"speakeasy" poems
Friday- the most promising day of all.
The beginning of the weekend, but the one day that will spark appall.
Down on Mainstreet all the girls
In their fringed dresses, pouting their foxy lips and their hair waving in short messes.
The hags frown as the winged ladies pass by- displaying their carriages a little sly.
Oh, but Jane's favourite speakeasy was 'The Back Room' down on Norfolk Street: the place where the lost creatures meet.
Tin ceilings, velvet wallpaper, plush thrones and back in that dark corner, there is the sound of low moans.
'A whiskey, neat, please' as a shadow in a tuxedo walked towards her and he whispered 'Hi,' in a sensual purr.
'Who are you?' he stirred,
'Oh, I'm Miss Doe' and he lept into the stool with a swift flow.
And the jazz trumpets married the spontaneous harmonies and the saxophone created sublime melodies.
So they sat as idle as ghouls in the dim spotlights, until Jane asked Mr Buck:
'D'you fight in the war?' And he whined 'Cambrai, Amiens and Lys' - his lips seemed a little sore.
'I'm sorry - do I know you?' His face looked as familiar as Jay to Nick. A brief pause in time at that smile.
That was the final chord to the "lick".
He drove her down to Roslyn- to his replica of Versailles and Jane looked intensely shy.
'Oh, do come in,' the desperado soughed. And she walked into the gilded palace which Cupid's presence bowed.
'I have a favour to ask of you, Miss Doe. Would you be as kind to wash away my woe?'
And as they congressed under diamond chandeliers, his comrades gathered around the bed in amorphous silhouettes; watching disgustedly.
As for Mr Buck he was an alien, skin-to-skin with a haunted beauty and Miss Doe- a labourer on duty.
Jun 24, 2017
Jun 24, 2017 at 6:32 AM UTC
fell from her home
Skies of ohio
stumbled from a cloud
Grew her wings on the way down
hellboy in the back pew
cigarettes, blue dress shoes
closed her bible, "I refuse"
She said, "To be a mans property"
Honeybee
Honeybee
honeybee spread your wings
Honeybee
Honeybee
neither bird nor angel,
she flys free.
"I'll take the skills to cook and clean
our sneezes will still sound the same
I'll vist on holidays
but don't you ******* bless me"
"I'll be Domestic for myself
clean home and the best of health
Foster bees
a book to read.
But the bible ain't for me."
Honeybee
honeybee
Somewhere in the inbetween
honeybee
Honeybee,
apartment on deering st
she met me
at a speakeasy
"if you want me you better find me
Through the bookshelves I'll be waiting"
I turn the pages
Find her wedding ring
kept under the mattress,
not even god as a witness.
Doctor in ireland, she told me
escape in comic books
while he's away.
"Before we start, you have to know
One day I'll leave forever
Let's live a life we won't forget
In the meantime, together."
"I live with no one to respond to.
I live without boundary.
My ride or die resides in ireland
I'd like to love you while he waits for me."
Honeybee
honeybee
I've never tasted honey so sweet
Honeybee
Honeybee
Honeybee, Come lay with me
A few kisses later
cross legged in an office chair
sipping warm tea
I wake
green eyes watching me sleep
It's these moments
in between
Honeybee
Honeybee
were those mornings just a dream?
Honey bee
Honey bee
you leave
Remember me
in the old and green
honeybee
you were always free
guiness jogs my memory
The little things
inbetween
Jul 10, 2017
Jul 10, 2017 at 1:28 AM UTC
Behind a speakeasy
in a ***** moonlit alley
silhouettes climb up a tired
and worn out stairway
vacancy signboard beneath
an incandescent light bulb
marks the nondescript entrance
for the nights commerce
Outside the window ledge
a billboard hums an electric tune
between the blinds neon light
sneaks into the room
casting shadows on a naked
landscape across the mattress
spread totally disinterested
pockmark flesh limply waiting
Clumsy hands fumble
to unzip stained denims
hobbling with unsteady steps
to the edge of the bed
a drunk smelling of cheap whiskey
and ***** smiles at me with
two rows of rotted stumps
my first customer of the night
Jul 26, 2010
Jul 26, 2010 at 6:48 PM UTC
Don't want to speak too soon
or speak too late, for that matter
Should speak up and speak out
...cat got your tongue?
But not speak ill or speak out of turn
...bite your tongue!
