"primped" poems
Even her heart beats brand name blood
Primped plastic ready for packing
I wonder how many packing peanuts I could shove down her throat
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 8:31 PM UTC
He's a Peacock
Strutting about
Poised
Primped and preened
With feathers neatly arranged
My little brother
In his new choir clothes
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 10:38 PM UTC
**"how can you be in bed so fast?
we just got home five minutes ago?"***
*You got girlie stuff to do babe.
unlock the front door,
thirty steps
to our bed.
maybe stop to basketball shoot
***** clothes into a swish
of the hamper's netting
or,
maybe not.
turn off the overhead left handed in
a single motion, a highlight video,
both left foot socks
hid in the snow boots,
outside the front door.
you understand.
my unseen
girlie stuff,
requires me in state of ******
while you be
prepping.
face washed, creamed,
hair n' tooth brushed,
other stuff,
unmentionable.
am doing
my thing...
my girlie stuff*
starting a
poem interruptus
my pre-Coitus exercise,
just a new love poem
conception,
initiated,
doing my thing,
waiting on you
primped n'pumped,
décolletage clad,
to give me that
girlie stuff
closing stanza
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 12:08 PM UTC
**The fairest hair, peroxide blond
beer shampoo feeding the roots
primped and pinned with paperclips
blown and set as candyfloss sticks.
Hydro-pack cream erasing the pouches
colourful lashes, stuck to the lids
with copyright brows by electrolysis
both almond eyes are now penciled in.
Lines of life filled with putty
trowelled in layers, foundations built
delicate cheeks, powdered, pampered
rouged and shaded, giving them youth.
Clinical lips, Botox injected
tattooed outlines guiding the brush
the budding artist colours by numbers
pouting, she paints in weatherproof gloss.
Turtleneck sweater hiding the wrinkles
genuine paste, drawing the eye
both purl and knit-one inside the jumper
pulled and snagged by glued on nails.
High heel shoes, stretching the sinews
of Lycra clad legs, holding them taut
a girdle of whalebone hugging the figure
gently molding, the form to behold.
With grace we age throughout the years
a time filled life, craves respect
hairs of grey are marks of distinction
an occasional blemish, a beauty spot.
Tiny crow's feet, signs of good humour
experience of life, lines proudly worn
for with laughing eyes and glowing smile
who need wear a plasticine face.**
... ... ...
Apr 30, 2011
Apr 30, 2011 at 12:15 AM UTC
they shine
like angels
fallen from above
to tempt the eyes
of frail men
broken trail of wingless years
eyes betray a lonely heart
and hope to make it full at last
they long
like sirens
calling from afar
to turn a foot
by fatal lyre
faithless fickle hearts of men
leave voids unfilled by unshed tears
and ache to wipe the fears away
they lay
like harlots
waxed and oiled
primped and preened
to light the hearts
of fallen men
and
tempted, turned,
take them away
to darkness
fill the longing, close the void
break the long and hard divide
but moments pass
the deed is done
and into stupor
all undone
the cracked and broken
flee
so we sit
like demons
teeth spread wide
with a halo on the jaws of hell
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 1:46 PM UTC
When I was a kid I only ever wanted to be strong
I wanted to be able to compete with the boys at recess when we raced.
But that was when worry and society didn’t consume my thoughts.
And the words “Am I good enough” didn’t conjure my Mind.
