"soliciting" poems
Stuffed seals.
Sits shelf,
soaking sunshine,
standing sentry,
soliciting smiles.
Shoppers smitten,
strike smiles,
spending silver.
Storied seals,
send shoppers shrilling.
Somewhere,
seamstresses
stitch supplementary shipments,
shaking store,
sustaining sales.
Sales staff splendidly stock shelf.
Seamlessly.
Such salvation, seals seeks.
Successfully, seashells.
Logan Robertson
8/1/2018
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 7:53 PM UTC
You won't recognize them I bet,
your secrets, even in broad day light,
if they walk towards you smiling,
wearing dark glasses to hide their eyes
in a humid day.They now wear clothes
of different styles to take you for a ride,
even cross dress and change the accents,
they play games with your hazy mind
--the secrets you once buried deep under.
They stand peeping behind blinded windows
prowl as shadows soliciting behind half open doors,.
Time flies in a hurry like migratory birds left behind,
you have to strain your ears too much
to hear even the faint foot falls of the past!
Old memories have changed their manners
they try to distract one with invented details
Like the muffled voices in an attic dark,
on a fateful day so long, your old secrets
speak an archaic tongue, that needs to be interpreted.
One has to be artful as the turbaned village elders
who would for your astonishment interpret
the vocabulary of lizard calls, key to nature's intents.
Or the trained eye of an elder who in flashes
of meteor falls, reads the secret messages of universe.
To get a true sense of your own secret
you have to tread the places they hide.
Make them shed their crusted hides
by which they conceal their true color,
which one has been waiting to see,
with a palpitating heart, walking back
to where one walked once, long forgotten.
That is why elders on days of yore
would exhort, embarrassingly repeat too,
not to have any hidden secrets that hurt
even if breathtakingly beautiful like a courtesan.
In some moment one won't expect
dreadful they could turn and become witches,
with fiery eyes, dreadlocks, and long nails.
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 4:11 PM UTC
You're just the
diamond in the rough
streets Chi-burbia
The girl next-door archetype
I'm just the
scumbag
psychopath
soliciting
snapchats
Darling,
Don't you wanna
get disrespected?
I know this wine
is loosening my lips
How about you?
Are you all wet yet?
Do you want me
to come in?
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 11:22 PM UTC
One of his sick molars
was jarring, crying foul,
the root canal treatment
she did, the first, on him
made it quiet,it touched
exactly the love nerve.
Love sprouted,got rooted between
the curvy dentist and him
in exactly five sittings;
the soil was fertile.
The romantic dentist seized
his pining heart too quick,
the causes and effects of
that pain, she whispered, was similar
to what she felt , when he whimpered
leaning his head on her full *******
No reason he had, not to surmise
she didn't do everything she should,
to make his ailing tooth perfect.
Coochiecooing to her, he even
called her" the tooth fairy's baby girl"
overwhelmed she gifted him a smooch.
Each sitting fallowed
soliciting that rare,tender dental care,
on her cozy swiveling chair,
brought them closer to bouts of necking
and things more adventurous,
(may the medical ethics, pardon the pair!)
Vigorous narratives she breathlessly
reeled off, on the state of his each tooth
brought her more closer to the chair
than what professionally was expected,
her perfumed warm presence
brought aches, not necessarily dental.
A stinging pain on a root repaired
at a time his 'root canal sweet heart' was away
compels him to explore for a new chair.
The horror of horrors, it was revealed
here, a piece of broken iron implement
his sweet heart, has left within the root;
a cover up as she couldn't retrieve it
with her skills inept,
it did aggravate, caused the pain!
Isn't the betrayal of the kids,
in the name of tooth fairy,non existent
far less heinous, than a cheating like this!
could any one blame him for this,
to escape a bad tooth future, he did
the best one could; the comely tooth fairy
that found the fault and mended it
shows him his place in the
swivel chair of her heart these days!
