"whorehouse" poems
I was treated like the VIP,
A cat and a big fish,
A hook and a big Six,
whilst visiting madam bow-peeps
rotisserie of *****
Always receptive,
Wearing open silk
working 9 to 5am.
With a little overtime,
hot funk never satisfies,
She had the way-with-all
to feign, delight; even interest,
before negotiating the price,
Two shekels,
She was classy,
kind of slick,
she tickled my ears
for nothing more than kindness,
a small token in exchange for a smile.
She popped on a tune,
as she took off her dress.
The petting started
her two hands tugging with the zipper of my jeans.
A woman's touch... Ha HA,
the rich sultry kiss of *****
tight and tasty;
***** like a ripe tomato,
Sugar fried and drunk.
She opened her legs,
her hair smelled like shampoo,
She was on her belly,
knees tucked up
as I took in the fruit,
deep holes filled with **** and shabby fingers,
hollow spit and angry poison,
head spinning to the groove,
loud and high,
The bed squeaked
and a single light bulb dangled
like a loose tooth,
Ten minutes and
two ******* love songs!
Sick and spent up,
I got dressed to leave,
I said with a poke,
"I couldn't get laid,
Not even in a ***** house!"
And now I'm back in the cold again,
only dirtier.
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 4:50 PM UTC
This is to all those misfits
To the Romeo car-washing in Inglewood inlets
To the Hippy selling crystals on the Venice boardwalk
The Magician swallowing 8-balls at the Huntington Beach peer
The Rapper selling CDs in the Ranch Market parking lot
The **** tatting in a makeshift garage
The Poet slinging chapbooks at cafes and rec centers…
Not androids pontificating from lecterns
But grimy roots burrowing deep
Seismic rumblings toppling down
Insured ivory towers
Smashing pilled-paradigms beneath Docs
Hustling and slinging
In the forbidden outshacks of civilization
In tents, over barbed-wire, beside shards
Desperate and burning
For neither Truth or Beauty
But for LIFE
They do not tap wrists
No, they thump chests
To feel it beat
To feel it rage
For fugitive fugues
For new eternities
They embrace
********** romance
Graveyard necromance
The holy hunger for change
Defying commercials and charts
Shivering and howling on streets
Waging guerrilla war
Liberating cubicled-hearts
Dec 23, 2016
Dec 23, 2016 at 8:20 PM UTC
Music of the street
Reverberates loudly
Out the dumpster,
From the tiny mouth
Of a screaming
Baby
Wrought in the wombs
Of filth, injustice,
Foggy rage.
Tongues ripped out,
On the floor, tastebuds that
Know the pang
of blue blood.
Rusty nails and overused syringes
***** the fingers,
Softly.
The people yell, maniacally,
Yet remain unheard.
Pain becomes evident,
Written on the faces
Of the unwholesome.
A wafting scent of
Their rotten morals,
Forgotten dreams,
Floats, as hot steam,
from the pavement.
Unable now
To decompose.
Across the road,
A pregnant woman holds
Her cigarette, which
Smells of cookies
And cream soda.
Jesus was enlightened,
Not too pious
For the poor.
Yet more than pain
Was written
On their faces,
Missing tongues, missing eyes.
Laid together
On the piss-stained mattress,
Feet to head and head
To feet.
Nonsense was confused
As words, that danced into
Non-platonic humps.
She kissed him, because
She wanted to feel
The texture of his brain.
Pick her up with
Golden hand, though
She may see you.
And the sad image of
Dollar bills
Inspires the mind,
Making it immobile.
Here, where the **********
Stands, more holy
Than the monastery.
Crawling, as they do,
Through unpainted,
Rented walls, like
Hungry little cockroaches,
Creeping for a bite.
The small infant still
Lays on metal, each
Moment crying softer
For warmth.
Though you will not
Hear her tomorrow,
As she’s carted off by
Garbage men
Who, each week, remove
The undesired
Remnants of yesterday.
Hope for sweet
Needles to sooner bring her
A different relief.
Life is so simple
When struggles
Are never-ending.
Mi amor pequeña,
no llores más. El fin está cerca,
aunque no entiende
mis palabras.
Though the buildings
Surrender with
Decay and the sun decides
He doesn’t want
To keep on caring
The music still plays mournfully,
And only the baby can hear.
