"starlets" poems
Mother bear in a waterfall
With bigger thoughts than blonde harlots
Eating porridge,
Fallen starlets with outer space in their hair.
Just you wait;
I'll be the happiest little sonofabitch
You've ever seen.
Some small consolation, if any.
That weekend we spent with our
Necks perpendicular to our spines,
Of course I still remember the films we watched.
I condition my hair with split infinitives
And live off the poisoned dew that settles
Every morning in my closet.
Turn your little black dress inside-out,
I've got this magic idea for a recipe
But we're going to need some ants
And that crazy Harryhausen dream you've got up in your attic.
Ten or twelve little blond kids up
On the cliff, each ten or twelve years old
And dancing with a flame-Buddha called "Home".
Let's spend this week underwater,
I'd much rather give up my weight and my due
If it ensured me any small hour
With you. Oh, god how I love you anymore.
I may have told you this a while ago,
But did you know the first Pledge of Allegiance
Put us some good height above God?
Sometimes I find the sugar in my gas tank
Makes for a rough start in the morning,
Not that I particularly want to go anywhere,
But it's what I've thought that counts.
He's a bit upset that I skipped movie last night:
But I can't play horizontal baseball
With my violent, violent imaginary friend.
The Rubik's cube beats deep in my chest
Without a hand to cheat and rearrange the stickers.
Claude enunciates something queer into my ear
And turns off the lamp with a snap.
Mar 5, 2011
Mar 5, 2011 at 8:19 AM UTC
This cosmos, indisputably, a sheer wonder
We cannot but bow before its grandeur
To what strange terrains opens its doors
And what secrets, hidden beneath the stars
From the merciless emptiness sans light,
From the deep silence of the horrendous night,
Was heard the bang of hammers
On the anvils of eons like thundering fire crackers
Abruptly through a gas cloud burst of inexorable force
Life emerged from stardust, our energy source
This is what the exponents of Big Bang assert
Life, from cosmic egg was hatched, some others purport
No doubt, this universe is an infinite stretch of lattice
Woven in the loom through billions of years by gratis
Where myriad wonders exist in the intergalactic space
And man has been on relentless effort to trace their course
As the wheels turned and as the fires burned
Through cosmic vapor the first atom was churned
How, over the eons, life here has flourished
With man’s wisdom and efforts nourished!
Galaxies are scattered in infinite space
And our planet Earth is well balanced in place
After the day’s vigil, when the mighty sun sets
The stars invariably take over on their night shifts
Multitudinous stars glitter and twinkle, a wondrous sight
As branching chandeliers, shedding luminous light
They are gems donning the night sky with their splendor
Where meteors dash and star light dances in nebulous glare
Some extra terrestrial hand has set the Earth in tune
And everything needed to hold life is benevolently strewn
Through countless dawns and sunset
Endless generations did come and beget
Just as this universe was born, it would one day die
With all the planets, stars and starlets of the sky
Who can predict how it is going to end
With a bang or whimper, or is the end impend?
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 3:44 AM UTC
Long arms of moonlight are stretching out
To the gigantic ocean,
For touching those soft curls
Of her mahogany coloured hair.
Eyes more azure
Than Pacific's quiet dream
Glowing too bright,
Embarrassing the fluorescence of water.
Resting hands on the fair *******
She is floating on her back
Gazing at the blessed purple sky.
While silvery cream of starlets
Is nourishing every wet curve
Of her slender body, with
Gentle caress.
But the unfortunate humans are
Still unable to witness
The mystery of her beauty,
Which is carefully confined
Inside the secret chest of Mariana Trench.
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 3:08 PM UTC
I lumber sluggishly,
dragging the weight of my body.
Every pound is tethered to me,
I can’t escape the heaviness.
I am stuffed into clothes,
encased in figure-hugging fabric
that looks better on the hanger
than my rounded, fleshy torso.
The scale is an unlucky lottery ticket
displaying a number
that I will carry around
shamefully like a scarlet letter.
