"slims" poems
Hometown girls
are real with you.
If they don't like you,
they'll even make their *****
look ugly;
pulling them in all the way
to the tops of their thighs
through their buttholes
and you can smell the stench
in your brain.
But when they let you in,
when they let you sit on their ears,
it's like warp-drive.
They smoke virginia slims,
because that's what their mom's smoke,
and the bags under their eyes
are filled with nicotine,
but they're pretty bags,
purses of flesh
full with the kinetic beauty of coal.
Hometown girls are mostly black,
mostly white,
fifty-fity,
but nobody's checking
and when they whisper something nice in your ear
it's colored with a microbrew
or a wheel of Jim Beam.
Sometimes they'll take you by the wrist
into the bathrooms;
sometimes they'll take your drink
when you're not looking
and smile when you catch them
with it on their lips.
But that smile is good even,
on par with a supernova
in its ability to crush
and make beautiful.
But most of the time,
they stand around
outside Casbah
and Motorco
--if they're bougie
it'll be West End--
in the middle of the night
under the porch of the sky
looking out with amber
slitted eyes
like cats,
their legs twitching thoughtfully
as they wait for cabs
and pick at the night.
Hometown girls
are sexy/beautiful
because they'll watch your every move
from the gallery
out of empathy,
knowing they've been that ***** before,
knowing they've been that lonely,
knowing they just want to get drunk
and want to be around randoms
that aren't so random.
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 6:37 PM UTC
Isela
takes it in
the mouth.
She'd get on her knees,
positioning herself
half-in,
half-out
of focus.
Just enough for Joe,
behind the Cannon,
to capture
the whole thing.
Eric,
the producer,
was on his hands and knees
beside Joe.
'Come on Izzy
work it,
work the dick.'
'That's right,
stroke it,
make him sing.'
'I love it,
Izzy.'
Izzy wanted to bite
down.
She hated each and every ****
she ever saw,
but she had a few things to do.
Her **** had to be new
and renewed
on the daily,
her ***** had to get wet
on command,
and her stroke had to be
so fast
they'd burn the dude
as her mouth
cooled.
After her mouth
was littered,
and her face was a mess
of spinal glitter -- You could make a man
come out of his
brain, Eric would say.
Izzy would get in her car,
wiping her arm
where'd she'd gone
to the clinic
to get pricked
and tested,
and pull a long haul of Virginia Slims
down her throat.
'
It was always the first sweet thing
she tasted.
Izzy would pull into the Terrace View apartments,
all that long black hair,
and wipe all that make-up off,
three napkins-worth,
so she could kiss her baby.
Because Rocco was in for a bid,
and not coming home anytime in
the forseeable future.
Her microbiology degree was somewhere
in her closet underneath those pink stillettos and
more fishnets than fish.
And Izzy knew
that with those double d's;
*** like a backseat,
mouth that could grease
a ****
and her hands
Eric liked to call his own,
that she could pay the light bill
and maybe
put Romeo
into a daycare center
that wasn't full of roaches
and
angry *******
"Someday I'll get out,
but it's illogical
to say
with all the money I'm making,
and it's just a job
when you get down to it,
I've ****** a lot of *****
and never gotten
paid."
Rocco Jr.'s cheeks were always the second
sweet thing
she tasted.
"I know a lot of girls
that got defeated by this game."
Mar 23, 2012
Mar 23, 2012 at 1:08 AM UTC
Altered by the winds laced with a threnody tune,
life in the northern woods will never be the same without its bloom.
The deceased puppet master continues to pull the strings of the dehiscence heart,
one of this game is forced to take part.
The ears of an indecisive mind take in the plaintive sound,
which provides an ongoing reminder of how these feet are forever bound to this ground.
With the chances of escaping this monochromatic box slims,
one might begin to take a swim.
The ideal way of living becomes a compromise,
the old personality leaves only the eyes.
Shed away in a abscission fashion,
and along with that goes all the passion.
Sitting down to confabulate with a higher knowledge,
carry on the dreams of going to college.
Storybook barriers leave no saltant mood.
Being passed by society is quite rude.