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 9:02 AM UTC
Power pulsating between my legs
Irrational intrigue between my ears
Alacrity asunder between my ribs
-Heretical human blender-
Serving up cleverly crafted cocktails
I am
Spouting sureness from between my lips
I am
Stirring in sweet sultriness
Soliciting sour sabotage
Submerging you in salty squeamishness
-Colloquial courtesan, curtly castrating consumers-
Inebriating you equally with inevitable irrationality
Welcome to my "Reader’s Digest"
Prepared especially for you with my psychologically indigestible
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 10:35 AM UTC
on the margin
the paraphernalia
employed to obtain
the sweated inspirations
to tell these lies randomized
stories, factuelle (feminine)
pestle and mortar martyrs,
crushed together, drink in
her form, the S curves
of her shape, my fav
place, on a long list
of favs,
and she says;
hey poetry man!
which renders my
100 or so
senses,
that radiate,
congregate,
infantuate
rendering moi
delightfully attentive,
and I think:
Solitude:
Be All well and good,
wells and veins awaiting
for spelunking & mining for the
nexus of the
next line, but when she summons me,
with a cherished honorific I am
sundered by words deep felt,
and the next line forgotten,
disappeared and
for multiples,of poems,
that
die
heart busted broke
when she call poet, come,
it is like living in a gearbox
Stuck in Fifth,
that message of multiplex pixels,
so engaging and so many container conceptual structures,
those poetic burst and bust out,,
gnawing to be released free,
***** solitude, it’s her
attitude that gives
more than I can
handle…
and the poems are about the conjoining
of
the mutuality of our:
soliciting solitude attitude
Aug 4, 2024
Aug 4, 2024 at 11:03 AM UTC
He exchanged his
routines
for the
long dusty road,
he exchanged his
jeans
for a long white jacket
he called it the "white robe."
His hat said "Home"
He took off on the
road only travelers
go.
He had a pretty girl
he was was going to see,
then he knew
he would have to leave.
He stopped saying much,
mainly "thank you"
and "please".
He had exchanged
his mind set
for a new set,
his confusion for clarity
his narrative for poetry,
many said
it had led him astray.
He exchanged his
fullness for emptiness
and
began to take it all in,
the old dusty road became
the only way he knew at all.
He would stand in perfect silence
and
hear it all.
He would stand in perfect stillness
and
travel it all.
He exchanged his awake routines
for dreams.
He traveled here and there,
where ever
that dusty old road
would take him,
some places made sense,
some were flashes
of total innocence.
He had exchanged
his expectations
for creations.
He could love you on the road,
be with you
but with you
he would never go home.
Rumor has it
it was his fatal flaw.
He had exchanged
success and failure
for
experience,
he avoided many a cliff
many a fall
in having it all.
You won't find him
hitchhiking
panhandling
soliciting or pandering
selling drugs
or
in bed with your mother.
You'll find him in the whispers
you hear
in the rainbow aura
around street lamps
on night time
deserted streets,
the meteor at midnight
the green flash at sunset.
He had exchanged
staying for going
and
he was on his way
with dust devils
blowing
behind him.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 10:47 AM UTC
Our love flows in the moon,
Entangled in its craters and mountains,
serene, pure with soft whisperings.
My soliciting heart seeks you.
And you make it drink the elixir of love.
Far away the ocean sounds and resounds,
Like the echoes of your name in my heart.
I love you and now I write on my heart.
I end each sentence with your breaths,
A perpetual poem, it is indeed.
Come here and I'll love you till the end of time,
We will be drowsy and drunk on passion.
You are the one who can make this day sublime,
So will you please be mine?
© Neha Chaudhary, 3 months ago
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 1:08 PM UTC
Words, once obedient servants
Now claim suzerainty over ideas.
The age of meaningful verse has yielded
To gobbledygook.
Poetry, a grey mist half-understood
Through which I stumble blindly,
A mirage I chase through the sands...
The wells of creativity run dry.
Neither outpourings of emotion nor tender murmurs;
Mere craftsmanship remains.
Lines dolled up in ****** baubles
Literary ****** soliciting passing readers,
Fireflies, impotent
In the face of the darkness within.