I count calories like beads on a rosary,
making sure I shrink to conformity
critical of every extra curve
because to love my size is a societal sin.
Airbrushed beauty queens
and slender starlets
wear their size 0 like a badge of honor
in the battlefront of glossy magazine covers.
I’m crushed with the weight of the world I inhabit
a place that teaches girls to be self-conscious
of each pound that sticks to their body
instead of teaching them to be confident in their own skin.
I’m tired of micromanaging each nutrient that touches my lips,
to achieve a slender frame that resists my big-boned body
self love is not a one-size-fits-all
and I will radically adore every ounce that is tethered to me.
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 5:44 PM UTC
When I first met Skully,
I was an ingenue in a silly fragile plastic body--
a nursery flat, a starter bed,
not yet Anne Of Queer Gables
magnificently not giving a ****
Back then,
I believed that Skully was stuffed like a bell pepper,
jammed to bursting with thoughts, dreams and
wisdom on every subject;
I didn't know, as we lay together under the ceiling fan,
that he was as vacant and distant as outer space.
He PEZed me kisses, bought me roomsful of useless junk,
and twisted me silly like a bonsai tree.
I let him.
Daydream starlets and archery targets both have curves,
and sit still for the incoming--
I spent a decade with Skully that way,
as if I'd done it with a porcupine and was proud of the damage.
Now, he sits like an unfortunate date brought to dinner--
big-eyed as a girl, smiling too much,
and adding nothing to the conversation.
Still, I can't bear to throw him out,
and so the dogs lug him around like a trophy,
scoring and striping him with their joyful teeth marks
and losing his mandible under the fold-out sofa.
My girlfriends tolerate him.
After all, he's dead, and won't start any stupid crap about threesomes.
The next door kids ask for him sometimes,
and they bowl him at empty pop bottles in the driveway.
I confess, though,
that late at night, when it's stormy, and I'm alone,
I pause before bouncing him down the basement stairs, and I say,
"Thank you, Skully,
for keeping me from having to be alone
in the years before I bloomed into my need for heart, flesh, soul,
and not just solid bone."
Then I lay one on his grinning kisser
and even add a little tongue
just to tease him
for the lack that made me leave him like a southbound bird
Sep 28, 2025
Sep 28, 2025 at 12:07 PM UTC
Sounds like the devil's worship
'fools' see it in the very bright of day
hate's spectrum sold so in grey excuses
with 'light and love' that has never saved
not one 'precious' going under miring mud
What is of self worth in the world of put downs
get above beyond over top with all insidious ruses
so artfully disgraced in lowly tastes into the sweetest
hearts with the most promising starts with arrogance
and the living and learning the condescending tortures
thrown back in ones face must be mastered till disguised
with the brightest pomp flashy emotional romps of starlets
Any format will do without exception there are toasts and cheers
to all of god's little children being taken under in compliant fashion
Diverge we do upon two paths one foot in each by light and by darkness
that is with the grey masters between love and hate consciously delusional
simple choices all the way agreed agreed no fire we started no hell departed
Two paths four eyes just for starters
take a flight through the hearts of all
of god's devils heaven hell commanded
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 10:07 AM UTC
**** nation
Conversing with ammunitions.
Hearts that are barely loyal
Being served by humbled soldiers.
No wonder peace has been conquered
And war the man on the altar.
Her habitants live like their souls are on trial
And their god a liar.
**** nation
Her masses are speechless creatures
Ruled in cluelessness
Jubilating in bitterness.
**** Nation
Driven by greedy intentions
Stomach fed with promises
Sleeping and waking in calamities.
**** nation
The fat ones are the vultures
Termites and cankerworms haven
The thinning path between hell and heaven.
**** nation
Where the safest place is the grave
Saints nation rebirth to a **** nation
Where unity and faith are slaves.
Hmm! My **** nation of tears
Unfortunately, I'm fortunate to be born here
blessed with everything, cursed with leadership,
Born into miseries, dying in hardship.
