezer who wrote it
But he was only 14 and nobody seemed impressed with the amount of ******* culture he'd consumed
They weren't letting him in the cluuuub
Your ****** right he didn't feel like smiling
But he wasn't bored
And he didn't feel too serious
He'd let it slide this time
*to be continued
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 12:41 AM UTC
I have laid claim to the Tyne Bridge - it is my home.
You can keep the streets, the shops, the bars
Share them between you
But please
Let me have the bridge for myself.
The bottle green arch of Newcastle,
And the stew of water that runs beneath
The sheer drop of air between them,
Lightly salted by the sea.
It is but the only childish affectation
To follow me and hold true
Through the contaminant of temporality.
Just please, let me keep it.
I shed the skin of adolescence
And left my school tie at home
When I made the journey North.
I arrived expecting transcendence
But instead I received the unwanted gift of the present.
From the clamour of Manhattan,
To the desolation of New Mexico and Peru,
The present will forever be the most effective ammunition
In shattering the stained glass of the world’s wonders.
I know this from the beauty of memories.
Those wonderful fragmented images of childhood
That so efficiently cut out the hours of exceeding boredom,
And the tedium inflicted by the men in suits.
And the future,
The future of flying ships,
The mining of the moon
And downloadable pizza.
But we know in truth, when we arrive
There will still be lawyers
And adverts,
Beggars on the street
And apostrophe’s used incorrectly.
I digress.
Let me return to the Tyne Bridge
My bridge on the Quayside.
For despite the bird ****
And the playboys that trundle over it day after day,
It stands defiant over deep waters,
Daring to cheat death
Or vice versa.
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 9:33 PM UTC
Every era that has ever been
Has engaged in the auto-dissection
Of their yellowing underbellys.
Yes, every generation has predicted
that the end is nigh,
That god is on their side;
But the devil has a crowbar
And is busting out of the basement.
Each decade is a mimicry of the last.
Different fashions, same trends
And always, with a fool on the hill.
A lonely steel harmonica can pierce the airwaves
Across space and time,
Through the grooves and crackles
To enthral an audience,
And to beguile that every generation
Into believing in their autonomy,
Their solitude,
With a fate independent of all those centuries past.
Through every disembodied spew of Dylan lyrics,
Or the corporeal and common alienation
Sympathised in every Wilde reference,
Comes the same fury at the chaos of a world
That is no more than indifferent at the plight of the people it houses.
Indeed,
Every generation has sought to either
Cure the ills of the Earth;
Or else set lighter fluid to the lot.
This stretches back to the first blood-spattered edition of the Bible,
And further, much further.
To all of the captains,
The heroes,
The anti-heroes,
The road gritter,
The malevolent dictator,
The schoolteacher,
The emancipated woman
And the borderline feminist.
To every young child who is reluctant to take the spotlight,
Or look you in the eye,
Ask questions, or speak out.
For every one of those who at some point were labelled
‘maladjusted’.
And so the Pharaohs and Caesars are all but gone now,
Replaced by the big-wigs,
The fat-cats,
The purple hearted,
The playboys -
The men in suits.
But they are all the same.
The same behind the decadence of
A solid gold sarcophagus
Or an Armani pair of shades.
They all built their empire on shifting sands.
And so we will all kick and scream
To our own tone and our own time
At the indignity of the world.
At our bespoke knowledge
To deal with all inconvenience
But that which privates the preclusion
Of any and all major slaughters of justice.
As for that young child,
With the lack of eye contact -
And all that he will become:
He will sit. And he will type.
He will type until his words fall beyond that
Of the spiralling noises inside his mind
And blossom into something pure and ugly and beautiful.
He will sit and he will write
To forget.
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 8:21 PM UTC
Parents are the weirdest - of God's creation.
I mean, who on Earth would desire the responsibility of another human being from the time they **** in their pants to the time they leave saying 'what have you ever done for me?' ?
Who would, of all the things in the world, like their homeroom stuffed with stupid CDs and stuffed racoons, waterguns and Legos, dried acrylics and miniature utensil sets, ugly pyjamas and strange half-knit sweaters?
I need to know why parents don't object to their kids pooping everywhere.
It's either the kids are super cute or the parents are super crazy.
I'm sure it isn't the former.
A certain lack of imaginative faculties, in parents, is evident to me,quite frankly.
Think of it this way- if it weren't for us - kids, our parents would have been carefree playboys and playgirls, and 'living their lives' - cliché.
What weirdos really!
Their standards of children's safety too possess a particular oddity.
It's only the exact moment of physical contact during a hug that our parents feel we're safe.
Their sense of economy and finance is oxymoronic.
They love discounts. But they'll pay extra for whatever their kids wish.
I wonder how they resist TV shows of most sorts just because they won't have their kids watch remotely explicit content, visual or auditory.
I bet their sense of direction is most unnaturally affected too.
Why do they even follow their kids, when they know kids don't have a working GPS?
Do you have any idea, to what lengths parents go to make veggies seem delicious?
Veggies, Really?
Parents will have you take disgusting syrups and painful **** injections,
And claim they love you.
Parents will have you hit the books,
And claim they love you.