A misnomer indeed,
being labeled wrong because of greed.
Hunger of such has taken a life,
of one upon a lake that was never a wife.
Letters that hold such wicked silence,
that can never be undone even with science.
This blue body surrounded by an invisible malediction,
or maybe that is all just fiction.
He has nothing left from his unmanly lies,
upon keeping secrets he thinks he is wise.
Knowing it all is never enough,
but with an abecedarian brain on might just call it a bluff.
Eventually farewells must be given without hate,
and one might hope to return as if all was in a somniferous state.
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 11:57 PM UTC
So come everybody throw ya hands
In the air for me
If y'all feelin this jubilee
O yea so lets get back to the actions
Satisfaction
Of celebrities got ya main attraction
No actin I'm packing
Gats to baseball bats and who dat?
Call me poetry wack splat
Goes through ya back bullet hole
Filljn those
Empty spots ya can't touc what's hot
I got reps like birdie
Above the rim lace blunt with traces
Of v slims
Who can stop me if my potency
Is near infinite
I'm embedded in ya melon eternally
Too cool for y'all to see I be
With this jubilee a juvenile
Born in the wild never smiled as child
All I wanted was a few toys from micky ds
Could barely afford cheese
Make tracks sneeze when I breath
Got thick chicks from here all the way to Belize
Please don't be ignorant
Just throw ya hands up to this anthem
Ya can't phantom
The jubilee is slammin-
Come on
Not that the time is right
Refocused my sight the black knight
Knocking outsights now ya braille as **** for trynA **** with
The m o b s t e r ghetto star
All hands on the r
Ruger luger quick to shoot ya scoop ya
Out of the scene like ice cream
One man team
Don't need a **** near friend in need
Please believe
I got backups like traffic
Hit the skins is automatic cuz static
To radio station they hate me
Cuz I don't participate in ********
I'm concerned with
These ***** *** punks running politics
Donald Trump I gotta automatic thAt loves to dump
Throw his *** in the trunk
Puff skunks I'm slammin on the gas
Like an alley oopp dunk full of *****
Dikes to lesbians all want a piece of me
I ain't cocky but stocky like Rocky
Picket pock me ill find thee
Restin peace to my enemies
That couldn't get to me
I'm hater proof so y'all just throw ya hands in the air for me
And represent this jubilee ahh. Come on
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 12:01 PM UTC
Dear Poet Friends, this short poem was composed during the Summer
of 2010, and posted on ‘Poemhunter.com’. Hope you like it. Thanks.
WHEN YOU CATCH THAT FEVER!
When the body temperature exceeds the normal,
You know you have got the fever on you.
High fever can get you in a delirium,
And even inside the ICU!
One must guard oneself from the Summer’s sun,
Take precaution from exhaustion and heat.
Wear dark glasses and use a parasol,
And sun-tan lotion makes the picture complete.
‘Prevention is half the cure’, is an old saying which
is true!
With cool butter milk and iced lemonades, -
You can keep that heat off you!
Now there is another type of fever, more potent
than that ‘Swine Flu’!
It can strike you anywhere and anytime,
And you cannot take adequate precautions too!
When your heart starts to beat faster, -
And a fever rages all inside.
You get melancholic and delirious, -
When someone calls the doctor by your bedside!
But when no temperature gets recorded,
And the doctor looks all concerned!
For you have caught the 'Love’s Fever', -
Oh, what a lovely way to burn!
-Raj Nandy, New Delhi
(Comments from Fay Slims, a senior & a veteran poet from
Cornwall, SW England:- “Raj, catching that fever is never
avoided by those who have given their heart!”)
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 9:24 AM UTC
Right off of the 7 train,
Irish Catholic schoolgirls spilling
out of Jahn's like marbles
Their plaid skirts against exposed brick
bellies full of kitchen sink
The produce stand next door
eggs .60 a dozen, milk one dollar
Now converted into a bodega
or maybe even a small
Muslim prayer room
I bought my first album
at a record store on 82nd
The brown paper bags, thin as bible pages
It spun on the Victrola in my
parents' Tudor
The yellowing wallpaper smelled of
my mom's Virginia Slims
And sounded of my dad's Vermouth
His own liver fried
with onions, just as he liked it
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 6:10 PM UTC
I have been held between calloused fingers with
courage caked under the fingernails.
