"strutted" poems
The first thing I saw early this morning
When I pulled back the light green curtains
Was a hectic blue 'n orange butterfly
Wavering in the fair sun of my garden -
'tween the enclosed well and the laurel tree.
On a sidewalk, red and radiant,
Strutted two maidens together,
A turquoise skirt wore the one,
A chocolate T-shirt the other.
Jubilant they were together,
As the cadence of their laughter
Waved in the air like Tunisian silk.
No harvest did my screen display today,
No mountain range did loom far in the distance;
All that was shown were a laughing sidewalk,
And a quivering sun in a small garden.
(c) LazharBouazzi
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 6:57 PM UTC
The first thing I saw early this morning
When I pulled back the light green curtains
Was a hectic blue 'n orange butterfly
Waving in the fair sun of my garden -
Between the enclosed well and the laurel tree.
On the red radiant sidewalk,
Two damsels strutted together;
A turquoise skirt wore the one,
A chocolate T-shirt the other.
Jubilant they were together,
As the cadence of their laughter
Waved in the air like Tunisian silk.
No harvest did my screen display today,
No mountain range did loom far in the distance;
All that was shown were a laughing sidewalk,
And a quivering sun in a small garden.
(c) LazharBouazzi, April 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 11:27 AM UTC
He strutted down the hall with confidence.
His crooked smile reverberated goosebumps along my bare arms.
His deep soothing laugh drew me to the heaven light.
His blue grey eyes held secrets of pain that made my heart scream for him.
His foolish jokes made my frozen frown thaw.
It was not till his warm hand brushed mine that I knew I had oblivious eyes.
I had fallen for this gorgeous human being without knowing.
-Susan
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 7:59 PM UTC
*** *** *** ba-dum da-dum]
The Cuck walked up to the cocktail stand
and he said to the man running the stand...
"HEY!" *** *** *** "Got any *****
The man said "Go away you filthy perv."
"Cocktails is all I've ever served!"
"Why don't you take a hike?"
The Cuck said "Go ***** a ****
The he strutted away! [struttin' struttin']
He gotta get paid! [by the hour]
Gotta go to work! [at Trump Tower]
... 'Til the very next day.
*** *** *** *** *** ba-dum da-dum]
The Cuck walked up to the cocktail stand
and he slapped his **** onto the stand...
"HEY!" *** *** *** "Got any *******
The man balled his fists and said...
"Why don't you go get a pocket toy and ***** that you filthy pervert who can't get laid so he comes and bothers the cocktail man because he has no game!
How about you go to another bar and stop acting LAME!"
The Cuck said "Your sister wasn't lame."
Then he zipped up his pants [waddle waddle]
as he strutted away [got the zipper stuck]
but that's all okay [showing off the package]
Till the very next day.
*** *** *** *** *** ba-dum da-dum]
The Cuck walked up to the cocktail stand
and he said to the man running the stand...
"HEY!" *** *** *** "Got any ******
The man got ****** then he started to smile.
"Come on, fellow! I bet you haven't had ***** in a while."
Then they strutted away [my **** itches]
but that's okay [they don't care they're *******
watch out for snitches [shut yo **** mouth]
'Till they arrived at the trap house
*** *** *** *** *** ba-dum da-dum]
"Here you go sir, she'll make your **** stir
She's even got a sister you can **** next to her!"
The Cuck's mind began to go....
"How about.... no!"
"But I like this place...
It makes my heart race...
and it would bring me joy....
it would make my day...
do you think we could...
do you THINK we could...
double team your wife so you don't have to pay?!"
Then he scrambled away! [zipping up his pants]
The man was angry in a trance! [hope he tied his shoes]
He even left the ***** [why'd you do that]
Instead he ******* the Cat.
*** *** *** *** *** ba-dum da-dum]
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 9:43 PM UTC
One badass chick,
she strutted like a peacock
all the way down the block.
Men craned their necks
just to catch a glimpse
of her,
flicking her cigarette,
shaking her wares.