Now I’m in middle school and they shrieked at the site of a girl wearing makeup or getting all dolled up. The **** (plant) inside my mind grew, and grew, and grew. Until I became a mixed drink with one part “Ugly” and two parts lonely, because I thought that the definition of feminine began with the word frail. No one ever realizes how greatly the word affects us, how a simple name can turn a pretty girl, into something she’s not. All these words and names buried deep inside a cage that could not be escaped, My bones turned into ***** knives trying to cut through the flesh of my judgement. As I grew older. I became the girl that was never enough. Not good enough to wear this, not tall enough, not primped for perfection, not smart enough, not pretty enough, not cool enough, not loud enough. And i began to believe too, that I wasn’t enough. I never told anyone they way I felt or the ***** secrets that I have because I was too vulnerable for judgement. But when we were kids are brains are still growing and the smallest seeds that get planted will one day bloom into one giant regret, and that seed will one day affect the choices we make, it will influence the clothes we were, it will one day shape us into the person we thought we would never be. I thought that the definition of woman began with the word disappointment. But we are not disappointments, We will never be the ones who gave up on hope. We will never be the one who gave up on each other, or god, or our mothers, We will always be enough: enough for the ones who shunned us, enough for the ones that mocked us, enough for the ones the hurt us and destroyed us and beat us when were were covered in bruises. But you see, bruises fade and go away, and the scars of our flesh are only stories about things we overcame and there are things out there that we will overcome. When I was a child, I only ever wanted to be strong. I hid my vulnerability. I hid the parts of me that were true. I never told my mom the way i feel because i was afraid she wouldn’t understand. Kind of like all those people who never understood just how much words affect us. And I can’t say that my childhood didn’t affect me, But I take it and embrace it. Because I am strong. I am a mixed drink cocktail with 1 part beautiful, 1 part confidence, and 1 part powerful. Because I AM GOOD ENOUGH.
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 5:05 PM UTC
all her nails, freshly painted,
the smoothed shaved legs,
seasonally and saintly nick free,
the eyeliner,
A+ student penciled in,
eye shade applied with lightest of touch sensual,
threaded eyebrows,
curvaceously straight,
streaks of red,
the appliqué upon her head,
parfume strategically dabbed in spots near where any
body's lips might invade,
*and yet,
not one primped place upon her
was safe!*
all turned awry,
when knocked I
upon bedroom door,
bursting to read a poem freshly made,
the oven's writing warmth,
still faint discernible,
giving off the aroma of heated ink,
upon a skin-smooth page,
a bakery smell irresistible
presented her with my best,
a man's rawest essence
refined, honed, then, honored, favored by her
she, overcome!
weeping pleasure at the pleasuring
of my words so gentling,
all by my soft speaking tongue applied,
that engendered this response
she,
in a slow pouring, half turning,
presented me with an act of counter-balancing,
no embrace, no equality of caressing,
nonetheless,
a weighty visible estimation of
her physical esteem and appreciation
presented me a bill for repair,
a body's bodyshop estimate,
undoing the undoing damage done,
by my careless, thoughtless,
ecstatic reading of
only love poetry
she added a weary, seasonal, lyrical
claus(e) of some folk familiarity,
by way of apology
"that's what you get for loving me"
Dec 26, 2016
Dec 26, 2016 at 4:10 PM UTC
Nothing gold can stay,
I'm a rigid mannequin with evolving feathers
Feather petals across my horizon
The earliest movements of heaven upon them
I'll never be able to waste away
But no one ever told me plastic decays.
Primped and primed
Who knows how I could come to be so divine?
I never loved but I have lost
My narcissism is on decline even while it is on the rise
Sunrise sunrise but what a surmise
Heaven comes to above but never flashes a light like a dove
My father is blessed be
I am a curse in a bundle of joy
I walk in contradictions and I puddle all day to cry
A lightning flash of a flutter of an eyelash
A millions a millions galore
I cannot live without a human heart
Despite the fact I sell all these shells I find on the raw shore.
Diamonds upon diamonds galore
My thirst set ablaze
My legs forever open
My heart a tiny cage
A precious girl
Unkempt hair and a messy soul
Walking in contradictions
Ablaze with fragmentation
Each pin ***** flattened and sewn
It may be a fragment but it is for sure
A dagger, the edged sword
I could be poison, I could be a *****
But in my brown eyes I am warm
A teddy bear but frightened
A lady but not by the shore
Tempted by spells
Burdened by lost promises and vindictive twirls
A pinch and a *****
Each day was a new month
Each spite was a new bite
Now I'm just a devil's delight.