A **** nation in a tunnel
Crowded with diverse starlets
Being forced to drain down the funnel
Crying blood for a spark soonest.
Jun 14, 2020
Jun 14, 2020 at 10:40 AM UTC
The fog spread like peach jam
overtop the overpasses.
Deep inhalations
held in our tired palms
as we watched exit signs
pass by
and marked each mile
we could no longer turn back
further.
A colony of sparkling starlets
lay a glow on the dashboard.
A small slip of fumbling thumbs
or perhaps a trip
in the wrong direction
sent me backwards
a tipsy turn
or subconscious fear of directions.
But soon,
she found herself trapped
between diluted affections
and a car headed fast
in but one direction.
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 5:03 PM UTC
come in multitudes
come in boots, pulled up, strapped
come with hairnets, bowlers, beers
come with husbands and mothers
the starlets come, the celebrities
the politicians and adversaries
bring your conflicts
bring your problems
stoners, bring your insights
bring philosophies and religions
bring visions, or lack thereof
bring weekdays and weeknights
bring the sofa
bring reality shows or documentaries
bring the series
and bring the cat
but come
with quirks and queers,
with stubbornness with anger
with broken glasses and fists
with fits of rage, with opinions
statements, facts, figures, conspiracies
bring every one of these, but come
with your broken hearts and talents
or genius, or with yesterday’s news
with the crosswords and comics
or the convicts or the cartoons
- hell, we’ve got more than enough room
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 7:06 AM UTC
By God, when the rain
in summer nights
spat into jam jars,
I could hear the pots
swallow the slurps of
pitter-patter raindrops
tumbling down in slips
on small panes, as though
starlets plunged like
pitted pips torn out
of blackberry skies;
the morning jars
left with shining tears
waiting to rise as
darkening blossoms
of the night again.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 11:42 PM UTC
Across the sea
safe in a case
was brought to me
a trinket.
a silver thread
enwrought with
starlets
of pretty pink and silver
it liked my tan
and formed a decorative band
around my ankle
a suitable occasion
and my anklet embraced
its moment of recognition.
we abandoned our plans
and headed for the polluted shores
our feet in first
then our knees
the sea water lapped and lapped
at once i felt
a significant snap!
i picked it up
and hid it in my blackening bag.
that night i celebrated without my anklet
my chain was loose
my foot was free
I crossed boundaries into deeper sands
sands that sank
conveniently forgetting
my glimmering chain
shut up in my blackening bag
my free foot sank and sank
the harder i climbed the deeper it bore
until i was completely engulfed
suffocating
the air is clear now
no grains of sand to grind my skin
i found my anklet
my broken anklet
and latched it on
with a safety pin.
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 9:28 AM UTC
It came around again
for we are at the center
of our everything.
And the center never
moves.
From between jagged
ancient mountain tops
it's appearance came to be.
Made its way
across a deadly
California desert.
Over a mysterious,
***** blondes bare
freckled shoulder.
Through the track homes
and the cheap motels.
Between a beautiful ******
open legs and runny nylons.
Past the clerk asleep in the hotel lobby.
Past the stolen car
outside.
Across the cluttered
room and
across a dark alley way
Up the main street
of some nowhere type of town.
Across the freeway and the blood stain.
Past the curbside motive candles.
Above the glass like surface
of the morning dead calm sea.
Through the fisherman's hopeful heart.
And the starlets dying flame.
Over the pages of my
favorite book,
my favorite line.
"Run to me, Come to me'
Through my
half empty ***** bottle
then bounced its way off the cracked
goodluck mirror and caught
me straight in
the eye.
Another day had arrived
and with it
the blinding ray.
The first sign
that you've made it
to waste another beautiful
Southern California
day.