She walked right on by me
& winked,
had a little smirk
on her precious puckered-lips.
Geez, what a head of hair.
And though it made me sick,
I kind of giggled
to check out her aftermath.
Guys just stood there in awe,
dumbfounded,
bug-eyed
& I counted
no less than
six hanging-tongues
drooling.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 4:50 PM UTC
Funny how we woke up in the morning
and pretended that tomorrow never happened—
strutted naked in mirrors celebrating our youth,
laughing, knowing suns and moons couldn’t do the same.
We borrowed our arms from the fridge
and peddled bicycles with bad breath—
trading war stories ‘cause we knew
if we came back alive
life would still be the death of us.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 4:27 PM UTC
We went to a play last week
Actors strutted around
Among a set of tall buildings
Made of actual stone of grey
And billowing smoke
And noises
And crowds.
Upon the great stage they talked
About their ancient ideas
Like wars
And politics
And freedom.
In one scene an actor yelled
and swung a mighty hand
and struck the other man!
And though we knew
It was really just acting
The idea that one
Could hit another
Shocked all of us in the audience
So powerfully
And a few people even left
The theatre
In tears.
But there were funny bits too
In the play that night.
A character said he had a car.
His Own.
Personal.
Car!
And together they were to drive
Both of them
Off to an aeroport.
Like with all the steering,
And foot pedals,
And everything.
And in a very sad part
Someone treated someone else badly
And called her names
Because of the colour
Of her skin
And because she had come
From somewhere else.
And all our eyes were wet for a while.
One man used a device
Which was an ancient komputer.
Two flat parts with a hinge
And it opened upon his lap
And one side glowed brightly
To illuminate his face
And he presses a bunch of button-keys
To spell words and things
Because that’s how they told the
Komputer
What to do.
And we all laughed.
when it was over a bunch of us asked the man that was hit if he was okay was he really okay it looked terrible and did they really have to do that awful thing in the play and was the other actor a bad man and he said no, it was alright and the other actor was a nice man and that it didn’t hurt at all and he said he was sorry that it scared us but it was the violence of the time and the people of that time and we said we kind of understood.
And we all felt better
But one lady
Still needed to hug him.
And his eyes
Were a little wet too.
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 6:12 PM UTC
Sweeie pie mine
There's not a thing
I don't like about you
nothing I don't find in you
as fascinating as air sleep
food health joy utter happiness
birth city voice hips thighs oh
strutted walk talk smile lips sigh
how you wash my lingerie
parfume it and fold it dear
AMAME BESSAME!
You are my tree of life.
my GR, Rdd love pole you!
Ram me my everything
in good in bad times
you drive me mad
in love with thee
llámame
quiereme.
~~~~
Angel-Katijinbba.
Sep 8, 2021
Sep 8, 2021 at 12:14 AM UTC
Teen model Shonali Khatun strutted the catwalk as the audience cheered at a fashion show in Bangladesh's capital.
But Shonali is no ordinary model, and this was no ordinary show.
She and the 14 other models are survivors of acid attacks, common in this south Asian country, where spurned lovers or disgruntled family members sometimes resort to hurling skin-burning acid at their victims.
The fashion show, held Tuesday night in Dhaka and attended by fashion lovers, rights activists and diplomats including the US ambassador to Bangladesh, aimed to redefine the notion of beauty while calling attention to the menace of such attacks.
For 14-year-old Shonali, the event was nothing short of empowering. She was attacked just days after she was born amid a property dispute involving her parents, and was left with burn scars on her face and arms. She spent nearly three years in a hospital and underwent eight operations. Her attacker has never been caught.
"I am so happy to be here," she said. "One day I want to be a physician."
The models, including three men, walked the catwalk, dancing and singing and showcasing woven handloom Bangladeshi designs. The show was choreographed by local designer Bibi Russel.