I love the idea of a throne
But I sit on my own flesh
Decaying as I dig in
Vanity, eating my own cakes
Fattening my arteries
I truly am, if anything,
I am wholly gluttony.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 3:58 AM UTC
She jovially jumped at the jester's jokes.
He scornfully scowled at her silly spirit.
Two people perpetually poised and primped.
Yet, so unlike, unique, and uncannily uncomfortable with one another.
The girl gleefully grinning at the grimace she glued on George's face.
George stomped away staring with stone-cold stature.
Young hearts unaware of their fate. Unaware that one day they would love.
Fiercely, furociously, finally falling.
Loving, lending, learning.
Together.
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 12:57 PM UTC
all showered and shaved,
gussied and primped,
with no one to touch
hence a lonely night spent
tapping away on plastic keys
to people near and far over seas,
who mimic my movements
directly through the screen
typing away, writing obscene
poetry and fiction
with articulate diction
of tales of titillating touches
by our celebrity crushes,
for our realistic lives
are in a lasting drought,
therefore fervent encounters are without
but the passion that burns
lies in our lust-less yearn
to be held, touched, and stimulated,
sensually caressed and dominated
depictions of kink send sparks
to particularly my lady parts
and the desire for one's touch
becomes almost too much,
so I channel these feelings
that leave my nerves reeling,
and loneliness settles in
before I can even begin
to describe the touch
of which I cannot feel
and wish the instances
I fabricate with words
could only be real
Feb 12, 2012
Feb 12, 2012 at 11:22 PM UTC
Balance, once forthcoming
unsteady-
Now heavy feet wobble
in the wake of fleeting certainty
Leafy determination
crunched and battered-
Sifting about, once a wonder
dried, victim of Winter
Cracked, withered concrete
foundation chipped away-
Paint rolled over in submission
having past years to pay
Stone left to shame
smothered by the vandals-
Cruelty primped and perfected
pitying eyes serving no justice
Free fall, bound by distrust
unprecedented in the past-
Loosely sleeved history repeats
snuffing this connection all at once
Apr 14, 2020
Apr 14, 2020 at 3:02 PM UTC
If you’re beautiful, they’ll deliver their hearts
in prompt, primped, boxes with bright bows
if you are plain, with a heart of gold
you’ll only be given a life of juxtapose
everyone squanders their love on the few
who will never reciprocate the same sentiment
they will only fall for those other beautiful people
who’s hearts only intent is that of malcontent
with some in love with the feeling of lust
and some lusting for the feeling of love
millions of lonely people sitting alone
waiting for just one person to rise above
love may be blind but lovers are not
if only they could see what shines inside
we could end the heartbreak and heartache
two soul mates, hand in hand, and side by side
Nov 1, 2010
Nov 1, 2010 at 7:55 PM UTC
Bolo tie
Primped and fly
Dining on nostalgia, for nostalgia’s sake
Living off the food at Kurt Cobain’s wake
Pressing a Mangum to your head
A case of Velvet dread
Addicts caught up in the Reed(s)
Sticky Fingers and their steeds
A Moonlit Mile
A case of Kurt Vile
A Day Dream Nation’s falling apart
Little Wing's lost its heart
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 5:01 PM UTC
A slab of flesh, a big lug of moistened meat poised perfectly behind your teeth.
How does it know to stay there happily enclosed behind the primped maw?
My chest swings up and down as the uncertain wind chimes melodiously drone on
My toes curl as they anchor themselves to the manifestation of reality which is my bed
Release yourself of desire and your perception of self and you are free.
I am not merely DNA strands or small dainty hands.
I am unfathomable and that's how I know I exist, exquisitely undeniably present
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 3:06 AM UTC
Gone it seems are the days when I would structure words with grace.
A perfect place for them to stay,
To say what I need to display.
I struggle hard to find a way,
To keep the evil thoughts at bay.