I've watched the tribe of white knuckled girls with the knobby knees
fall off the jungle gym.
Their mothers would sit on the park bench and smoke Virginia Slims.
Must be getting old, the way their skinny fingers combed the better half
of their crinkly silver hair.
They get carried away out there, how they invite themselves into strangers cars, fire up another cig and tell their stories to each other.
And the kids are wild and all footwork, thinned lips the color of roses, questioning whatever confuses them.
I am uncomfortable with their softness, mumbling syllables or whispering fairy tales.
They picked scabs until they bled and their mothers pretended not to notice as they soaked in late night stands and whiskey;
I want to say to the girls on the jungle gym, “you were born to a mother who wore pain like
trees wear their rings, as marks of bravery and battle cries.”
But because I am forever bonded to this earth, I will feed myself with their
feminine giggles carried by the wind
And for now, I will carve myself down to nothing more than water and remember that
observation really is a lonely science.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 3:56 PM UTC
A girl flicked a lighter next to me,
she flicked it on
as the whole room pulsed
and I felt strange
because her skin was on mine,
and Stephen rolled
on stage.
The cloud in the room
was thick and it was
a fog of Marlboros, Virginia Slims,
Menthols, Menthol Lights, Kools,
and all other sorts of ghosts.
Stephen made fire with his hands,
flailed like a marionette
and let the spirits loose.
He blew a baritone:
"I feel like we can really get close to each other,
in this tiny room."
Demons
can rise
and make fire;
can rise and make your belly feel
like hell
and molasses:
black and sweet.
Demons
can rise together
and make love
in a tiny room
that crackles.
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 12:55 AM UTC
I am gentle. I am weak.
I am 3 AMs and lunch breaks.
You lust for me. You crave me.
You might leave me for a while, believing I'm the only hiccup.
But you'll soon realize there is more,
(that your wife didn't stop ******* you just because
you came home with my perfume on your clothes,
and your kids didn't stop smiling at you just because
they knew my name) and you will make your return.
I am not proud that I have you wrapped around my finger,
yours wrapped around me. Or that you can hold my slender
body, only to look away when I fill the space around
you: taking me in, letting me go.
I do not last. I am eternally temporary.
I am a one night stand of sorts.
You tell your friends you hate me.
You tell your wife you think I'm ugly.
You throw me to the cracks in the pavement,
again and again and again and again,
only to ask for more. I am not proud, but
I will adhere to you always, because I long to
fill the space created by the separation of your lips.
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 9:03 PM UTC
I was told once that I lived a former life as a nun
I liked the thought
It rang true in my heart.
But what about this other one that keeps showing up in my dreams?
Where I smoked virginia slims
Danced nights in a hazy dive bar
Black hair
A luscious mystery
Mainstreet by Bob Seger
That'll take you there.
Oh, and please, I would like if you trusted in me
to discern imagination
From a soul memory
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 1:16 PM UTC
It's an insult to me
to be
decommissioned
tagged as
useless machinery.
I remember when
men weren't machinery men
they were supermen,
craftsmen
carpenters and
draughtsmen.
They built this Empire and
kept it going,
little knowing that they'd be
going too.
You scoff because you don't know,
you were never there at the dawn.
What do we have now?
pink poodles
Chinese and noodles
robots that know not
and what do we do?
easy
I write love
one hundred and nine times between
the lines on my face,
botox?
toxic,
someone
give me an ice pick
patch me into some voltage
and be quick.
Banner.
**** it anyway
I've had my day and seen more than
you'll ever see, look forever and you'll
see no stars and stripes,
you'll see baby wipes and feel
strangled by the star spangled,
but it's anti this or don't kiss me
goodbye
however hard that you try
you
will never see what I've been through,
up to, into,
cue violins
some Havana slims
a pitcher of gin and
let the music begin.
It's still an insult
the result is the same
I am substituted and
out of the game.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC
My body spins on a potter's wheel
as my mind slims, sculpts and refines:
a groove here, a lip there.
