"strutting" poems
Sitting in some car in a forgotten parking lot
Grey marks the skies
Lush green plants peeping in
The wildlife of concrete and paint makes the perfect background
For
Little ***** of liquid heaven falling on my windscreen
And some music to complete the scene
Each guitar line synchronises with each raindrop
Each blast of power thunder hits hard like heavy metal
But the soft clouds, the gentle ebb and flow lull me to sleep
Whispering, persuading me to dream
But I really don't want to miss this shard of time
I never want to lose little moments like these
A silver raindrop is born by landing on my car
Crash landing, rather
The bubbling pocket of mystery travels down
Swerving and slamming into other fellow pockets in crime
It's life cycle completes when it reaches the bottom
It races to it's death, unable to stop gravity's plan for it
Each drop morphs into another, making a wave
The rain weaves an intricate web of waves
All strutting their sparkly magic before me
I sense a metaphor for humanity creeping in
Millions of crescendos growing about
Too concerned with their internal politics to worry about others
But I stay focused on the beauty all around
I wonder if heaven has rainy days
If so, this must be one of them
Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 12:28 PM UTC
Dear Daddy,
Do you know what these men say to me?
With their
eyes and their mouths
when I walk on the street.
With a grin and a nod
and a look up and down.
A wink and a kiss
and a cat call heard from downtown.
With my skirt short
and my top
low,
It’s a cold world daddy
and no
doesn’t mean no.
Daddy do you know
how these men look at me?
Like I’m a piece of meat
strutting down the street?
With my head buds in
and my favorite song on.
I’m asking for it Daddy,
I’m in the wrong.
Do you know how it feels
not to wear what I like?
To walk a little faster
when I’m alone at night?
Daddy the world is my predator
and I am it's doe,
Daddy what happens
when I can’t say no?
Sep 20, 2017
Sep 20, 2017 at 12:24 PM UTC
The beauty of comatose can only be seen through
the eyes of a wizard in a blizzard
strutting in garlic slippers,
or Christ with knees bent at the tabernacle
peeling bananas and kicking prayers
farther than eternity with each gapping second,
or like Basquiat slumped back to the wall,
with ounces of speedball dancing through his veins,
eating 80’s free-based fried chicken *******
as his eyelids paints beautiful nightmares of lemon flowers
and Bacchus bacon over a glycopyrrolate desert
of flagrant cuckold buffoonery.
Or like leprechauns burning chocolate ******* candles
on the mantle of Zion, sipping oatmeal sprinkled
with Staten Island malt liquor bacon.
or like Tupac reading the thoughts of Mother Shipton
through the daze of California cannabis
and hearing the ominous voice of Plutarch sing death assignments
from heaven to Assassins on horsebacks goggling ***** water
to wet the dry bones of their throats as they prepare to fulfill
the gospel of self-fulfilling prophecies of being fell by ***** bullets.
Or like sophisticated wallets of spice and kitchen characters in a bald head
cooking chemical kisses and 18 February nights under Moloch’s skin,
where constitutions are written in charcoal diaries with Egyptian ciphers and razors.
“I had rain sowed into the pockets of my sneakers and composed 1310 eulogies
at the basement of king David’s tower,” said the Kraftwerkian caricature,
as he dangles cigarettes in remembrance of Klaus Nomi and philosophizes on the proliferation
of poetic vandalism at urinals where modernism failed under the phosphorescence of coloration at the avenue of no trees where Picasso's "Guernica" **** Lies All.
Jul 17, 2012
Jul 17, 2012 at 6:01 PM UTC
Allah was his ears
As sounds unlawful, unethical it never heard.
Secrets, gossips and rumours were also barred.
It buzzed with words of Quran day and night
Always Open to sounds just and upright.
Allah was his eyes
As it looked parents, orphans and needy with love
Brimmed with tears thinking of Almighty above
It never despised his brother and from lust it was freed.
Gold and silver had no worth and had no signs of greed.
Allah was his hands
As it stopped things reprehensible with force
In Allah's cause spent abundantly his resource
It caressed the head of an orphan in affection.
Time and again meekly raised it in supplication.