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 8:21 AM UTC
a romeo on fire
his heart ablaze with the glory of being in love
his mind fixed upon beauty of her presence
dances with his future in the balance so precarious
lounge with style was the way to be or so he would say
better to be relaxed and let it all flow whichever way
cause nothing matters much but the love
yes nothing but love
dealing the cards with such style
dealing the days with such finesse
and oh the nights
when it was all glittering lights
when it was all just him and her out on the dance floor
smooth so skilled with his moves
a romeo on fire
his burning loves light up the night for every lonely girl
his passion play makes them believe they will be hollywood starlets
in the shadows his is the place for the girls to be
but morning light will reveal his hollow words
morning light will reveal his dark world
a romeo on fire fades away before the dream can come true
leaves the girls crying
romeo oh romeo where for art thou?
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 7:26 PM UTC
They decked their bodies on the hexagonal stairway,
That primed up into the heavens of boulders.
Decked boulders,
Eyes from the dead shoulders,
That ran the dust of time and concern,
With double ambiguity;
That ran the cobwebs of melodrama,
Of Purple voids
And dainty scars,
There were just blocks.
There was no God.
No Owl.
No leaflet or Foliage.
There was just a dainty scar
That cervically opened
Into a white expanse of rugged and dusty fieldstones;
With the waves expanding their circumference
It was hard to keep the shells afloat.
Rosebuds, it looked like,
The little ***** that dug out of dung holes,
Everywhere on the white crystalline beach;
Rose budded footprints of an animaline saint.
It might just not be the little *****
Then the dust rose up.
It amalgamated into the purple haze
That became the tender feet of cupids that embedded
Their rose-budded footprints along the shore of the sea
Sea that circumference the earth;
A Chinese fishnet flew out of the foliage
That, that is drugged in a an embrace
Gently over the ocean’s tiny footprints.
The fishnet was not targeted or focused on oars
But it was the Oars
That roared an echo
That conjured a Wraith
With Ate by its side;
They roared in unison
In a screaming echo of the overdue night before.
One with desperate fledging oars,
In a senseless sea
And,
In an endless churn;
Then the sky drifted apart
To clear the grey remains,
That of a nuclear battleground
Of the last world
It skid along a steep drift
And found a purple pathway.
The pathway took enough time to open them
The dingy awls of ancient machine plates.
Entwined and unforgotten,
These had made a rounder depth into its omnipotent boulders
Than the mongrel-ic infrastructure of the present world;
Mongrels of a primitive category of potential.
The wisdom that was as ****** as
A bloated hyacinth in its first blossom;
It took a speck of a quarter wink.
Chaos followed obstruction,
And the dust jostled out in the jiffiest.
It was a strange new octopi.
With blades for pearls.
With fangs for lustre
With gigantic dilation of a black void of pupil;
How could it run through?
It phantom-ed the serpent in one plunge;
And a single spasm.
Then it exploded.
A million nebulas bristling with a zillion kind of rainbows,
Rainbows of hydrangeas in elixiric daze at the tip of each finger.
And,
Starlets.
Then it was all purple.
Cosmotic falancho on a curly fledge.
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 5:34 PM UTC
there is solace in the path untraveled
when it leads to the sea's tranquility
I hear the sound of the water's roar
see waves crashing out on the beach
feel the wind brush across my face
as I taste the ocean's salty kiss
then a perfect sunset paints a scene
of purples and reds and tangerine
watch the stars slowly dot the sky
sprinkling lights across a velvet night
listen as the night birds call to me
fly away with us, set your heart free
and when fireflies are flitting around
like starlets plucked from high above
I return to where this started from
refreshed enough to visit my dreams....
Jun 15, 2020
Jun 15, 2020 at 2:33 AM UTC
Sparse grass adorns the hillside
Thinly green against the grey,
Where lurking bull ant wolf packs
Hunt where chirping crickets play.
Way too thin to waft in breezes
Way too thin to really count
Like bad dealerships in Chevrolet
Mostly struggle to surmount.
Like thin pacifists in fist fights
Race, back peddaling for the door,
When, in fact, the convenience
Is a bullet through the floor.
And hot starlets jiggle **** jobs
Strutting carpet, red as rose,
Imitating, superficially here,
Whoredom wishing to impose.
