Dirty 30 in 30

[PandoraGlitters]

Dirty Twenty-three

(given the two fifteens)

even when feathers do not hang
on spittled lines from the lip
that hugs the fang tooth yes
everyone is dangerous

maybe only so much as the smothering
love that pillows the face or blind night love
that itches every month or so for ever
or lace love that tethers in its doily politeness
hands fast to the arm chair

some are faster and heavier
in their danger splintering reputations
with pocket scrap photoshops garroting friendships
casually on the telephone wires leaving them to hang
like tallow lit calaveras as dangling warnings
strung along the borders of the town
to all who enter here

it isn't even worth mentioning those dangerous
enough to make the newspapers or their vacant eyes
after the bodies are found

you come to me painted tree-frog bright and even
as I extend my gloved palm I know it is foolish
to believe that all your danger is seen

 

[wespeak]

15

Dinner on the ninth floor
and I am the meat.
Tarnishware, the long stemmed
goblins, those hellish lovely
guests are over-stewed carrots.

I am the roasted beast
centerpiece, the seasoned
tender anticipation.

Famished one, banished
to dine divinely,
it is I who will satiate
you through the comedy
we call the eternal main course.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Wow, wespeak, wonderful poems. You have a lot to work with, there. I hope you are feeling better.

 

[Tzara]

24

Lai

Perfect orchid, spied
In a deep cleft, nigh,
Hidden
From casual eye.
How, emboldened, I
Harden
Long-strained muscles, try
To meet, touch bloom's shy
Garden.


.

 

[wespeak]

16

Wow, wespeak, wonderful poems. You have a lot to work with, there. I hope you are feeling better.

Better but not all well. Thanks for reading my poems. At least being sick gave me time to write.




And, today, over sixteen
thousand days have gathered
inside a box,
some box I call Donna's life.

Thank you, Hugo,
for bringing the swan
to my box -- my birthday meat -- and,
Mother, I am not a lesbian,
but thank you for the female film,
for the poetic pages
covered in vaginal conch shell.

Now I sit alone,
except for Iron Maiden's Deja Vu
and a black dog.

This poem is suddenly
and sad. But I have been sad
for days. Though, not all sixteen thousand
and sixty.

 

[Tzara]

25

Nonce Form, In Memory of Bettie Page

The scene is an old movie clip:
A slinky kitten with a whip,
Her fishnets tightly stretched on hip
And leg.
The kitty winks, begins to strip—
This causes many tongues to slip

Wet, swift, and slippery over lip.
In some dim corners, men unzip
And beg.
Our feline, though is mere catnip.
She gives her tail a saucy flip
And ends the scene with mewling quip.


Yes, I know. That isn't Bettie Page, but rather Gretchen Mol in the movie The Notorious Bettie Page. If you're a stickler for accuracy, go here for a taste of the real thing.

 

[unpredictablebijou]

Now, now. You're switching between dactyls and amphibrachs.

Switching. Hmmm. OK, probably your nature.

If you want me to be strict (oh my!) about dactyls, how about this:

Higgletay, piggletay.
Hopkins, G. M. (SJ)
Wrote poems alarmingly
Allit'rative.

Molehills to mountains: Kin,
Antediluvian?
Dactyls swapped; amphibrachs—
Iterative.​

Right at the moment, I am thinking about playing with some of those sticks. The thin and kind of whippy ones, frankly.

Idle thoughts from an idle poet, surely.

Oh well done!

Hardly idle. Do tell, in fact.


Wespeak, it's good to see you back in here! I'm loving all the work, but this particularly caught my eye. Very fine stuff:

He is compressed
air, nudity; still
the room is electric.

On his boy-cut blues
I snap
his ink -- faded turquoise youth.
Wild-haired wonder and I do

wonder.

IMHO Fool and Dora just pulled some genius writing out of the bag

I quite agree, ma chere.

Personally, about a week ago my muse said she was going out for milk and cigarettes and has not yet returned. I'm beginning to think mah baby don't love me no mo. Just as soon as I stop writing crap, I might try another dirty 30. Y'all are certainly inspiring.

bj

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Dirty Twenty-four

laundry in laundry out
of the spinning digestives
swallowing our dust and grease
giving back lint remainders

or growing foul when left to sit
in mildewed constipation

 

[UnderYourSpell]

*Makes note to self not to have speakers turned up when clicking on one of Bijou's links and wonders how to cure ringing of the ears*

 

[Tzara]

26

Fritz Lang

My favorite silent film director
Is probably the great Fritz Lang.
A genius—one, in fact, whose specter
Haunts genre films across eons.
Take his Maria. She's a robot
Strips to bare metal—dances, shows off.
Or his mad scientist, Rotwang.
Guy's Einstein-crazy hair. No bangs.
That later film with Peter Lorre,
The one with the brief title: M.
Where paedophilic killer, him,
Is caught by criminals (the story).
Two films that stamped Lang's mise-en-scène
In ways we can't unlearn again.