Organisers said they hoped to highlight the fact that acid victims, too often overlooked, are a vital part of society. They deliberately chose to hold the event on the eve of International Women's Day.
"We are here today to show their inner strength, as they have come a long way," said Farah Kabir, country director of ActionAid Bangladesh, which organised the show. "I often take inspiration from them. Their courage is huge."
Bangladesh has struggled to deal with acid attacks in recent decades, and has instituted harsh punishments for the perpetrators, including the death penalty. The country has also trained doctors to treat such sensitive cases and attempted to control the sale of acid, but has failed to eliminate the scourge entirely.
In 2016, some 44 people were attacked with acid in Bangladesh - an annual number that has remained relatively stable.
"I am ashamed of having such things in the country," Kabir said. "Unfortunately, in Bangladesh we do have acid victims because of either gender discrimination or violence, or because of greed. And we want to remind everyone the kind of injustice that has been meted out to them."Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 8:57 PM UTC
Sometimes you see her admiring herself
In the mirror that's hanging next to the shelf.
And when she does it, oh, how she shines!
Is that, dear cat, how you practice your lines?
She seems not to care if we pay attention,
But maybe right here I ought to make mention
That being an actress, she's disinclined
To always reveal what's going on in her mind.
And she'll never, never tell you her age--
Aphrodite, the cat of the stage.
She says, "You know…I'm not one to cuss,
But when I am hungry, I WILL make a fuss."
Yes, she can certainly put on a scene
And act as though she's an importunate queen.
She says, "My dears, if I'm weak or mild,
I'll never drive the audience wild."
That critical scene is repeated each night--
A regular tour de force all right.
Yes, it's best to try to assuage
Aphrodite, the cat of the stage.
Her eyes were surely her greatest feature;
She THUS scoured the town for a drama teacher,
"Who," she says dolefully, "told me one night he
Could make me a star. ME: Aphrodite!"
But as it turned out, ol' Mr. Mittens
Made her instead a mom of eight kittens.
"But," she says, "THAT'S between you and me.
You know how I like my privacy."
It's good to always be on the same page
With Aphrodite, the cat of the stage.
One thing you learn is for her it's the norm
To act a bit slighted when asked to perform.
She must be totally in the mood
Or else she behaves in a manner subdued.
And heaven help you if you are neglectful
Of if her audience is disrespectful.
She'll exit the room like a "cat" out of hell,
And you may not see her for quite a long spell.
You never want to see her rage--
Aphrodite, the cat of the stage.
She sighs and says, "It's such a shame that
Few playwrights write good roles for a cat.
My friends say--when they see me upset--
'Commercials might be a better bet.'
My talents, however, as you might have guessed,
Best fit the stage. But now I must rest."
With that she lifted her nose in the air
And strutted out of the room with great flair.
It's always nice: advice from a sage
Like Aphrodite, the cat of the stage.
-by Bob B (1-24-20)
Jan 25, 2020
Jan 25, 2020 at 8:44 AM UTC
Across the width of the shiny railings
a wooden stick was dragged.
Beneath the beady eye of the peacock
quite a lot of skin sagged.
Through lack of sleep.
The peacock wished he had a penny
for every time he was awoken.
he longed for a decent nap
without the pattern broken.
All he wanted was sleep.
So he became an angry peacock
and showed his venom in his tail
Out shot each and every eye on the feather
a picture of beauty to unveil.
He wanted peace and quiet.
The children delighted in this act
and thought he was putting on a show.
They dragged their sticks furiously
Little did they care or even know.
So the peacock refused to sleep
slumped in a corner forever and a day.
Then came along a peahen dull as dishwater
the peacock was excite, didn't know what to say.
She is dull but I will compensate for that
He shook his feathers to impress.
The little lady strutted by oblivious
thought he was in fancy dress.
Well.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 6:45 AM UTC
Elise
and
Romeo
got on the bus.
Elise carried a cake
with a thousand red
ribbons
dripping like
loose ***** lips,
or so they appeared to Romeo.