The autumn harvest of verbosity is ripe
For the scythe of the Grim Reaper
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 1:02 PM UTC
Verily the exordium told anent a beauty engirdled in her fedora
soliciting those whoever descried her into her mere servile admirer
eight trenchant tinctures upon her body invigorate like a cadenza
I dare not to contradict the verity that I am beguiled afore her
whilst the snain distilled faintly enwreathed her in unctuous silk
concordantly she devote herself earnestly to the impeccable rain
that emanate her fragile poetry with prestidigitation in a whisk
forsooth she is but the vernacular sobriquet to the soul of the rain
recall me otherwhile during the rainstorm champagne did coerce
and the sunset's glass of wine exude her ingratiating persona
like a myriad of aphrodisiac summarized in a single verse
when harmony and lyrics danced in the crepuscular crescendo
all of that needed to be enunciated is it is you
do not harshly let me be thy unrequited dilettante
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 4:27 AM UTC
*The night is young,
dark, lascivious and willing
expectations and I
sit hand in hand with her
keeping the tempting
sleep at bay, for long.
Your part of the bed
is still warm, I imagine,
anyway
I kept your dinner
packed in the fridge,
warm it up and eat
if you are too late.
I won't be able to take
any call from infinity
if I am being fornicated by
my concubine
an old dream of passion
that keeps on soliciting,
but don't know when
would it knock on my door.*
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 3:15 PM UTC
Totem pole
in new role;
before the mall
soliciting all.
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 7:10 PM UTC
Beautiful woman snaking downtown Sixth St.
You the one with the carwash hem
With slit cuts up to the "yikes" territory
Revealing a body
As if soliciting ideas
That everything is waiting for you
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 4:41 AM UTC
She said our *** life was mundane
and had become routine
so we should spice it up a bit
indulge in the obscene
So I figured what the Hell?
Lets give it a go,
it should be fun to mix it up,
rekindle passion's flow.
Monday we tried dressing up,
I donned a Batman suit
and she Catwoman to my Bat,
we'd thought we'd have a hoot.
I leapt from wardrobe to the light
and swung to hear the crack,
the ceiling caved around us both
and I threw out my back.
Tuesday we tried role-play,
I met her in a bar,
the gangster and the ******
we messed round in the car.
A tap upon the window's glass,
a frowning, outraged cop
who booked us for soliciting
because we wouldn't stop.
Wednesday I surprised her
by leaping in the room
naked as my ***** sprang
'She'll like this' I assume
'GERONIMO!!!' I called out loud
and then began to choke,
her mum and gran were sitting there,
her gran then had a stroke.
Thursday we got *****
I chained her to the bed,
aroused to see her naked form
and naughty words she said.
a banging on the door revealed
her angry, ranting dad
who called to speak of yesterday
but saw her then went mad.
Friday, naked she sat on
my back atop a saddle
she spanked my **** coz in each hand,
she swung a ping-pong paddle
She rode me round til I was sore,
through all the rooms and halls,
til I collapsed when one mis-swing
had caught me in the *****
Saturday we calmed it down,
massage with scented oils
to help relieve this week of hell
and all it's *** game toils,
til I felt something part my ****
was not a nice surprise
"Vibrating ***** 5000"
brought tears to my eyes.
I bit down on the pillow hard,
not much that I could say,
I clawed the plaster from the walls,
a bid to get away.
By Sunday, I had had enough,
and told her 'Please, no more...
I miss mundane, I like routine,
just like it was before...
No more costumes, chains or spanks,
or objects in my ****
no more surprises you have planned,
or schemes you must surpass.'
'Fine' she said 'I'll call my friend
and cancel our three-way'
I looked at her through narrowed eyes,
my jaw dropped in dismay.
'Don't be hasty by my words'
I grinned and calmly tried
'Good, coz Bernard's on his way'
she said and so I cried...
...And cried... And cried...
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 5:12 AM UTC
Off to Hell I go,
With hat in hand,
I ring Dark Lord's doorbell,
"Brother, can you spare a dime?"
"Go back to Earth!"
He yells.
But I look around this burning realm,
and see no necessity to need,
I turn my eye back to him,
"But sir," say I,
"This place is better than that
from whence I come."
With flame from mouth, he retorts
"This is the land of eternal suffering,
of physical torment for all of time!
Are not you convinced to remain on Earth?"
But I am not.