.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Dirty Twenty-five

this glitter I did not mean
to trip you up just to soft
shoe gentle you or better
bare your feet and curl
your toes in the gold and magenta
the teal and silver

let a little dust your heels
and I will take your hand
if you offer it

spin around spin
around slowly because I want to feel
every minute and remember
each step of this dance.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

this glitter I did not mean
to trip you up just to soft
shoe gentle you or better
bare your feet and curl
your toes in the gold and magenta
the teal and silver

let a little dust your heels
and I will take your hand
if you offer it

spin around spin
around slowly because I want to feel
every minute and remember
each step of this dance.

I like how you have written the last stanza (am I getting my tech words correct?!!) because having the second 'around' on the next line slows down the words as well as reading it (oh heck I know what I mean but can't word it properly)

 

[wespeak]

17

In warm kitchen,
toward westward wall,
he leans as though stones
are stacked in his left pocket.

Three prayers
to Ninkasi, yet I'm anchored
in the center. Want to meet him in the west,
with full
left
pockets.

Want to lean him down
to the tiles, be floor-bound
and blissful
in his high life arms.

 

[wespeak]

18

Two packs of smokes.
Veiled in his Marlboro cloud,
he drives by the corner store.

I bought them, twenty
and twenty of those eventual
burn-to-ash 100's.

And my cash,
now his,
unfolds for nicotine.

Way home goes past "open" sign. Inside,
cheap flowers, instead he lights another.
And there's an upside down
card, printed wish,
in my poetry book.

 

[wespeak]

19

The morning mood was sugar
in the raw, unrefined. He had me
that way,
before coffee.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

I like how you have written the last stanza (am I getting my tech words correct?!!) because having the second 'around' on the next line slows down the words as well as reading it (oh heck I know what I mean but can't word it properly)

Thanks for noticing what I was attempting with that line break, Annie.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Dirty Twenty-six

Kitty 100 # 5

"It is Four o' Clock," Mistress says, drawing kitty's interest. Mistress's investment advisor, Mr. Lewis, begins to pack his papers, but Mistress says, "Stay for tea. kitten will have cream."

When the saucer is brought to the floor near Mistress's boot, kitten arches from her pillow, saunters to the saucer, lowers her face, rump raised high. Mistress's stiletto heel slides under kitten's panty crotch, rubbing. Mistress withdraws it and stirs kitty’s cream with her heel.

Mr. Lewis’s eyes watch over the rim of his cup as kitty’s panties are peeled down, exposing her pink, wet quiver as she purrs, lapping.

 

[unpredictablebijou]

Kitty 100 # 5

"It is Four o' Clock," Mistress says, drawing kitty's interest. Mistress's investment advisor, Mr. Lewis, begins to pack his papers, but Mistress says, "Stay for tea. kitten will have cream."

When the saucer is brought to the floor near Mistress's boot, kitten arches from her pillow, saunters to the saucer, lowers her face, rump raised high. Mistress's stiletto heel slides under kitten's panty crotch, rubbing. Mistress withdraws it and stirs kitty’s cream with her heel.

Mr. Lewis’s eyes watch over the rim of his cup as kitty’s panties are peeled down, exposing her pink, wet quiver as she purrs, lapping.

okay,

yow-

za! *panting, getting Ideas*


wespeak, you're still batting a thousand, but numbers 17 and 18 particularly blew me away.

and Tz, you know, of course, my feelings about Metropolis. Very nicely done...

damn fine work to come in and see first thing today. Y'all are impressing the hell out of me.

bj

 

[Tzara]

27

The Projectionist at The Grand Illusion Cinema
Reminisces About Michelangelo Antonioni

Most art-house films are like baloney—
Processed, tasteless, really bad.
But when you've seen Antonioni
You've seen genius, not a fad.
His masterpiece is L'Avventura.
Its camerawork superb, bravura,
Though Blow-Up is my special fave,
For young Vanessa I quite crave.
Perhaps his oddest is Red Desert,
Because Mick painted grass and trees
To force the hues the viewer sees.
"Obsessional," some said. "A pervert."
His greatest films screened in this joint.
(We will not count Zabriskie Point.)