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 7:24 AM UTC
poisoned well of the antichrist littered with ground cover
picking out ****** flecks of gravel
blacktop kneeskin
patience pieces of scattered space time
to go back to the future of continuity
lack of genius ingenuity
and the suckling of the pig entourage
riding in a flat top hatchback
cadillac of the daily grind
upperclassman japan onii-chan
brother in arms from anotha motha
hug from afar colliding with crackpot theory
terrible fantasia cooling bricks in soggy sun
swallowed his pride with a glass of self-worth
and these ***** don't cook like they used to
I don't look like I used to
warped veil of camouflage chameleon leather
with a ****** level of automobile salesman
tried to get closer to god
ground him up, picked out the stems
twisted him into thin paper
touched flame to his finger tip and a son of Adam was born
gum shoe gaze
or the emptiness felt at the end of reasonable doubt
correctional text messaging system
sent from hoarse corpses
tenderly poignant in their ****** coffins
will think for food
cries from an outdated MENSA
over ***** and under-appreciated
siting on hunched shoulders to get a better look
to be a martian in a plain port
wharf warehouse whaling boat
red tide in a Shanghai **********
floodgates made of bitter premise
that last bit of purple yam
**** Okonkwo
Things Fall Apart fell apart due to faded highschool ambitions and bloodshot eyes
cruel like the shade of off-cerulean
champagne fizz tickles at the soft meat of his tarnished throat
and silver tongue
as the matchstick framework
so fragile in comparison
fizzles out on drenched sidewalk
while cigarette ash floats by
like gray gnats
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 4:03 PM UTC
I ate your spinach
because it was there
and you, like an anorexic rabbit,
ignored it, and motioned to my plate.
You said,
*How can you go on
living like a priest
in a **********
Temptation after temptation,
yet still you stay celibate,
your tissues clean of *****
your hands folded above the waist,
as calloused as your traveled feet.*
When does the bird fall it's offspring from the nest
in a spring with a shortage of worms?
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 9:22 PM UTC
Cherry blossoms fall
Scattering petals across the pond
They drift a little,
Spin a little,
Land and correct course
Setting sail with the wind.
A girl and a boy meet
At a club
Dancing all night
Whilst the cherry blossoms fall
And sail under the moon
They cross the bridge near the pond
Watch as the petals fall
A foreshadowing from nature
So obvious, if you know where to look
But they were blind.
They grew up together,
Married at the age of 27
As the petals scattered.
***
Years down the track...
***
A drunken man, a ********** girl
A divorce so imminent
The tears fall as the anger rages
The petals the only evidence.
That something, some force knew,
They were never meant to be
And they turn their backs and set sail
As the wind continues to blow
On opposite paths they will walk
And the petals fall under the moonlit glow
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 3:31 AM UTC
7/23/2014
the plane rolls over the california mountains
we pass over homes,
and stores,
and jails
we pass over the bars,
where bitter old men go
to remind them of their sorrows
we pass the **********
where 20 year old men go
to feel like lions
we pass the cloudy river,
where a man sits fishing for not fish,
but love
we pass the jail,
where a ***** woman sits
and prays for heaven to take her
we pass the hills,
where couples go to ****
and die
we pass the roads,
full of insensitive men,
crying women,
vomiting kids,
and clueless elders
we pass the land
which has witnessed the
genocide of a people
we pass over a thousand murderers,
and a thousand molesters,
and a thousand arsonists,
and a thousand lunatics
we pass over a land
founded on the color of white
and *** we pass over this hell,
I look towards the man on my left
a 40 something year old
business man,
reading a mag,
drinking a coke,
and sipping up his cluelessness
then there are the people behind me
indian
2 women, and a child
a mother,
daughter,
and grandchild
who must know all too well
how much of a hell we're in,
but they do not bite their thumb
for maybe this is meant to be,
maybe there is no way to escape this,
maybe there is no way to fix this
yet,
I do bite my tongue at the world
I do bite my tongue at humanity,
at society,
at love,
at loneliness
yes,
I bite my tongue at people
but as we pass above the clouds,
and hell slowly vanishes
beneath a film of illusion,
my thoughts do vanish,
and I no longer
am reminded of hell
© 2014 Rembrin Hawke
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 2:39 AM UTC
Distinguished disguised dancers
masquerading man-made makeshift moral-plays
complete compelling communicated classical conversations
penetrating pontificated, pompous perceived perceptions
incisive impregnating indecisive ideologies.
nomads, no longer nomads
humanity, hardly humanity
children, no longer children
innocence, hardly innocence
agitated ardent adversaries arguing
open-ended opposing opinions overtly
disregarding discussed details on.. display
meager moronic monologues misused mindlessly
as..
politically-powered perverse points of 'principle'
vigorously virtual virtues vehemently vested in
stolen sordid 'salient' solutions set to 'save'
To save what?