When I am almost ready to fire
I add another lump of clay
and start refining anew.
I remain a work in progress.
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 4:18 PM UTC
as time goes on so does her
she only see's one side of this life
yet there are two that are just for her
she has a mind
then a soul
she knows of her mind
she knows what she thinks
yet not what she truly feels
she fights for what she believes
not for what is safe
she want her desires safe or not
as time fades her soul slims
her mind take's control
she forgets her place
she is s shark in a pool of people
she cannot see what she is doing
her soul is weak
she soon becomes devoured by within
and by then she is gone and had taken her innocence
she had taken her footprint on the earth and washed it away
time shall go on and she shall stay still.
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 5:13 PM UTC
The judge sits in his spiral chair whizzing round and points out there's no time to waste.
The prisoner looks up in haste, the jury gives the man a taste of medicine.
He slims from ten eight to ten five and gets a five to jive *** ten and when it's a stretch too far behind the bars no wonder he feels under par,
A tonic mate?
No date for him however slim and he's locked up and wearing thin the jailhouse floor, but the judge forgets he sentences, eats lentils, drinks one more Buck's Fizz then goes to sleep and still the spiralling goes on until the five and private enterprise is all but gone.
That's the way.
If tomorrow is another day
for some it should come yesterday
That's the way.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 6:35 AM UTC
Found among Dad's things while cleaning out his condo. He died at the end of December:
EXHORTATION TO A TROPICAL FRUIT
Go
Mango!
AT THE HEALTH SPA
Virginia slims
Virginia's limbs
THE ULTIMATE CHALLENGE
The daredevil
Dared evil.
LEBANON
Malicious
Militias
THE HOSTESS AND THE BASKETBALL PLAYER
Julia serving
Julius Erving
Mar 6, 2024
Mar 6, 2024 at 11:56 PM UTC
Trough the slims-infected forests
Across the snow-cried mountaintops
Walk walk and walk, but the swamps and the solitude won’t end
You can’t run, you’re ready to die, and all you ask for is not to cry
You see the end of the line.
It’s close, too close; you can’t face it so you try to escape it.
It’s worthless; your heart starts to fail
Your blood won’t sail
Your bones start to crack
You try to scream, but your voice stays back.
The light’s getting closer.
You start to pray
You’re afraid of the pain
The forest is getting darker
The sun disappears and the wolfs start to howl.
The moon appears and your tears dry out.
Alone, afraid, lost in no man’s land
You hear the scream of the demons getting closer.
You make peace with all the mistakes you’ve made.
The screams get closer, the light is arriving.
You beg to be painless
But the demons are starving
Tonight you are the pray
And they shall feast on you
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
Listen
Whisper
Call
My Jane means
Gear talk to grin
Lost sold caught give in
****** skins
Slims cigarette burns
Put out fires with
Liars that spit out
Watered down values
WORDS
May 30, 2021
May 30, 2021 at 1:27 AM UTC
Pink chiffon
Cotton candy hair
Floral wallpaper
Ashtray filled
of virgina slims
Eyes so dark that her pupils get lost
She gets lost
Sometimes
Forgets to come out of the bathtub
Lost in the tiles
Imagining faces between the cracks
She looks out at the glow of the street lights
A single
Flickers
The dark carnival is coming
She looks down at her ashtray
Thinks about taking it out
The cigarettes turn to caterpillars
she turns to her bookshelf
Watches the books turn to dust
And she wonders what's for dinner
She sits on the davenport, still
The record player begins to play
She twitches
Gets up to look in the mirror
Her face
She notices the wrinkles forming
At the corners of her eyes
Around her lips
She touches them
Remembers the ad for a special lotion in the paper
She stands in the mirror & touches it
Her hand slips through the mirror
Grasps her reflection
Her face begins to fall further
Begins to melt off
She glances quickly at her reflection
Now she stand in a room full of mirrors
Mirrors of all kinds
Melting all around her
-The dark carnival is here
Dec 1, 2017
Dec 1, 2017 at 9:27 PM UTC