.

 

[Tzara]

28

Kitty 100 # 5

"It is Four o' Clock," Mistress says, drawing kitty's interest. Mistress's investment advisor, Mr. Lewis, begins to pack his papers, but Mistress says, "Stay for tea. kitten will have cream."

When the saucer is brought to the floor near Mistress's boot, kitten arches from her pillow, saunters to the saucer, lowers her face, rump raised high. Mistress's stiletto heel slides under kitten's panty crotch, rubbing. Mistress withdraws it and stirs kitty’s cream with her heel.

Mr. Lewis’s eyes watch over the rim of his cup as kitty’s panties are peeled down, exposing her pink, wet quiver as she purrs, lapping.

Mr. Lewis Discusses with Mistress the State of Her Portfolio,
Whilst Sipping a Rather Nice Darjeeling Tea

Investments are what I advise—
Securities, CDs and such.
But mine, I think, show not so much
Sheer steady interest, constant rise.

I'm envious, you know, at best,
At your portfolio's return.
Its profit's one I cannot earn
Although I'd love help you divest

Of, at least, some little piece
Of such a round and healthy sum.
I'm your Fiduciary, Mum,
Your assets I'm pledged to increase.

So let me suggest stocks and bonds,
Especially some leather ones,
For even dreary times have tons
Of ways to wave wealth's Magic Wands.


.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Kitty 100 # 5

"It is Four o' Clock," Mistress says, drawing kitty's interest. Mistress's investment advisor, Mr. Lewis, begins to pack his papers, but Mistress says, "Stay for tea. kitten will have cream."

When the saucer is brought to the floor near Mistress's boot, kitten arches from her pillow, saunters to the saucer, lowers her face, rump raised high. Mistress's stiletto heel slides under kitten's panty crotch, rubbing. Mistress withdraws it and stirs kitty’s cream with her heel.

Mr. Lewis’s eyes watch over the rim of his cup as kitty’s panties are peeled down, exposing her pink, wet quiver as she purrs, lapping.

yum ......

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Mr. Lewis Discusses with Mistress the State of Her Portfolio,
Whilst Sipping a Rather Nice Darjeeling Tea

Investments are what I advise—
Securities, CDs and such.
But mine, I think, show not so much
Sheer steady interest, constant rise.

I'm envious, you know, at best,
At your portfolio's return.
Its profit's one I cannot earn
Although I'd love help you divest

Of, at least, some little piece
Of such a round and healthy sum.
I'm your Fiduciary, Mum,
Your assets I'm pledged to increase.

So let me suggest stocks and bonds,
Especially some leather ones,
For even dreary times have tons
Of ways to wave wealth's Magic Wands.


.

Wonderful.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Dirty Twenty-seven

When our bodies rise
from their languorous lock,
none of our love dies.

Still within your thighs
feel the gentle rock,
when our bodies rise.

Solitude implies
absence yet the shock:
none of our love dies.

Days unwind in lies
of loneliness, no clock
sees our bodies rise

nor can hour devise
a halt to our relock.
None of our love dies

as nightly we revise
the crowing and the cock.
When our bodies rise,
none of our love dies.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

dirty twenty-eight

Monster in his moon suit plods
believing he treads, guards
a garden of dead blooms.

His howls are garbled in transmission--
they sound human, or nearly.
He extends his fat fingers

and women come to him, mistaking
him for a man, or better,
just because his suit is white

until they smell the shit inside it--
then he howls how insane
they are, throwing it at them.

I smile at them, guiltily. I'm sorry
I brought him here. Yes he did
that to me too. I'm sorry.

 

[wespeak]

20

Describing the Dream
(still in a bit of rough shape, especially after accidentally deleting it and having to recreate it! )

My red overnight
bag floats on undertone, on color cast
that is cold, like a drowning
reed. My red
overnight bag holds green,
and cloth,
softness,
shapes
in pyrite. Security,
my fingers reach

as it drifts.
You are there: Savior,
Sadist, Sir,
Sun.

"The white boat!"
But the white boat is weathered,
its underbelly
cloudward.

I wade far from you, clinging
to thin trunk. Big bear
comes for me
beneath God's big

slumber sky.
Red overnight bag sleeps
on the river's bed.