A system born to fail?
A culture devoid of culture?
A materialistic, sophomoric generation of deadbeats and mindless sheep?
A corporate ********** of sound bites and advertisements?
A persistently forced state of wage slavery?
A game of he said, she said, I'm right and you're wrong?
A seemingly endless spiral of despair and dissatisfaction?
A time and place living in fear of the next epidemic or incoming atomic bomb?
Where's the sense in that? I mean seriously. Why can't we all just get along?
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 11:51 AM UTC
///
to what degree loveless *** makes
The boudoir seem to be a ********** room
Reveals the essence of the Man
//
( but of course --- some men --- and women ! --
Prefer the sterility of " mere function "
And the sense of safety thus provided )
••
••
Will we become robots before robots become man !
••
••
We die real easy unless we don't
//////
•
The prison walls are mere illusion
You can only hide for a little while
//////
I read the poem from a mother trying to save her children
()
Real feelings !!!
( coming from oh so very far away )
The boudoir walls are thick with lust
Nothing can penetrate
Till all walls just fade away
//
Our comments
GREAT READ , MOM !
KEEP FIGHTING !
sound as hollow as our hearts
|||||
in the ********** the untouched bodies weep
Hey YOU !
GET YOUR *** OVER HERE !
fills the empty spaces where no one is
//////
The homeless children stagger on
The childless mother moans
//
The world around us changing shapes
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 2:41 PM UTC
Elon Musk and I have a lot in common, in fact we could be cerebral twins, we are both rich, we are both geniuses, we are both insane, well him 1/2 me fully and we have both sent objects into space. he sent a car, I sent my ex up there. Ok actually what I did was, tie a bunch of helium balloons around her neck and up she went. I assume she made it. She's probably driving around up there in Elon's car and laughing all the way to the moon bank, not having to use any fuel up there. Thanks Elon. Next time hand me a call, I would have asked you to send a donkey up there, not that car.
more random thoughts
Insanity
Insanity, its not as crazy as you may think!
Insanity, its a lot more fun than you may think!
Insanity, where crazy is the new normal!
Insanity, join now and get a free white jacket!!
Insanity, a great way to get away with ******
Insanity, a pathway to the Whitehouse!
( spell check suggests ********** ummmmm)
Insanity, although some call it marriage!
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 2:00 AM UTC
No, poetry is not written in books
by scholars. It is etched upon
Lips that shape the sweetest murmurs
and bellow bare bitter truth
frantic as a madman, poetry
Held up with bra straps
and masked beneath an underwear
Hot, Succulent, lavish
Just that feminine, poetry
With all the morons who aim
to grasp it through stories
of a man and his lost love, poetry
is windswept hair and hips in motion
and twilight tears that flow like an ocean
poetry, with its complex simplicity
is a woman who reads bible in a **********
and wears bubblegum skirts to funerals
Tasted, embraced, kissed, licked, felt,poetry
can never be read..or understood.