The ones that threaten to destroy
and scream promises to take.
And the longer I live in their wake,
The more it seems I'm not awake.
This is a dream, I'm far away.
The nightmares chase,
I am disgraced.
They see the fear so clear on my face.
I break.
I know I cannot be ok.
They have all of me, those ******* snakes!
They promised me an artistic state!
So I could orchestrate my voice across this page.
I've traded everything for this,
I've lost my happiness.
To make these words sit, so beautifully primped.
To impress blank faces, I'm tired of this!
So imagine for just a moment,
A person sitting ever so lonely.
He writes what he writes,
While he fights with the light,
The one that shows all of your demons that hide out of sight,
And he cries.
Because the world seen is beautiful in his eyes.
But not from naivety,
He knows so well the horrid underside.
But he loves it.
What would he write about otherwise?
He needs it.
What else could inspire his mind?
He craves it.
All while it eats him alive.
Is addiction to sadness any less potent than madness?
I didn't choose this!
What's to gain?
Words in exchange for sane
Thoughts in my brain I can't explain.
Maybe I won't ever be able to.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 7:40 PM UTC
The pearls in the leaves of that tree
splashed on my hand
And primped it like an accessory
so delicate ,so beautiful,so refreshing
The tiny little pearls of nature "the dew drops"
Seemed to just exist to make me glee...
Jul 29, 2020
Jul 29, 2020 at 2:48 AM UTC
Unparalleled beauty,
a reflection in the mirror.
To the world's inattentive eye,
it couldn't be clearer.
Smiling, she shone,
her appearance alluring.
At first glance, she was gorgeous,
beauty only maturing.
A mirror, she was used
by others, free and unfettered.
As they primped and they powdered,
flipped their hair, fixed their sweaters.
Whitewashed into a white bread world,
the masquerade was what mattered,
the layers of paint covering the cracks,
not the disheartened soul, broken and battered.
She reflected the world's superficial dream,
hiding the emotional menagerie.
Not a girl; she never spoke,
A fragile mirror,
she didn't bend, she broke.
The world's superficial abuse
made insecure cracks become fissures.
Distorted lines marring her figure.
Smiles became sneers
pitifully given by peers.
Taunts left her shattered.
Jagged shards.
Scattered.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 12:26 AM UTC
Baby skin, dough like softness
primped and primed
unbeknownst of the furnace
you'll soon be thrown into
where you'll grow a tough shell
to combat the fluffy spring inside
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 12:36 PM UTC
The groomed dog lies
Clean upon my sofa,
Resting,
His reward.
Resisted he
The urge to flee
Or bite the handler
While the groomer
Plied over the sopping ****
Clipped the carpet-ripping nails,
Coiffed and primped him
Head to tail.
Waking,
He nuzzles me
With a brown-eyed stare,
Sidling close to my old brown chair.
This canine friend,
Just a dog in mien,
Communicates his needs,
Comforts me in loneliness,
Amuses me with dog-face grin,
Reads and responds
To the state that I'm in.
Feb 28, 2019
Feb 28, 2019 at 1:45 PM UTC
29 years ago I woke up
Nervous, determined
My best man and man
Let me know how lucky
I was am will be
We primped and
Straightened ties, took pictures
By the purple rhody up in front
I got into my little red democrat car
And sallied in my stallion
(No, really! A
Mini-hobbie-horse, a
Leftover Christmas ornament
Bounced my rear view mirror as
I galloped northward)
A cassette played
Philip Glass, no less
Philip Glass, no less
Me in my tux
Wending north:
“Over and over again:
Bravery. Kindness. Clarity
Honesty. Compassion. Generosity”
I try to live these words with you
And when I don’t, I’m sorry
One year shy of thirty
We set out again
Adventurers both
Marking the remarkable
Happy anniversary!