Romeo came on with
a hard-on
on his face,
or so it appeared to Elise.
"I don't want
any other man
over at my
house,
I don't care if he's your cousin,
you hear me?"
Elise let out a silver snarl.
"I'm not playing with you
woman."
Elise's whispers
wavered between razor-thin roses
and soft spikes.
"I love you
Romy,
but you're on some
other,
I ain't seen a man
in a while,"
The roses that break the skin,
the spikes
that blunt the pain.
"Oh that's how it is?"
"It has to be."
Elise
carried the cake off.
Romeo
got stuck with the cart
full of groceries,
and three wheels missing,
just dragging
the thing.
Elise strutted like fat *******
strut.
Romeo called after her
about other men,
other men,
other men
that had been in his house
without him knowing,
he hated and loved her,
dragging all the sustenance
in the world
behind him.
Elise loved him too,
loved him
even when she was with
other men,
and that's the thing
he couldn't figure
out.
Love is a hard thing
to deal with
for anybody.
Mar 20, 2012
Mar 20, 2012 at 9:52 PM UTC
I watched from the mountain top,
My hair was moved by the breeze and my heart stopped,
I turned to see an Eagle taking flight,
Golden and vigorous as if bathed in sunlight,
Two metres of softest feather covered its precious wings,
I listened to its haunting call that in my ear did ring,
It glided like a kite but with sublime elegance,
It knew it was beautiful – it had that arrogance,
It strutted in the air like a man on a high,
That night I dreamt I was up there learning how to fly.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 6:01 AM UTC
In the crowds of colourful birds that sat in the tallest trees, every one of them prettier than the rest across seven seas. Metaphors and similes of their beauty, made the cracks on the pavement lay at ease.
One of them remained low because you can’t fly with wings made of gold in the garden of wild unruly souls. Like the bird whose wing is broken, you are the one that couldn’t follow the motion. You can’t fly like the others or blend with their feathers.
She sat in the roar of society, keeping to herself invisible to the quietly.
A part of her died accepting that she can’t fly,
that she liked it down here and being different.
But at times she just wondered why,
what is it about her that made her insignificant that she had to lie.
Broken wings cannot fly though I’ve seen more brokenness fill the skies.
With an aroma of anticipation and she waited there for her signal, the other birds strutted their formation and blamed her for her lack of imagination.
“Go ahead feathered soul”, he said. His feather shimmering gold, she lived in denial that this new stranger fell in love with her aura of survival.
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 1:05 PM UTC
I watched you today;
I admired your strutting decadence
Unruly, dishevelled bird of jagged honesty
Ruffled, disrespectful feathers that shine
And reflect your begging, squawking call
You and four of your friends,
Dragged down a helpless potato I
Left out for you;
Pinioned it to the ground
With strutted abandon
Oh bird much maligned;
Bird of ungainly beauty
Hobo, derelict, winged, caller
When you murmur the
Shaking stirred skies
With your flocks,
The noise black swirled and reckless
Never fails to make us catch our breath
That such flock - formed beauty could come
From a ragged kingdom call
Makes my own wings;
Take Flight
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 6:01 PM UTC
She was wicked
because
she strutted through my kitchen barefoot
my glasses perched upon her nose
in a t-shirt
that was incredibly ****
though her dancing
resembled a frog.
She was wicked
because
my heart didn't break
it shattered
and the cruel fate of my love
is to continuously retrieve the pieces she tampered with
weld them together
because
I refuse to let go
of the memories.
She was twisted
in a way
we were practically intertwined
our bodies felt right
our minds were in tune
She was twisted
in a way
that I misunderstood
because she said she'd leave
but her laughs kept ringing
until I forgot the sting
in every way that I could
of those words
that meant
I'm leaving for good.
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 5:08 AM UTC
I am such
a *******
******
Been fanning the flames
of my flamboyant faggotry
since April 1990
when I strutted from the caverns
of my mother's....
nevermind,
I'm never touching one of those.