Parents will ground you because you do something they don't like (but they too did it when they were kids),
And claim they love you.
Parents will stop you every time you say a swear word (but they swear all the time),
And claim they love you.
Parents will claim they love you,
Maybe, because they really love you.
Oh, their weirdness never ends.
Parents may seem eccentric,
Their ways might seem a bit too bizarre,
Maybe that's how the people who really love us behave!
Yet, we're always rushing away from them.
If you have ever traveled in a bus, you'll know how absurdly keen the passengers are, to get off, when it stops.
That's how keen the kids are, to leave the laps of their mothers, quite literally the most comfortable place in the world.
Parents really are - the weirdest of God's creation.
And the loveliest too.
Mar 12, 2019
Mar 12, 2019 at 1:31 PM UTC
Spent the evening walking nowhere streets
dodging horns and sirens of hungry motorbike taxis.
It was a parade of street-food vendors,
security guards half asleep by bottles of whiskey.
Every woman I passed was beautiful,
laid their *** on the numbered tables
as off-hand as their mobile phone, their purse;
their bored men. Each one had their toenails painted,
wore short skirts and vest tops in the stifling heat.
The best of them wore tight dresses of black or red
and ate their food in the same studious manner
I imagined they would take to the zip of my jeans.
Could feel the sweat roll down my back
kicking gravel out my sandals every ten strides.
The playboys rev their motorbikes
as if it were a talent they had been working on,
a kind of siren song to tempt the free women.
Each one is on the lookout for a bargain.
Each one streaks past to some indiscernible point
where they will bury themselves amongst
the massage parlours, karaoke bars, and short-stay hotels;
Each one a straight-up brothel once you make it through the doors.
I feel too awkward in this ******* town to order a sandwich
let alone try out my second language to ask for a cheap *******
Every foreigner here had some kind of breakdown.
Some kind of complex that drew them like a moth to flame
to some place where white skin is enough to feign riches,
stimulate desire and place you amongst better men.
We steal a living for a year or two of forever blue skies.
We eat good food and toast ourselves every evening
with cold lager and palm leaf cigarettes.
We cannot read a word in these humid streets
where every single building holds a portrait of the King.
Spent the evening with my shadow, both alive in the night
beneath the heady aroma of cooking oil and street-food spice,
both hurting to become, both slipping out of sight.
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 3:02 PM UTC
childhood
is full of once in a lifetime experiences.
it is full of smiling,
living in the moment,
not worrying about bills or mortgages,
or gas money or grocery shopping.
childhood
is something we always wanted to grow out of
moving away from our barbies and bionicles
and trading them in for make up and playboys.
even though, sometimes,
when heads were turned away,
we dug up our favorite plastic friends
just to see how they were doing in the darkness.
childhood
is something we always wanted to leave behind when we were children
become big adults
with our fancy clothing
happy homes
and lack of vegetables.
and yet we forget
that childhood
is, simply,
full of laughing.
and fully grown
i now live on the memory
of my sandbox sidekicks
and their laughter.
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 8:11 PM UTC
I'm tired of feeling all this pain, I feel so num
I wan't to go back to when I was young
To the time where nothing matter
No worrying, No jealousy, No guys
Just friends
I wan't to go back to the time where depression didn't exit
instead of cutting wrists
we cut paper snowflakes
The time where boys had cooties not hormones
The time where all I wanted was to be a princess
The time where I cried over broken crayons not over boys
The time where *** didn't matter
It's so different now
instead of looking like a princess, you have to look like barbie
And guys expectation are just so high
And even if they say we are perfect
we aren't
because it's the same thing ever day
they still look at the naked chicks on the front of those playboys
It's so painful
Now I wait to get hurt
I'm just expecting it
It's an every day thing
Worrying that another girl will take my place
You say that they are just friends
But you use to like them at one point so it's not that simple
I'm a girl my mind over thinks
I've been hurt so many times by you and other guys
I just don't trust anymore
You've lied to me
once you lie you lose all my trust
now I'm laying here while my mascara runs.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 8:11 PM UTC
No,
I'm not as faithful as a mutt.
Because dogs shuffle *******
Just like playboys change beaches.
But yes,
I am as faithful as a swan.
Because time goes awn and awn,
Swans don't desert their partners.
Jun 26, 2020
Jun 26, 2020 at 7:38 AM UTC
outrageously funny
the matters of the heart
makes clowns of us
when we play the part
the cast keeps changing
with the part
from stalkers to streakers
charmers to weepers
lovers to cheaters
playboys to loners
the cast keep changing
with the part
walking out of the theatre
of dead spectators
i think i played
each part
the cast was nothing
but only my past
and my heart
it plays no more parts
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 9:08 PM UTC
Never Forget Your Pills
Pretending to be normal,
its so hard when you're immortal.
In bed I'm called a god,
stand up for me and applaud.
Me more happy than a clam,
I'm more American than Uncle Sam.
I make your dreams come true,
I'm more famous than Playboys Hugh.
I love to flirt, I love to tease,
my goal is to always please.
I love being in the ****
I'm just that kind of dude.
A few times I've almost died,
I get emotional and have cried.