May 27, 2019
May 27, 2019 at 1:10 PM UTC
*I was once a pedestrian on Fayetteville
Highway , on a midnight jaunt down a dark
byway
With the North Star to reconnoiter my
trail
Struggling to get home fast
Destined to catch hell
Puppy love reared the head of Medusa
as the band played My Sharona
My date made it hard to think -
as I primped in front of the sink
The weight of a psychotic heart was a heavy load so I made a break for the open road
Wet grass doused my white jeans , my silk shirt reflected
moon beams , a killdeer chuckled at my quandary
Yet better to be alone than sorry*...
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 1:58 PM UTC
Half its contents stashed away
Or shipped to another state,
Primped, perfumed and prettied up
It no longer reflects who lives here.
It no longer echoes happiness
Or tries to hide despair.
It’s just another pretty face
Looking for a suitor.
It promises hope for someone new
Who will hang the walls with their own joy
And shed their sorrows in the garden
Beside the bubbling fountain.
It will be the gate to a neighborhood
And an enclave of belonging.
It offers safety from the storm
And the ravages of the city.
It’s up for bids beyond the price
To see who wants it most
Or has the deepest pockets.
With preference to those who’ll love it.
The house is open for the world to see
And guess about the owners,
Crying softly somewhere else
As they prepare, unwillingly,
To kiss a beloved home goodbye
And strike out for a new beginning
In someone else’s home, now theirs,
In hopes of finding Shangri-La
In the new world of Nevada.
ljm
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 3:41 PM UTC
let me tell you this
the numbers increase
then restart and you change
in increments
like the yellowing of a book
or erosion of a stone
if you must talk sit comfortably
with a beverage of your choosing
and say plainly
here I am
here’s the story of it all
let me tell you about music
about how Boys Don’t Cry
how I sit and let the melancholic
twang of a guitar
and ripple of drums submerge me
like a wave on a winter night
how the syllables of erstwhile years
still hit as hard as cricket *****
let me tell you about the television
the what we don’t need and reality
warped past the point of reality
breathing out the same few sentences
at midday and rat-a-tat of gunfire
on a street of sixteens
or in a dusty ramshackle of a town
now bounding into the spotlight
let me tell you about anxiety
about the bending extending
of my fingers
the inbound heatwave
at the front of my skull
the potentials that rattle
rainmaker until I hear my voice
telling my own voice off
let me tell you about the online world
the vanity that froths across the screen
strangers trying to be strangers
the illusions blow-dried primped
glazed over in a calorific gloss
or the pitter-patter of a criticism
that will unavoidably come
because it can
because this is how you open your mouth
when you can’t be seen
let me tell you about motivation
how it trickles like sand out of me
how it is steam on a windowpane
silvery and ready for me to play
but gone before the first curl of a word
is poured into place
I find naked envelopes everywhere
what is needed concealed under the bed
at the end of a lines-are-busy call
let me tell you about intimacy
to me an outline of a ghost
or an unidentifiable shape
like a face caught in a puddle
there goes a couple
in the first swirl of not-quite love
there are two teens
photographing the evidence
that they are a serious business
thank you very much
condoms instead of pick ‘n’ mix
holding a phone instead of holding a hand
let me tell you
this is how it is
or my version
different from your version
but the roots are the same roots
the premise about the same
do you have questions
It’s not a surprise and I told you
the numbers increase
then restart and you change
in increments
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 7:44 PM UTC
There was once a little girl
innocent as youth
she wondered in the gardens
her hand grazed the waters
she passed the white flowers
their petals sweet
as a butterflies kiss
she passed the yellow flowers
sour yet soft
like a brush of lemon skin
she passed the pink flowers
primped and perfect
she began to question her beauty
she passed the red flowers
bolder and bigger
they shadowed her youth
she passed the green flowers
they were brushing against her
forcing her to turn to another path
she passed the black flowers
they were thorny and kept a tight hold on her
she struggled and struggled to free herself
finally the thorns cut her enough that she fell to the ground
and one single white flower grew out of her back
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 4:47 PM UTC