Allah was his feet
As it never moved towards things which Allah hate
Avoided walking arrogantly with a strutting gait
It always ran to help downtrodden, oppressed.
For knowledge for light it was on constant quest.
He had mountains of obligatory good deeds
He had mountains of non-obligatory good deeds
His protector was Allah The Almighty
His enemy was enemy of Allah The Almighty
He was beloved of Allah
He was friend of Allah
He was Wali of Allah
He was Waliullah.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 5:33 PM UTC
Proud little peacock
Plumage up for display
No need for repeated mocks
No need for you to say
I can clearly see
For we may be quiet but we have eyes
Strutting conspicuously
Showing off your prize
We already know you have it
We all do
On the sidelines we sit
Seeing you through
Tell me little bird
What do you get
When you say your words
Were your objectives met?
Everytime I hear them
Just makes me gag
I'd roll my eyes
Just hearing you brag
People'll give you
When accolades are deserving
But I suppose they're never enough
'Cause I still see you parading
Well I know I may be unpredictable
A tad bit capricious
To be honest, you...
You're simply being ostentatious
...and it's annoying the hell out of me...
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 8:12 AM UTC
At Ellis Lake, an overcast Sunday afternoon.
A lake divided into two, oddly shaped bowls in the middle of the city, surrounded by a constant stream of birds, wind, and traffic.
A spotless white swan cleaning herself on a grassy knoll, ferretting out whatever filth lurked deep within her feathers, then smoothly sweeping her sideways bent head across her back, as if to remember the long forgotten affectionate touch of an absent lover.
A gaggle of four grey geese combing the lawn for food, waddling in unison side-by-side.
A line of five mallards barreling down the hill into the water.
A multilateral crescent of black and white pigeons receiving harsh dictation from a trio of angry snow geese strutting before them.
A red-faced duck slowly approaching in the quiet expectation of food, then the arrogant acceptance of the lack thereof.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 11:13 AM UTC
As dark clouds thunder on a grey day,
Resounding across the arid plains,
I hear the loud cries of a bird,
It cuts across the rhythmic drumming of the clouds,
He's quiet for a moment, then I hear him again.
Through the trees I see him,
Royal, an electrifying metallic blue,
A peacock, stunning, strutting,
Fanning his train of feathers,
Eyespots of majesty, stroked with mossy hues.
He dances in a flamboyant display,
In spot light, as lightening flames the sky above,
Nonchalant, a blue crested head turns with pride,
His ornate train, shimmering, beckoning, to and fro,
His moves, a courtship ritual of love.
His iridescent trail woos in style,
A life of its own in its opaline shades
Golden, blue, brown and green,
Colors of the earth, gloriously resplendent,
A gathered spectacle in his plumage.
As drops of rain touch the earth,
He is still high on the wings of romance,
His feet in motion,
His feathers spread for his mate,
Quivering, glimmering a love dance.
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 10:57 AM UTC
Walking in a room or strutting down the street
Inside a tunnel of ignorance she steps or takes a seat
She feels the hungry glances devouring her soul
Pray that the gist of her laugh remains whole
Follow those hands running along the thin hair
Blushing as the gesture burns down in a flare
(Women are to be conquered
And you can take her with a gentle smile
She will drop all her defences
On her knees to please your diguise.)
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 9:33 AM UTC
The morning finds the young lasses milking
And the young lads in the fields cutting
Rams, ewes, and lambs eat and grow fat.
The hens lay eggs while the roosters are strutting.
The sun rises up for his daily walk,
Drawing the day across the sky.
He takes his daylight with him to another place
Because the moon's time is nigh.
Evening falls across the heather
And the stars come out to dance.
The faerie folk come to life
And fill the night with their lyrical chants.
The mists on the moors swirl and caper about,
Taking rock and tree to embrace.
The faerie folk make merry and dance about
'Neath the silver of the moon's face.
They dance to music as old as time,
Melodies and rhythms from long ago.
Verses sung in ages long past,
Songs only faerie folk know.
They sing and dance under the moon and stars,
As long as the night covers them about.