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 3:21 PM UTC
Raised and bound into an indomitable religion,
it is sad to be you; narrow-minded, selfless pigeon.
So sanctimonious, looking down your nose at me;
so prudish, thinking you are better than me.
You suspect me of soliciting with Satan, Bel and Legion
just because I do not share your vision
-yet, still, you yearn to ask me: ''how does it feel to be free?''
well, sever your wings, burn your halo and you tell me.
Feb 12, 2011
Feb 12, 2011 at 12:04 AM UTC
Because while the truncheon may be used in lieu of conversation, words will always retain their power.
Words offer the means to meaning, and for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth.
And the truth is, there is something terribly wrong with this country, isn't there? Cruelty and injustice, intolerance and oppression.
And where once you had the freedom to object, to think and speak as you saw fit, you now have censors and systems of surveillance coercing your conformity and soliciting your submission.
How did this happen? Who's to blame? Well certainly there are those more responsible than others, and they will be held accountable, but again truth be told, if you're looking for the guilty, you need only look into a mirror.
I know why you did it. I know you were afraid. Who wouldn't be? War, terror, disease. There were a myriad of problems which conspired to corrupt your reason and rob you of your common sense.
Alan Moore, V for Vendetta
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 8:39 AM UTC
Unfinished
These streets mistreat
one hundred degrees in the heat
rode past said a prayer
lying on the pavement
was the new wretched
of the earth, so caste down
nothing left but death.
All them with nowhere to be.
Not allowed at bus-stops
or on park bench.
Emergency room huh no care zone
not even Obama care.
No walking on pavement
while impoverished.
no urgent pooping or walking
on grass. No soliciting tissue
to wipe their derriere – No water
no roof- no soil...
100 degrees on the cement.
Most alone -Few with someone
Lying on bare ground –
Mate stretched out
on her back-
She in an odious state
White woman, with black man
He tenderly rubbing her like a favorite pet.
Let’s not speak of the stench, that foul air that attacks
nostrils and eyes. Not even soap.
Could quell the smell. People cross to the other-side.
dare not bear witness to the offensive odors.
No air, nor breeze gives relief, not one clean breath or inhalation,
Hot pavement and stale air make you heave on these
Streets. Mistreatment of those detested, barely they breathe.
as they reached their safe haven, in front of that building.
A shelter that’s reached capacity, no entrance.
God forbidden streets, continue to mistreat, no loitering.
Passer byes making the sign of the cross, as they cross the street.
Uttering “but for the grace of God there go I”
Seems like Mockery and blaspheme.
Do those outstretched not also deserve God’s grace?
The righteous strut past hurriedly, without concern of
Karma.
Feeling better than the least of them.
Wonder why their being punished.
Mental illness, grandchildren abandoned to the system.
War veterans, Prison release,
Outlived their children.
Bloated Bellies eat…
Fancy scraps from high places –
nowhere to alleviate.
Good deeds written off on restaurant tax forms…
but can’t use their facilities.
Devour and swallow without tasting,
Chewing without teeth.
The righteous strut past hurriedly, without concern of
Karma.
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 4:25 PM UTC
will you be my notebook?
let me write on your body
the poetry of my soul,
the sensual musings of my mind…
the paper, your skin
the ink, our combined sweat
my tongue, the instrument used to pen
my words, soft kisses creating
stanzas, fingertips soliciting sighs, growls...
you like that line, caro?
i thought you would.
will you be my patient?
let me heal your heart
with mine, your body
with my touch...
i can see here
that your heart was once broken
your soul ravaged
by sweetly singing sirens
promising life-long happiness
and an end to loneliness
but who turned out to be
man-eating liars who desecrated you
and fragmented you
and hurt you
and broke you...
but with my tears, i will show you
you are needed,
you are loved.
with my kiss, i open
the door to your cage
with my lips, i break
the chains binding your heart
and with my breath, i revive
your soul, making you whole again.
will you be my eternity?
let me look forward to spending my life
with you,
graduating university
with you,
marrying
you,
honeymooning in italy
with you,
having my twins
with you,
working
with you,
waking up every morning
with you,
doing the simple things in life
with you,
growing old
with you,
dying
with you...
let me love you
all the days of my life
with my heart, body, mind, soul
with my poetry, hands, lips, breath
with the essence of who i am...
will you let me love you?
will you let me heal you?
will you let me keep you?
will you let me?
will you?