Tina RSH
Dec 4, 2019
Dec 4, 2019 at 8:21 AM UTC
They say we've got to get back to the garden
We got to pull up the roots and wear them on our sleeves
But when you're truly feral, you're somehow still not free
The mud without the lotus, the ***** without desire
A soul asleep too long is born into dirt
Constructed from stale rain and hand-me-down-pain
One flick of the switch and you could have been hallowed
One cruel little trick and here you are hollow
The cosmic sadist and his moral compass
Gets off on selling sanctuary
A painter with the world as his canvas
A scientist with earth as his experiment
A ****** watching a glass-bowl of fish
An Aids avalanche, volcano cancer
Heartbreak earthquake, hurricane mistake
The rolling dice is our degree of pain
A black man's endowed to plant seeds of poverty
A white man's enshrouded with mental instability
Genetic karma makes the whole thing spin
Grandfather was a **** now I'm paying for his sins
The spiritual adulteress, too busy playing cosmic chess
To feel an ounce of our unrest
Are you so smug, being shoved under big bosses rug
A door mat, a poor mouse, a **********
Why did you isolate the mind to breed fear and murky depths
Every second on this spinning plate is another little death
Where is the underground railroad of saints
Who excel in destroying decay
Are they wandering round Nod
Or stuck in some elevated mundane
Do you drink our limbo water, do you prefer aged ***
If perfection's what they aimed for, then the only way is down
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 8:01 PM UTC
Tighten your fist
let the sand slip
contort your face
make it ugly beautiful
watch it trickle through invisible chinks in your hood
sadness
fulfillment
i love you
i want to hold you
firmly
to be dragged around
until you declare me father of all your progenys
******** or otherwise
be my wife, choke me to death
only you are capable of doing that
**** me
before i spill through the fingers
before i escape
stealing all of me and important bit of yours
to live the life of a scoundrel
a soldier
who lusts for blood
but can’t stand the corpses which litter his dreams
a life he wants for his own
but begs for at empty street corners
In evenings
when i could have gone to cinema
or a **********
or listen to demi-harlequins talk about art or poverty
(that is all they ever talk about)
i find a secluded corner in an empty beach
i smoke too many cigarettes
and let the sand slip through my fingers
again and again.
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 3:05 PM UTC
Since Thursday bugs have been crawling out of the cards.
I buried my heart with the oleander,
where mother left the caul.
I forgot where that was. Somewhere near
the trunk line.
Today I walked to work with my wholesome *******
under a sheer shirt. I have been thinking of gentleness
and the vase of my ****** I have been thinking such
impossible things.
Only one drink of wine, only one card left unturned.
In the corner of my ********** I have built
a beach. It was for our first date, but I forgot
where we were supposed to meet
and my boyfriend deleted your number.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 8:53 PM UTC
i aint never been to boston
but i been to kansas city
i aint never robbed no liquor store
but i have known real poverty
but it's TRUE TRUE TRUE TRUE
i aint never been without you
i aint never flew no airplane
but i been on a subway
i worked all too many jobs
tryin to make it thru to payday
but it's TRUE TRUE TRUE TRUE
i aint never been without you
sleepin 'neath the stars
AN THERE YOU ARE
hoppin on the freight
GOOD TO SEE YOU AGAIN
sittin on the ********** stair
AN ODE TO YOUR FLOWIN HAIR
it is you i love
CAUSE YOU LOVE ANYONE
i aint never ate no porterhouse
but i got my share of baked potatoes
aint scared of the sunlight
though i'm mostly in the shadows
but it's TRUE TRUE TRUE TRUE
i aint never been without you
no i'll never be without you
no i'll never be without you
Jul 21, 2010
Jul 21, 2010 at 2:30 PM UTC
I was half hung the **** over and feeling like total **** left to die.
The ***** was gone and the room looked like someone had set a bomb off in a ********** .
The phone rang out a ******* annoying *** banshee much like a Selena Gomez record sure everyone likes spoiled little ****** just not with the sound on.
I answered the phone with all my southern charm.
What the **** do you want ! ?
There was a dead silence when finally a voice spoke on the other end.
Um MR Robbins is this a bad time?
Well considering I haven't had a drink and my head feels like it was
hit by a plane nobody can find yeah sure it's a great ******* time.
Well MR Robbins the man continued on about **** I could care less about going through his whole pitch trying to sell me some over priced life insurance .
Yeah you got to love a paycheck you'll never see newsflash after I kick the bucket I don't give a **** if you roll me up in a carpet and toss me in a landfill .
Well MR Robbins can we sign you up ?
I paused just to simply to hold up the works and make you the reader say where the **** is he going with this ****
My friend I get this is your job but the only thing certain in this existence is death and I have far better things and strippers to waste my money on than a fund for when I kick the bucket .
Sure I could put money aside for a time I wont enjoy it, yeah and I could settle down get married become a regular dude who works his *** off till I retire to sit in a recliner **** myself and watch commercials about pills that'll give you a stiff **** and so many ******* side effects you'll do everything but glow in the ******* dark.
There is no ******* promise of tomorrow kids so live your **** off today and **** the future we can only know the present.
I slammed the phone down and poured what was left of a dead solider in a pint glass .