Those roaring Russians, in denial
As their cheating athlete’s pale,
All denied their right of entry
To Olympia’s Holy Grail.
And insipidly they all collapse
In fracking’s blatant wake,
Leaving gloating, fat Americans
Gorging merrily on steak.
Whilst the oceans are advancing
As the ice floes dissipate,
And the clamour is ignored
Though Island nations inundate.
Fractious currencies do vacillate
In global bouts of greed,
Where the rich are fatly richer
And the rest in desperate need.
Where all truth is but a fantasy
Which everyone ignores,
Where expediency is the answer
And future proofing snores.
Black distrusts the whiteness
Islam hates the Jew,
East and West at loggerheads
What hope now…. for you?
Oh sparse grass adorns the hillside
Thin green against the grey,
Where the morrow is a vaugary
And worrisome it’s way.
M.
Friday 13th November 2015
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 7:35 PM UTC
If eight years we labored
in canals and valleys and
on girders and then
for four years we spilled **** blood and
the Depression is lifted or
the depression is lifted
or not really.
America, your deep vein thrombosis
the size of a
lilywhite Toyota Highlander
You don’t make things anymore.
Your Marxists winter in the empty museums.
Your union halls belong to the company.
You ought to be Haymarket men,
bloodcleaned and ready for anything
but instead you workshop one-liners.
America you are afraid to love.
America you are afraid of medicine
and the medicine you do take,
bankrupts you.
America reset your passwords
and the twenty-year-olds will help you find a mate
we promise.
Do you feel how distant you are becoming from yourself?
Do you feel how words must
towards the things they stand in for
like a silhouette
like an ironic silhouette
like a sketch
like a mere shape?
I cannot be certain any longer. No,
really, I am losing that skill. I lose myself
in coffee cups dreaming of painted lips. My bedtime
stories are of Robespierre and Louis Ex-Vee-I; they
put me to sleep instantly. I can read this poem eighteen times
and never feel a thing. If nothing makes sense,
it’s because we decided we didn’t need it.
America do you hate
but not really?
America do you listen
but not really?
America,
you’re trying to eat better
but the poor and ruined in Missouri
still chew on plyboard and drink flat Mountain Dew
you want engineers but ********** to starlets
America,
not one thing will satisfy you
not any screen or voting lever
your children wander supermarkets
putting everything they find in a basket
America,
give Louisiana to the French
cede the Black Hills to the Sioux
retreat into your telephones
and remember Tippecanoe
America a voice
is singing from the past
and you would do well to listen.
Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 5:56 PM UTC
It came around again
for we are at the center
of our everything.
And the center never
moves.
It burns through natural clouds
and unnatural lines in our sky.
Over the Eastern mountains
and scorched hillsides.
Made its way
across a deadly
California desert.
Over a mysterious ,
***** blondes bare
freckled shoulder.
Through the track homes
and the cheap motels.
Between a beautiful ******
open legs and runny nylons.
Past the clerk asleep in the hotel lobby.
Past the stolen car
outside.
Across the cluttered
room and
passed a dark alley way.
Up the main street
of some nowhere type of town.
Across the freeway and the blood stain.
Past the curbside motive candles.
Above the glass like surface
of the morning ,dead calm sea.
Through the fisherman's hopeful heart.
And the starlets dying flame.
Over the pages of my
favorite book ,
my favorite line.
"Run to me,Come to me'
Through my
half empty ***** bottle.
Bounced its way off the cracked
goodluck mirror and caught
me straight in the eye.
That first blinding ray
shines its way through the ages
to great you each and every morning .
The first sign
that you've made it.
Still healthy enough to
gracefully waste another beautiful
Southern California day.
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 4:54 PM UTC
So sweet, I see soft starlets
Where instead your eyes should rest.
So light, your gentle hair,
When let fall, your neck caress.
So hearts, by any sense,
Should pound as mine.
So know, I will my soul to
Soar, and betray my mind.