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 10:23 PM UTC
I shy away from sentences.
In the spaces where words should be,but aren't I can maintain my anonymity,and shore up my unrepentance.
When I speak in more than snippets, it becomes plain.
I am as broken as my preferred pattern of speaking, of writing.
If you look close enough, you can see it.
It isn't as clever as I wish it was.
And sure, its effective enough at soliciting a fleeting feeling.
But what good does it do?
I like to pretend that I want to be known.
Really, I am hiding just out of sight.
Around the next corner on that daily walk where we sometimes collide.
In circles of other people you know.
You've seen my face, you know my name,
youd even say you know me.
But if you were asked who I am, you'd hesitate,
with a catch in your throat, and a half reassuring-half derogatory smile.
" well, you're.. You" you'd say.
And no matter how many times you're asked, you'd repeat it.
For days,months, years.
I've watched it happen already.
I'm not sure if I haven't taken the trouble to really introduce myself,
Or if you haven't taken the trouble to realize that I am not just
Some whimsical syllable
Plastered on my shoulders
From birth to now.
And now, we don't have time to be sure.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 3:11 AM UTC
--For my Mother.
Insert another Day in the slot machine
Betting on happiness
Waiting for the stars to align
the wild lights flashing
Toss aside the mathematical improbability
You know the possibility:
Quarters dancing in the metal pan
Soliciting shrills of joy
Such a simple game
between you and the button
trapped in this 11 by 11 casino
All you can do is wishing
Cigarette smoke making you teary-eyed
Stench of alcohol making you nauseous
You get up to leave
But the machine is screaming:
“What's one more day?
When you are betting on happiness?
Don't you hear the laughters?
Don't you see the lights flashing?
Tomorrow is the day,
that I can't promise.
But sit down one more time
All you can do is wishing”
Wishing, pushing
Hoping , waiting
Dreaming, waking
Crying, leaving.
Oct 24, 2011
Oct 24, 2011 at 12:00 AM UTC
Soft soled shoes skipping silently along sun scorched sidewalks of Sacramento
Singing sad songs of sinners sinning
Slinking into shadows of sky scrapers before the sun has soundly set
Scowling at the sound of sick screaming children suffocating from the smog covered streets
Spectators sighing, seeking shelter from scoundrels scavenging cents for smack
******** clad ***** soliciting STDs to self loathing suckers
Smouldering remains, secreting Satan's scent on 2nd
Sunken sailors slitting throats with sharpened sabres.
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 4:02 PM UTC
You know
At this point I'm compelled
to join
in this dance, this masquerade. I
have an
assortment of hats, green, black, blue ,
stripped, ribbon,
turquoise, I can hide behind. No ones seen
the face
that holds it all. They've only seen the color of my mask
on that
day when the world was at turmoil, no
mask to
wear. Emerge the healer the soother
for mines
run out please. Have it anyway you like and enjoy but
be weary
of the no soliciting sign at my door. We don't need
the world
to end because the appropriate mask wasn't marked
With flowers.
See beyond the masks and see that they're all me past present and future.
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 12:30 PM UTC
I make love to Sadness and wake up in her arms.
I make out with Anger while hitting the bases.
I flirt with brothers Guilt and Shame with no care.
The guarded Fear holds me in his arms.
I date Boredom and pay for the popcorn.
On vacation, Pain comes back, “welcome home” says the sign.
Walking through the mall, I hide from Joy.
The loving Care knocks on the door that says, No Soliciting
The stalker Forgiveness earns himself a restraining order.
The beautiful Love gives me flowers that when I touch, die.
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 7:00 PM UTC
A brand new lock
in my hand the key
No longer home
just leave me be
The lights are off
this abode looks empty
Am I a prisoner or am I free?
Picked up the welcome mat
barred the doors
got a guard dog waiting
on the living room floor
No soliciting sign
for those peddling ******
opportunity wont be knocking
for you anymore.
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 9:12 AM UTC