Above all, speak the truth, your truth
...not with a forked tongue
Truth be told
sometimes I don't want to speak at all
And if you knew me
that would truly be saying something
Speak!...Speak!...Good boy...
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 12:38 PM UTC
you can be my fella
if I can be your gal
we can go to a speakeasy
and sneak kisses on the walk home
swell
pin me after class
I’ll wear your letter cardigan
so everybody will know
that we are going steady
pick me up in your porsche 944
we can go for a ride
put in your favorite tape (tenderness)
and we can spend the night together
rad
we could start as adversaries
like in every 90’s teen movie
but secretly we will fall for each other
until our relationship culminates
at the party
where the whole school
is getting down to B.I.G.
let’s be facebook official
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 2:45 AM UTC
I've been drawing
A blank
Dwelling in this
So called
Conundrum
Only giving
Half hearted gestures,
Forsaking all others
I've deliberately
Out smarted
All the details
Lost in time
Jittery
On every
Steamy day
The remedy
Never lies
In the score book,
Or with
Criminal instincts,
Not even
The crooked
Cab drivers
So I'll wander
In these
Unvarnished
Chocolate covered
Nightmares
I'll hide
Under the
Stairs
Where spiritualistic,
Speakeasy
Behavior
Only leaves
You
Killed or injured
A whirl
Of such discovery
And you
Will finally
See
It's mostly people
Who cause
This kind of
Unease
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 12:55 PM UTC
Love is a speakeasy
The secret joint where we get on
Where from under crawl spaces
And in between walls of bricks
None could ever ever tell us no
Here We let loose - Mr. Slick
Hey Cool Daddy, and Big Mama "Oh's!"
Drinking, music, drunk off jazz and soul
Love is a speakeasy
Not everyone knows,
but everyone should...
Go and let go.
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 7:30 PM UTC
In the flooding nicotine did we unwind
Counting the whispers not the time?
In sullied quilts and bed frames did we undress
tracing the the breaths not the unrest?
In speakeasy highballs and martinis did we consume
the inebriation of the second not the room?
In castle corridors and letters did we begin to grasp?
we can re-tox but not relapse?
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 5:25 PM UTC
Deep down
Down the steps
Step into the underground club
Club of jazz greats
Great Gatsby happens nightly
Nightly partake in raucous debauchery
Debaucheries of heathen heat
Heat exuding from the beat
Beat of drum and bass of hearts
Hearts of lovers in the dark
Dark corners hidden
Hidden from all eyes
Eyes who spy their kiss
Kiss of true love's wish
Wish made on fallen stars
Stars that bedazzle and awe
Awe and wonder romancing the night
Night that finds two in love
Love in / is / a speakeasy
Speak easy with love....
*(Deep down
Where great Gatsby happens)*
Sep 11, 2016
Sep 11, 2016 at 6:22 PM UTC
We were here fifty years ago
Drifting in and out of conversations
About some perverse poetry
Sultry vixens and the men they tamed
Whispers and shouts
Eloquently spoken over some scrambled background jazz
A hustle of people migrating around
In some discordant harmonious rhythm
Cocktail hour at this doomed speakeasy
We drank and were silent
We drank and were voicing our opinions
We drank more until we could no longer drink any longer
We stumbled outside
Attempted to hail a cab
Fell asleep on a park bench
Awoke to the sun’s rays glaring
From some far off distance
Warmth on our nightly chilled face
We rose from our slumber
And began to walk towards the nearest open bar
To start it all over again
Mar 14, 2012
Mar 14, 2012 at 10:39 PM UTC
Looking into the eyes of one
Attempting to peer deep in the soul
But only a glimpse you get
A speakeasy door
The only opening a slit
A password you must know
If you expect to see into their soul
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 9:28 PM UTC
(I)
The quest for love is tired and spent
Endless anguish for one that you hope to find
Along this extensive desolately disenchanted road
Where faces come and go in and out of aged shadows
No body is sweetly thought about for longer than an affair
Grown uninterested and somnolent of the same tedious routine
It’s all just a squandered course of existence
(II)
People covered in leaves
Sitting on a couch
Covered in leaves
Looking at me
Staring at me
Covered in blood
(III)
We were here fifty years ago
Drifting in and out of conversations
About some perverse poetry
Sultry vixens and the men they tamed
Whispers and shouts
Eloquently spoken over some scrambled background jazz
A hustle of people migrating around
In some discordant harmonious rhythm
Cocktail hour at this doomed speakeasy
We drank and were silent
We drank and were voicing our opinions
We drank more until we could no longer drink any longer
We stumbled outside
Attempted to hail a cab
Fell asleep on a park bench
Awoke to the sun’s rays glaring
From some far off distance
Warmth on our nightly chilled face
We rose from our slumber
And began to walk towards the nearest open bar
To start it all over again
(IV)
Stop!