Some say that I'm delusional,
I find that to be kind of disputable.
You try being so **** perfect,
coming from me, what do you expect.
Not my fault, I'm the best,
I live by the power of suggest.
I open so many closed minds,
if somethings lost, I give it a finds.
I make magic with my pen,
I'm smarter than the three wise men.
I have no more competition,
everyone failed the last audition.
Everywhere I go, I get praised,
happening so long, I don't get phased.
Some say i suffer from schizophrenia,
all I read is the newest encyclopedia.
Can't help having god like features,
back in school, I taught the teachers.
Today I forgot to take my medicine,
everything just written was irrelevant.
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 2:14 PM UTC
Right captain, in people we cannot trust?
What Is that smell?
Cut the crap this is planet hell.
Dogs sniff butts of girl dogs men sniff butts of girl dogs also...
He would do a ****** donkey if no one watched then cheat on his wife take off to Reno with the bosses wife.
Run with the money let's go to south America. Cheat steal lie **** up the system before some dope does
Leave nothing left for the children of tommorow. Let them suffer in land fills of sorrow.
Toss more trash around puking bums ****** young girls uptown
The Catholic priest hates the cannon law of 1982 when the Pope was ashamed of me and you...
The nuns play bingo in the hall
While alter boys **** off in the bathroom stall
Emancipation proclamation was the quest of Playboys centerfold
Hue Hefner is still the hero some hate to say... Now most have grown old and gone astray...
Now internet ***** has taken hold?
These times will pass unto a stranger day...
The golden rule has rusted away...
D. Clare
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 4:31 PM UTC
The Venus Callipyge, also known as the Aphrodite Kallipygos
or Callipygian Venus, literally:
_"Venus of the beautiful buttocks"_;
an Ancient Roman marble statue
thought to be a copy of an older Greek original...
sneaking a peek at mommy coming
out of her bath | stepping wetly into the bedroom
to slip on her
underwear, | a generation of moms
of glittering
pulchritude &
callipygean in black stockings
& functional garter belt; stiff bullet bra
snaps in front
to twist the material
around to cup pert mommy-breasts;
forever brunette;
later sneaking into strip
clubs; getting an eyeful of
naked women everywhere
u look & it began, what
were we looking for; there
had to be a secret; [ ] how
does it even to occur to look
in dad's sock drawer to find
a stack of Playboys right where
mom puts daddy's clean socks;
[she knew the naked women were there;
& now I knew, she was one of them:
_if u're big enough to wear daddy's socks, u can see mommy naked_]
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 12:51 AM UTC
Dreaming Bob Wills
Bob Wills and His Texas Playboys performed
my life in a six song set in Tulsa
in late forty-seven. Only a dream but they swung
through San Antonio Rose and Don't Be Ashamed of Your Age,
Tiny, Kelso, Smokey, Johnny and Herb playing it
***** ***** Tommy crooning
my ups and downs and Bob,
who put a fine point
on an uneven performance
with his running commentary of high “ahh ha's”.
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 7:27 AM UTC
All I seem to own is shame
When life's a pass-go paper game
Objective is to stay alive
Subjective is how we survive
When roulette is the system
And for-profit is the mission
Of conversion to the currency
Indulgences we currently
Feed into like a slot machine
For triple 7's 'cross the screen
The drama queens and heartless kings
A full house of the finer things
These yachts are really oil rigs
To riches of the mansion cigs
Coal hash it out before we melt
Or lose before your hand is dealt
'Cuz empty plates and stomachaches
Are all that waits our highest stakes
If penthouse playboys place their greed
On not-so blackjack sheep to lead
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 12:35 PM UTC
He loved me
and that set me free
In account of my flaws
he embraced my claws
I attacked and I fought
all in response to gifts he brought
He loved me
but I didn't love him
We fought and we had silence
while trying to build resilience
But the world is cruel
and a lot like high school
I wanted to give you more
but I had nothing more in store
There's always new stock in the market
Beautiful men have always ben on my docket
I thought wed have a chance at forever
but the inevitable is never
Playboys and drinks
spinning in cycle like the roller rink
I've let you go now
but I'm not sure I know how
I wanted this to last
but our feelings were vast
Mar 31, 2020
Mar 31, 2020 at 11:24 PM UTC
Oh, don't get mad or upset.
When you hear these words one of many.
Playboys operate this way.
And many women volunteer freely to play a role.
And its of titles , we all know.
Doctors, businessmen, politicians and policemen and others.
Some ladies living under this belief that physical desires will hooked them.
While never understanding they are just a thrill to them.
Because they one of many.
One leaves and another comes.
A thirsty man just hungry for more.
A fool lives blindly in this world.
Especially if they don't comprehend they are one of many of his girls.
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 12:03 AM UTC
sometimes I feel too easy to play.
is that even a thing?
is it possible to be so open minded, that these playboys just run up on you,
and leave you blindsided?
it must be,
because for every girl like me,
there's about 10 playboys
running free.
And man,
are they good at the game
of keeping us women sane,
long enough, to watch them
walk
away.
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 1:32 PM UTC
that's the girl
that makes playboys fall in love
and committers think twice
Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 1:51 PM UTC