It was bitter and almost warm and as I chased it with a good cigarette
and thought to myself as the jukebox came to life .
Dam I sure hope that was a beer if not someone probably needs to go to the free clinic .
Stay crazy hamsters .
Gonzo
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 3:09 PM UTC
They were right when they told you
money can't buy love,
but feigned infatuation is
inexpensive and fun.
Give them just one hundred
and they'll **** out your soul.
Don't worry, you won't need it back,
the best rides end up down below.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 1:02 AM UTC
That's enough now
Stupid ******
You don't give a ****
Par for the course
If you weren't what you are
I wouldn't complain
The problem is
You're entirely vain
Don't blame me
For saying what's true
I wouldn't say it
If you weren't you
Sep 20, 2019
Sep 20, 2019 at 9:31 PM UTC
It started out
as a cheap hotel
in the wrong part of town,
then became
a **********
(run by dames
on hard times),
then it was closed down
by the cops
as a house of ill-repute,
then it became run down
in a bright side of town,
then estate agents
bought it up
and did it up
and someone
bought it
(or mortgaged it),
and the estate agent guy
said, it was once owned
by an upmarket couple
to the new buyers,
******* liars).
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 8:14 AM UTC
Do other people ever look at me and see poetry?
Some bystander on a corner
young or old
loner or lord
and wonder about my comings and goings?
Have they created scenarios for me in their heads?
Mazes that the fictional me must traverse
Have they speculated on my love life?
"Oh, that man has been hurt. you can see it in the way he walks."
Do they listen to my order at the coffee shop?
They must think I lack imagination.
Plain coffee, plain clothes.
I hardly make a peacock of myself
Do they envision my morning routine?
He psyches himself up in the mirror first.
Today he asks that girl out.
This is the day his nephew becomes a man
Would I take the young lad to a ********** or a church?
How can you even tell someone's character?
Are there people who dress and act so they can't be read?
Are there people with magic eyes that cut through my disguise?
Are there people who want to save me, or be saved by me?
That guy would make a good protagonist in my novel.
How many layers of reality have I unwittingly dived down just by being observed?
Do people think about things like this?
Doesn't it get in the way of their lives?
Because I sure don't.
And it defintely doesn't.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
Never.
Notta once
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 5:44 PM UTC
Are you itchy, enraged and mad?
Hold your hammer and lose control
Give up everything you once had
Smash his face and **** his soul
Your son, friend and even dad
A filthy deceiver that watch you fall
Ram the hammer through his eyes
Blow his brain all over the wall!
Are you still angry?
Drop the hammer and hold your gun
This church is full of lies
Shoot the priest and shoot the nun
********** democracy
The biggest **** is now a hero
Alone, living the fantasy
What the **** you ain't De Niro!
This ain't a movie picture
Falling dead for your greed
Old, ****** and an idiot
You don't know what you need!
You need mercy from your God
He ain't here right now
I am here, I am fair;
Let me show you how,
I will set your soul free
Just repeat your own vow.
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 12:14 PM UTC
(Song title from “The Best Little ********** In Texas” by Carol Hall)
Twenty four hours of lovin’,
Twenty four hours of passion,
In bed,
In the bath,
Morning to moon,
Moon to light,
In the bath,
In bed,
Twenty four hours of passion,
Twenty four hours of lovin’.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 11:04 AM UTC
I close the door
And leave it out there for others to pick apart
(Here I can whip up my own)
solutions
sophistry and calm potions
The sticky left over of
The night are the notes of worried lovers
Worried they are diseased by lust
By bad music
By plastic generations
(Here I don’t rely on words)
but atmosphere, feeling like the blind do
in the **********
The smell of acid-fruits in mists on skins
Flowers boiled down viciously into pheromones
(Here I can bury my face into)
Stop it all from coming into-
My ribs will break, my heart is so strong
It’s a strangler and a bone saw
(Here is the only place I let it run)
not free it cracks splatters on the thin walls
but tame enough it stays
The mixture of the past hours
Have left me
Expanded, cracked and tied tight
By dry touch
By hallucinations of burning
(Here I can leave it out there for the others)
so I can speak plainly
I want to die in your fluids
Thick waters of you
Stepped in so for, should I wade no more.
Mar 27, 2011
Mar 27, 2011 at 9:44 AM UTC