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 9:12 PM UTC
It’s the gutted smile
You threw down on the table
The day the love of your life found
The love of their life.
It’s the anxiety
snaking through you in public spaces.
Strangers’ eyes carving you clean.
It’s the leather jacket
You bought when you were 15
And refuse to take off even in the summer.
It’s his calloused and grease stained hands
Exploring the winding hills
Of your new body.
Scenes from ****** play in your head
As he tells you
You taste like strawberries.
It’s the scorpion sting you iced with snow.
It’s a deep churning in your stomach.
They kind that only appears
When you forget to take your medicine
And you didn’t notice until about 5 minutes ago.
It’s the Atlantic City skyline
Blazing a depressing neon
Over the rest of South Jersey.
It’s trying to write poems out of license plates
And getting into an accident
When you can’t find a rhyme scheme.
It’s scabbed knuckles and
Bodies outlined in scars
Colliding in a ****** big bang.
An entire world unraveling like a red carpet.
We are silver studded starlets
Sinking our heels into the softness.
We are gods.
We were made for this.
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 7:10 PM UTC
Hell rages on
to the battlefield
delivering children and soldiers alike
to a furious visage
Hell rages on
to the forests
toppling and rending the verdure
to feed unending hunger
Hell rages on
to the city’s streets
where the poor writhe and wither
as they are crushed underfoot
we are content with this
content that hell stalks
and flows through the world
like a passing storm
the horrors stand at our door
and we sit and bicker
bicker
bicker
bicker
at why that actor
cheated on his wife!
or maybe the best
ways to look 18 again?
perhaps today its the fashionable
surgeries ALL the starlets are taking on.
but is there more?
what are we to do?
there is more
we can feel
we can let loose
of our steely façade
and feel
and feel to the depth our hearts
and we can burn
burn off our husk
and embrace primal fervor
and blaze brilliantly bright
above all
we can care
and care enough
to endure discomfort
and care enough
to change
and care enough
to love
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 5:09 AM UTC
Howard Robard Hughes
Famously rich recluse
Dreams led him to the lap of luxury
Followed by nightmarish mysophobic OCD
Rich ******* aviator Howard Hughes
With movie starlets kept himself amused
Dated Katherine Hepburn
Bette Davis took her turn
And still more, which kept the tabloids confused
Born Howard Robard Hughes to a rich family
With English, Welsh and French Huguenot ancestry
Enjoyed a successful multi-faceted business career
But aviation and aerospace were his favorite frontier
Oct 19, 2019
Oct 19, 2019 at 11:55 AM UTC
Down the garden
sits a small water,
sunk with moss ink
floating its own
second skin like
a face left blotched.
Hands peel away
the tumour lips:
under dank flesh
splay young starlets,
gazing sirens lost
without their ceiling.
Their eyes are bright
in the gloom - plates
hunker foolish heads,
anchored by the stem
to murky pond-floor,
they cry up to a night
begging to be taken
into the jet reflection.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 8:55 AM UTC
You are what no one sees,
The secret that you get down on your knees.
“This is unfair,”
I declare, with emotions flared.
He pulls you from us
As you pull him from her.
Unity is broken
When the sheets are left soakin’.
You criticize the starlets that do the same,
But have you no shame?
And you wonder why I feel this way.
I have to ask, “when did this become okay?”
No words can describe this pain.
These feelings drive me insane.
To know where he kissed
Is something I haven’t missed.
What you’ve done is something I can’t condone,
I’m just wondering when this house will become a home.
Family can’t be replaced,
But disappears when he makes your heart race.
You can’t see what I’m trying to say
Due to the lack of attention you pay.
I know your secret,
And I don’t know how much longer I can keep it.
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 4:13 PM UTC
Ere a bang.
A shiny something in stasis? Greys and blues fighting lightning betwixt darkening sky.
In one colossal blow, colour is entire like the sun.
Starlets fly in rainbow striation.
Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 5:07 AM UTC