My childhood is exemplified
by late-night espionage treks,
sneaking through my sister's side
of our bedroom
maximized by youthful perspective,
each step of mine garnering more
taut gravity than the next,
finally reaching the Holy Grail:
her Barbie collection.
In the fourth grade, I drew
my interpretations of those
beautiful, diamond-infested drag queens
that rained feathers and sequins
upon one drought of an existence,
the adults framing my tolerance
as a smut-stained abomination.
Now people ponder
why I'm so overt
with my gaydom.
Why argue with your
nostalgia-hemmed family friend
over the cultural significance
of the Barbra Streisand Album,
or gladly sit through marathons
of 1980s ****** camp classics?
It's the kid in me.
Something lost for an era
in a washing tub
of middle school torture tactics,
heavy breathing
over hiding something
so natural.
And a few years of that
are **** stifling enough
for this gigantic ******
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:54 AM UTC
An ode to the raggedy starling
I watched you today;
I admired your strutting decadence
Unruly, dishevelled bird of jagged honesty
Ruffled, disrespectful feathers that shine
And reflect your begging, squawking call
You and four of your friends,
Dragged down a helpless potato I
Left out for you;
Pinioned it to the ground
With strutted abandon
Oh bird much maligned;
Bird of ungainly beauty
Hobo, derelict, winged, caller
When you murmur the
Shaking stirred skies
With your flocks,
The noise black swirled and reckless
Never fails to make us catch our breath
That such flock - formed beauty could come
From a ragged kingdom call
Makes my own wings;
Take Flight
Just written :-)
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 6:10 PM UTC
Emilia
What a beauty I saw
as you strutted on past me
Singing a 70's tune on the sidewalk
looking absolutely classy
Your hair was long
and your skirt, kinda flashy
your eyes were set free
from your cute little glasses
your voice was like a blade
you sliced me like an apple
you were a glowing caramel latte
in a crowd full of ********
I remember your presence
luminescent as the moon
over a castle in the forest
and how you light up every room
you're in my blood like we're one body
I rep you proud with a tattoo
there's not a day that I don't miss you
or a minute wishing I didn't have to
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 8:04 PM UTC
The first thing I saw early this morning
when I pulled back the blue-sky curtains
was a hectic white and orange butterfly
waving in the fair sun of my garden -
between the enclosed well and the laurel tree.
On the scarlet, bright sidewalk,
two damsels strutted together;
a turquoise skirt wore the one,
a chocolate T-shirt the other.
Jubilant they were together,
for the cadence of their laughter
waved in the air as Tunisian silk.
See?
No harvest did my screen display today -
no mountain range loomed far in the distance -
all that was unraveled were a laughing sidewalk,
and a quivering sun in a small garden.
(c) LazharBouazzi, April 21, 2016; revised, August 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 6:40 AM UTC
the caffeine is crucial
for this day-time creature,
the low-lit room an optional feature
for my attempted artistic-flair
paint brushes discarded on the floor
i took up drawing, graphite stained hands
and red eyes in the light of morning's sun
through the cracked window
of my old apartment-turned-studio
it was that morning i realized
the faces on paper would never
come to life
or serve a greater purpose than
good looks and candy-to-the-eye
it was that moment, i realized,
there was much more than re-creation
remixing and redoing
redundant copies of someone else's idea
and in that moment, when i realized,
talent is subjective and in the general eyes
of the artistic world, i was **** on the side
of the street where van gogh and picasso
strutted their dead-man's artistic *****
and now i know that there's got to be something
more than staying up all night drawing from a
photograph a classmate gave to my sight
and earning ten dollars for every hour spent
dragging pencils across leaf-thin skeletons of
plants that could have grown to serve better.
and now i know i was made for something more
than sitting on my **** cold bedroom floor
and replicating the eyes of a sixteen-year-old
spanish self portrait photographer.
in the western world, the people want me as
an artist making prints of their faces and loved ones
but for the rest? my hands are needed to build homes
for those who have not had the privilege of holding a
pencil or seeing their faces on a mere piece of paper.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 3:56 AM UTC
The raven strutted into view-
Dissembling crows
Peered from the tangled grass lashed
Into solemn silence.