But the moon and the faerie folk must go their ways
For 'tis time for the sun to come out.
Jul 17, 2011
Jul 17, 2011 at 3:48 PM UTC
What happened to the beautiful boisterous screaming queens of the 80's full of Gloria Gaynor dancing on bars & pianos & teasing & strutting & grabbing life by the *****
Every time I go to the Op Shop & see a pair of size 11 patent leather red pumps I think of you & put them on & walk around the shop just to remind me of the fabulous times.
Are you making lounges in the shape of Cadillacs or corsets or sculpting **** - tail glasses delicately gold leafed - centre table?
Back up x 30 in the Botanical Gardens at Mardi Gras & remember the good times, the sad times, the Carmen Miranda, feather boer, wig, **** & lipstick times my friends........
smooth jazz grand piano
.......
Dec 30, 2017
Dec 30, 2017 at 4:58 AM UTC
He's a Peacock
Strutting about
Poised
Primped and preened
With feathers neatly arranged
My little brother
In his new choir clothes
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 10:38 PM UTC
**Drop your Grudge Rants
by the door
We Will Not Tolarate
This Anymore
Edit and toss Distasteful Rhymes
Ugly Poems with Vain designs
Haughty thoughts and
bitter words
Childish petty accusing verbs
Who did What to Who and When
Will this Clusterfuck never end?
Selfish actions, Spoiled Children
We Refuse to be your Minions
Like CNN
And Drone Fox news
We've had enough of
Self Serving views
Hurting hearts, far and wide
tender Poets with
tenuous pride
Yet, Strutting and Indignant
for who I ask?
All those involved,
A Donkeys ***
Not a home for
Egotistical Zealots
Nor a place for
flinging pellets
We come in Peace, HP to share
Not get caught in ugly snares
And to the few that
have the gaul.
"If you have nothing decent to say,
say nothing at all"**
**YOU CHOOSE TO USE
HP THIS WAY.
GO AWAY. FIND SOME
WHERE ELSE TO PLAY.**
●HELLO●HELLO●HELLO●
Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 6:55 PM UTC
Someone undeserving of my devotion,
ugly and beautiful,
whispers that scratch up all my dreams,
crazy glue,
a strutting rooster, cocking its vibrant scarlet head back and forth,
a wolf crooning into the night, only to eat me a minute later,
an ornately decorated box, containing a demon of possession,
a precious ******* up vinyl record,
an expensive bugatti that everyone wants but no one can get,
a snake, venomous, but protective of her eggs, really just scared,
a lamppost that's tired of it's job.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 3:22 PM UTC
Go away little wisp.
I know what you are up to.
I pay the slightest notice,
you morph into an innocent, seductive puff
strutting to and fro
offering companionship,
comfort,
yes, even love.
I admire you; you gust, fat and fluffy.
I compliment; you explode into a cumulous mass hovering ominously above.
I worry; ashen gray lithely overtakes beguiling white.
Rumbling belly fills with rage and swells with forboding.
There is no longer an escape.
My thoughts
are pulled into shadow
and slapped onto earth
in torrents of unrestrained rage.
Completely engulfed, I choke, and
swirl in great muddy vortexes down lost drains.
Who am I?
Who are my thoughts?
I only have you to grasp onto,
and that is no solace.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 2:37 PM UTC
Please excuse me,
as I take a chance
to try and con the ones who have conecended us.
As I slide down
my verbal pole of innocence.
Slithering, crawling, hungry and horney.
Strutting around the club,
looking for fame,
so I can give him a lap dance
and go down on HIStory.
You told me to pick a card
& I chose the Star.
One day, Some day,
I will outshine all of your darkness.
I met fate at a strip club.
We're all diamonds, just some of us are in the rough.
IT GET'S BETTER.