This is ***********
Proceed no further
A thousand exotic images
Flashing widescreen
Moans and groans
Entanglement of legs and limbs
Numbing
Tingling
Writhing
Writhing in ecstasy
A million dollar money shot
*** get baptized
No sense in wasting a good time
(V)
There’s hopelessness here
Behind my eyes
Thirty thousand words
Scripted in chaos
Where does our destiny lie?
Somewhere out on the open broken road
Riding down damaged goods
Animals roaming free
Over civilizations failure
Hard-edged footprints
Caked in last night’s mud
Wandering shapelessly
We are lost
Feed the wall
Feed the tree
I only hurt in your dreams
So I plagiarize because there’s nothing better to do
Just killing a remembrance of time
Lying on the nearest railroad track
And waiting for the end of the line
Apr 25, 2011
Apr 25, 2011 at 6:30 AM UTC
Pressing these keys to express my emotions
I'll give you all of me, my time and devotion
You are my type of writer the one I was I hoping for
I'll give you my mind because it's not spoken for
My blood is your ink and your ink is my blood
No one will know our bond but only The Good Lord
You know me like the back of your hand with the turn of your platen
We will continue to roll on with complete satisfaction
Letting our love speakeasy
And
You were always my freedom
Allowing me to be me without any reason
So I thank you!
-V.v.V. Ds
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 10:35 AM UTC
Demon ***
Fill me up
Numbish tongue
Blur, slur much
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 5:45 PM UTC
Today felt like a clandestine speakeasy,
smoke in the air warmed spirits
as we pour glasses of burgundy wine
and dance with our arms around each other,
our noses touch occasionally to celebrate
the occasion.
Today, emotions trickled up to the eyes
like a fountain of some sort
wondering if it’s love
or if it’s pain. And instead of tears I hear
laughter and sad jokes.
Tinges of red and brown around the edges;
coffee stains that remind me
of a me that never will be.
Aug 22, 2010
Aug 22, 2010 at 10:07 AM UTC
She preferred to take her smoke
break in the bathroom facing
the mirror, losing herself
with each deep breath on the
soapstreak glass.
The single was her
speakeasy, her dressing room,
her long, French cigarette parting
her lips to keep her lipstick from
gluing them shut. She pulled on the
paper towel lever for a temp lover
to kiss until her lips stopped bleeding
Revlon. And the tissue lay balled up
in the trash
having only known her tar love
for a few moments.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 1:44 PM UTC
Under hooded lanes on my skin,
you're making homes
to house each memory
you breathe onto it.
No door is shut in these homes,
No window latched,
No bed unslept in,
No cry unheard in.
Swirling concrete,
******** hearts,
And the faith of young people -
Three impossible stories that you're teaching me to read.
Word by shaking word,
Syllable by foreign syllable,
I learn these stories slowly -
Your heartbeat is my meter,
Your shut eyes are my verse.
We're learning of new tongues drenched in alcohol,
forbidden by the weight of countless accidents.
Fallen-star-paperweights,
Slurring-satin-papercuts.
We're tasting new lives,
new times,
new seas and pools,
and all they can say is
we're speaking easy.
Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 2:04 PM UTC
Let
It’s painfully silent in the speakeasy
And this newfound peace makes me queasy
I lug around a heavy suitcase of deceit
For hiding one’s damning devils is no simple feat
Me
I stalk through and survey my domain
Hunting excellency among cheap cologne and horns of the midnight train
Right then, spotted her face and struck my most potent sneer
I could see past the plastic smiles in all their thin veneer
Make
Wait until she leaves the bar to drag her back inside the killing fields
Quickly hush her chloroform cries and keep my eyes perpetually peeled
I kiss her nape and fly away from the world’s wears
Whisper “You’re a gorgeous doll neatly wrapped in silk and nightmares”
You
Safe within the grasp of thickets, I force her grin and lick the dimples
Get struck with horror when my vision spots one too many pimples
I cry with the straw-filled fiends illuminated by lantern light
Then embrace my honed craft, without delay, for all waking hours of the night
Better
When all points of perfection fall out of quiver
When the sorrowful scarecrows look upon me and shiver
I’ll cut out my beauty’s flaws from largest lump to smallest sliver
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 1:43 PM UTC
Words are tricky like pillows,
They can just as easily
Provide comfort
As start a fight.