The raven assumed a coal-black authority
Driven by its coal-black soul.
Its beak stabbed out automatically
Bleakness of past; spectral futures
Like echoes. Its eyes were cruel drops
Of impenetrable night.
The raven possessed everything in
The imperious manner of a cut-throat-
Killing without fear, without conscience.
It ruled like the destroyer.
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 4:08 PM UTC
Upon the clouds the figures stood
Clad in milky white, airy robes
They were both in jovial moods and nothing
Could make them downhearted
Staring into each other’s eyes, all problems in the world seemed to fade
But that was their job; they were angels after all
They were supposed to make things easier on the living
To make it as good as they had it
Or so they thought.
The two lovers had been unaware
Of two gleaming red eyes glaring at them
And the tip of a scarlet trident pointing at them
More specifically, the woman angel
With a wicked grin, the Devil struck
With a bolt of lightning shooting out of the trident,
The angel woman dropped, her magnificent white wings covering her
She fell threw the clouds before her partner could react
Becoming a fallen angel.
Tears spilled out of her ex-lover’s eyes
But the Devil’s smile got wider
She strutted out of her hiding place
And stood next to the grieving angel
He took one look at her, and he knew she was the murderer
Two scarlet horns on the top of her head, and her matching red trident
Her fair skin was adorned in a wine-colored dress
His anger overpowering him, he grabbed the trident the woman held so dear
And impaled her in the back.
He dropped the trident on the cloud and walked away feeling accomplished
But as he was almost to the Gates, the trident reappeared in his hand
Terrified, he tentatively reached a hand to his head
Where it came across two pointed lumps.
He looked down at his previously white clothes; they had become blood-red
A new devil was born.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 5:14 AM UTC
Remember that day of the phony "Mission Accomplished"
day, when thinking people viewed him in that jump suit with that extra crouch stuffing, and when your face turned
so red you felt liking ducking under anything available?
Well, here comes my writings about it, READY?...be brave...
be very brave...
You strutted on Lincoln steel;
not knowing what lay behind that thin-lipped-corporate-gah-gah-smile
Offshore a fool's victory you did declare
A vulture's feast you ushered in
as many sulfur dances engulfed both air and skin
What rooster pride you strutted on Lincoln steel,
while bulbs exploded in heated flare
How I remember you took that flight,
with a pseudo-manly-stuffed-buldge you said, "I 'm all right!"
In nightmares I see your faking smiling grin, as houses crashed
and innocent died, as flames created a reddened sky
Halloween-cowboy, flyboy-suit, a monster lurked on Lincoln
steel
And so, bulbs exploded in heated flare to land upon a nothing stare, to land upon a nothing stare,
to land...upon...a...nothing...stare
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 3:59 PM UTC
It was as if
I were witnessing
a classic Hollywood western.
There I was
stuck in Lubbock
on that windy as hell day,
so I dropped into
the local drinking establishment
to guzzle some whiskey
for a spell.
It wasn't long before
she drove up
riding the prettiest Harley ever,
all chrome and polished black
with the sweetest sound
a bike could make,
it purred like a kitten.
She leaned that baby
up against the wall outside
& strutted like John Wayne
(some would argue Marlon Brando)
into the cantina
where she bellied up to the bar.
Every male jaw in the joint
was dropped
watching her down
three shots of Cuervo,
pay the check in hard cash,
a big bill,
and saunter right back
out of the place
like she owned it.
She was mesmerizing,
fluid motion,
tight jeans,
a rattlesnake sway.
Every man stood at the window
to watch her kick her stand up
& disappear
on that long black ribbon
into the falling sun,
breathtaking...
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 1:31 AM UTC