Mar 16, 2012
Mar 16, 2012 at 4:07 PM UTC
At an airport garden in Hong Kong
I sit and refresh my traveling spirit
amidst an effusion of lucky bamboo
Crepe white and fuchsia orchids
coyly fan their geisha faces
The Morning Sun, at first a pale opal ember
climbing over slumbering, stone-washed
mountains
Roars into brilliance
like a golden Peacock Dragon
strutting through China blue skies
I smile inwardly....
let the moment sweep me off my feet
Breathe in......
colors, sights, sounds
gifts....fullness
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 10:23 PM UTC
Strutting, the halls in Jimmy Choo boots,
Wearing a daring V-neck sweater that was envied by every girl,
Dark skinny jeans that ran along legs so firm and toned.
Hushed voices and awkward glances at the diva,
Who strolled through the doors.
Gossip and idle rumours echoed the halls as the blonde walked past.
Heads turned and stared as a locker flung open!
Romance novels and glossy magazines,
Covered in foam, spilling on the floor.
Tears rolling down cheeks, as haughty laughter filled the air.
Hurt and regret!
If only he was a girl, they would accept him.
But now, he's nothing but a boy!
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 10:59 AM UTC
i couldn't stop looking at this girl. i glanced down at my black leather jacket, black v-neck, ripped blue jeans, and black boots with the buckles on the side. i popped my collar and set out to find the girl i'd just found. i noticed the lights of this weird indie club i'd somehow ended up in. this music isn't normal "club" music. it's all arctic monkeys. the lyrics of these songs empowered me, i felt as though i had to continue my search for this soul. despite the darkness, i slid on my aviators to protect myself from those blinding lights, and also to give me a hint of mysteriousness. girls love that.
and then there she was.
sipping on what appeared to be a bottle of coke, but i couldn't tell because of the ******* sunglasses i was wearing. she was standing laughing with one of her friends. she had such a different aura to her. i couldn't help but watch as she pulled out one of her organic cigarettes.
"i wanna make her mine." i thought to myself.
the lights reflected off the sweat on the walls as i tried to keep my cool, strutting my way over to her, hoping to get her eyes to lock onto mine. from what i finally saw of her in plain sight, she had love in her eyes and perfect lighting over her; like a camera plus filter. she took drags of that cigarette like some kind of goddess, causing me to get weak at the knees and form a lump in my throat, which i soon managed to somehow swallow. i had to find out who she was. i wanted her more than i'd ever wanted anything, or at least so i recall. i played out the scene in my head - we'd dance, and numerous guys would approach her. it was hard not to. i'd overpower them. "she's with me.", i'd say cooly.
i didn't realize all this fantasizing about my mystery girl had taken me so little time, because by the time i was finished my train of thought, i was standing right in front of her. god, i wanted her so bad. i swear, if i looked at her long enough, she'd steal my soul. the love in her eyes was contradicted by the incredibly **** sparkle in her iris.
"hello there beautiful. you seem to be having a lovely time. you're absolutely breathtaking, i'm forced to believe you are a certified mind blower. what's your name, milady?"
with a turn of her head, a bat of her lashes, and a flash of her perfect smile, she answered me in the most angelic voice i've ever heard.
"arabella."
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
he asked me why
I'd absorb his ardent spirits
and chain want of soul
he knows why
I demand total control
...to convey my lust for pleasurable pain
this ache in thighs
denies an uttered sigh
as I cry inside with lust
strutting before him in nylon and pumps
he jumps through hoops, leashed;
he begs and flex, hungry for what is next
while I slap his hardened ****
tick tock its almost time
unwind and rock
to tease and please
I think not;
as heat of breath
taunts each slap of ****
his moans go unclocked
...as he loses control
Mistress, please he begs and moan
how long? watching hardness grow
long, strong in fits of hunger
he whispers and drools,
Mistress!!!!!
...your sweet ambrosia I know
eager beggary to be unleashed
ready to pounce
unload every ounce
but, I won't as I blindfold
and ring his ****
fore, his time is still
on the clock...tick tock
I smile, while he gropes
in the dark...leashed...now bark!
tell me! are you hard enough?
...I tease and taunt him some more
**** now hard as a rock...lash of whip...whack
...in your corner...I'll be back...after Jack laps wet ******
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 3:39 AM UTC
Such greatness
With such grace
Bestowing
Worthiness on the Unworthy.
Gifting the
Ungifted.
Loving the
Unlovable.
Welcoming the
Unwelcome.
