your night of pleasure…

 

the chains
that bind her to this bed
are not part
of some
fantasy role-playing game
though
she
is
offered
for
your entertainment
you
must understand
this is
my
business
her chains
are as real
as the chains
that bind you
to the prostitutional bed
of your career
the difference being
as a pimp
i get
a lower
percentage
than
yours

During the next few days, I will be on holiday…yes again…so I will be posting very few comments on your blogs…however I shall continue to post new poems here and hope that you will enjoy them.  Until then, cheers!

none of my business…

Image by Malia Autio

well
now you know
i’m not one to talk
and lord knows
i cannot tolerate
people who run around
spreading stories
but
may lee
the woman who does my nails
said her cousin
who works with her
was having a hissy fit
about how hard it was
to get into the daughters of
of the revo
was it the french revolution
or the german revolution
i just can’t remember right now
but i’ll recall it in a minute
so there they were at the gym
naked as a bluejay in the sauna
and her cousin says
she had eye surgery
no not lazec
plastic surgery
so she wouldn’t have those
chinese eyes
as she calls them
well then she says
she found these old documents
in the attic of the house
that proved her great great great grandfather
had fought for the winning side
of some war somewhere
so she got to be
ah
oh yes
now i recall
one of the daughters of the
illusion of success

roxanne….

this one
was
going to be
young
that’s what
he had been promised
so he hurried
through dinner
made the usual
claims
about business
being a hard fought game
so he
had
to play it
at all hours
even though
he hated to
so excused himself
from his life
leaving his family
wife
and children
and headed downtown
picked up the keys
as usual
for the room
from the pimp
ascended the narrow stairs
again
in this by-the-hour motel
opening the door
stretched out before him
was
a young
teenager
his
daugther

hands of the begger….

outside the hotel
at nightfall
sat a woman
in a door way
of a closed shop
sitting alone in the night
on this half deserted street
at the gates of the medina
where earlier hundreds
moved with purpose
to lunch appointments
closing business deals
gathering wealth
like bees gather honey
but now they were home
warm and sheltered from the night
but she
she has come out
as if embarrassed to be seen
in the light of day
asking for alms
for her generation
did not do so lightly
only in dire need
would one make such a request
and once no one would have refused
such a call for mercy
for they understood what courage it took
to make such a request
but things are modern now here in tunis
and many do not recall such acts of bravery
but i a foreigner understood this
for i have read their history
and so as i place the coin
into her warm hand
she grasp mine with hers
and i was blessed ten fold

he ain’t gonna change…

i have been watching that old nebraska farmer for years
that old man ain’t gonna change
hell 
when i said that there’s a stop sign on that corner now
he said
i was here before the stop sign
his whole existence  reminds me of black elk speaks
and if you ain’t read it
get on the web honey
cuz i ain’t got time to walk you through it
just trust me
it’s worth the time
anyway
as i was saying
this old fool keeps doing
the same old thing
like he was part of the federal government
each year we have a drought
each year he digs the well deeper
like he was borrowing money for a war
from some foreign government
just to keep his hemp crop growing
well i tried to tell him
hemp ain’t used for rope no more
but he won’t listen
and he just keeps digging the well deeper
making a hemp ladder to get him to the bottom of the well
and when the feds showed up
to talk to him
well
he was gone
i saw a hemp rope at the well
and a hell of-a-lot of smoke
but it’s none of my business
cuz
things gotta change

This poem was inspired by John at http://everchangingperspective.wordpress.com/