Nov 21, 2019
Nov 21, 2019 at 2:23 PM UTC
...At this evening nigh-tide, reptilian
brain bites back instinctively.
I am forgiven in all Houses...all postulations
bloat these blue veins.
Daguerreotype pictures cake their ashen
backdrop, that assures the comely smile
of cosmic forbearance.
As if these lips would dematerialize in search
of utterance.
Not for the entrained speakeasy of spotlit
here and now...but the energetic pulse tugged
at both ends of tongue.
The final straw struck back, to ingratiate the
greatest of pilgrimages.
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 11:11 AM UTC
I don't dance, I said
But my love for you is greater
Than my need to not embarrass myself
What is love without vulnerability
So I danced that night
As best as I could
Pretended we were the only ones
Left in that speakeasy
The live music echoing through my body
The alcohol moving through my veins
And I don't dance
But maybe for one night
I can be the kind of person who does
The kind of person who lets loose
Twirls without care and loves their body
Despite awkward hips
Legs that stall and ****
But tonight, I can become someone new
Who lets themselves go uninhibited
Who unapologetically twists and twirls
Who shakes out the day, so tonight,
I do dance - but maybe just with you
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 11:21 AM UTC
Fate is a funny bird,
The way she breezes in,
like a tipsy traveler,
tinkering with the scenery,
bumping switches,
with a head toss and a laugh,
Then flitting off,
to the next hapless reality,
leaving not so much,
as a blueprint,
or a crudely sketched,
cocktail napkin,
in her wake.
And so began the story of us...
I had seen the inside of that bar,
but once in a decade,
it was the sort of solo-cup,
frat haven,
of the type I staunchly avoided,
But the city was a Sunday night,
ghost town,
and she snd I were diligent,
two chicks desperately ,
chasing the night,
we wandered onto Boston Street.
And you were there,
slinging drinks,
to a smattering of people,
peanuts,
A handful of bar snacks,
in semi formal wear.
And then there were three,
I'll never know,
if it was boredom,
or a mutal wish
to be anywhere,
but our respective homes,
that kept it going,
or if something,
in each of us,
recognized the other,
that night,
Gypsy dancing into the dawn,
sauced on your private recipe,
lemonade warlock potion,
my frienzied twirling stitching,
a spell in the darkness,
while my friend,
assured of her superiority,
tried to ****** you,
With that cocked-brow smirk,
you looked past,
and watched me.
Was I burning bright?
Or burning out?
A superstar in your midst,
or a supernova self-destructing?
I think we've yet to see it
the same way,
at the same time.
Is this our strength,
or our impending demise?
To this day I can't be sure.
And somwhere,
in a dank speakeasy,
our mistress fate,
is taking a long sip,
from a dry martini,
and throwing back her head,
with a throaty laugh.
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 9:45 AM UTC
...
10. I see you across the bar.
I remember that quote about how 10 seconds of insane bravery is all it takes
To make miracles happen.
9. I realize that I've got the quote wrong
And that even insane courage would still leave me
With the wrong words.
8. I take a sip of my Morgan Coke
hoping it can give me the courage to say, "Hello."
It's vanilla notes make me wonder
What your hair smells like.
7. I realize that wondering what your hair smells like is a really strange thing to wonder about a stranger.
6. I think back to the courage sentiment.
My friend finishes telling a joke.
There is laughter.
5.
4.
3. I take another sip of my drink.
The courage hasn't set in yet.
Every love letter I've ever read comes rolling back through my mind.
I begin to wish I was F. Scott Fitzgerald.
I mean - have you seen the way he wrote to Zelda. That's how I want to talk with you.
A romance that roars like 20's.
A romance as obsessive as staring from the dock at a light across the water.
A romance filled with speakeasy passwords to each other's most intimate thoughts.
Our whispers will not be sweet nothings, but sweet somethings.
And when we decide to sing,
Well, I won't have the words to describe that either.
2. I am sitting at the bar.
My friends are still laughing.
I wonder what your laughter sounds like,
And the courage hasn't set in yet.
1.
0.
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 11:53 PM UTC