Turning the cheek
I have slapped too many times,
And responding
With a kiss.
I cry.
I wail for His forgiveness
And at the vision of myself
Strutting,
Cocky,
Totally inept
And inconceivably wrong.
And yet,
Grace.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
Blush!
The blush of pinkish,
As flamingo fandangos,
In rhythmic tangos,
Long legs centrally bent as she stands,
Flamingo masquerades as delicate swan!
Sort of strutting,
Elegant,
Thought not!
Woman masked as flaming flamingo.
Lady tall in height,
Wistfully wishes on starlight night, bright,
Clear eyes sparkle,
A tint of mystery's mystique,
No teardrops,
He fed her fire with touch of love,
As if were both sent from above,
Two strange birds can only tell,
If love will grow or tears well!
Passion kissed her on her cheek,
Left her blushing scarlet,
Jesus wept and cried out loud,
'This woman,
She's no harlot,'
Both dangling suspended in ether clouds ,
Dozy as hell,
These two dreamy birds are two of a kind,
No similar creatures will you ever find,
He struts peacock feathers glory.
She blushes,
Escaped from love story!
Eccentricity,
Idiosyncrasies,
Rule the day,
Hurry up,
Bring him back my way!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 5:33 AM UTC
Good morning rooster
How do you do?
It’s the crack of dawn
You cock-a-doodle-do
You sit on your perch pride fully and woo
Standing mighty and bold you call your brood for food
Sleek and graceful you do the cockerel waltz
Strutting vaudeville statuesque
Crowing to proclaim your territory
You stand protecting your roost
***** and brave
Watching for predators coming your way
The alpha male
Your earlobes and crown are blood red like a bird of paradise
Your steel beak as strong as a saw
Your feather mane chestnut drapes over your back
Your breast fuchsia and emerald quill
Your silken tail an extended fan
You run free reign on my ranch
A thousand chickens roost in my barn
You rearrange my garden while pecking for nourishment
Eating up all the insects and brown recluses in my yard
In dust you and your flock bathe
You even watch over the hens eggs
Your calls distinct and powerful
When you are still and content sweet singing rings
You are friendly to humans
And can even be domesticated
Stay here Roo
We will protect you
Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 7:10 AM UTC
Three striped cats daily demonstrate awakening:
a) BijaChen: startles by pounce onto bed or banging of sunlit window blinds;
b) BlueMonsoon: prefers annoying whining coordinated with scratching at blankets;
c) LadyFiona: chooses a prickly psychic stare into my sleeping consciousness to disrupt dreams. (she must have been a witch's cat).
Sleep you say?
Mr. Rooster, lover of Flathead Lake cherries,
rehearses a solo operetta while strutting sharp grey claws inches from the screen door.
Doze off?
Thirty small brown-red-yellow-speckled birds usurp seeds at the swinging feeders in frenzied unharmonious clatter,
While the low moan of iron hinged gate closes pale hay and tall horses into the corral.
Rest?
Urgently a growling lawn mower slashes green strands of life and delicate insects from their microcosms of Little Earth,
And calico barn cats dive from rafters onto feed sacks to devour the crunch of breakfast.
Lao Tzu speaks no sound, eyes watch
Two butterflies sweep though moist morning monsoon air.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
You're just her little lap dog
Its so pitiful and sad
Jumping around yipping and yapping
Like some shitzu thats gone mad
She pets you now and then
Throws an occasional bone
Keeps you hanging on that leash
While perched upon her throne
She doesnt really want you
Just needs your foolish loyalty
In that tiny brain you know its true
Offered you my open arms
And a honest loving heart
But you fell for her ice cold charm
One day she will put you out
For some strutting mastiff stud
Dont bother sniffing all about
For the trail of my long gone love
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 10:03 PM UTC
Come unto these yellow sands,
And then take hands:
Court’sied when you have, and kiss’d,—
The wild waves whist,—
Foot it featly here and there;
And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear.
Hark, hark!
Bow, wow,
The watch-dogs bark:
Bow, wow.
Hark, hark! I hear
The strain of strutting chanticleer
Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow!
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