Life all around us

Welcome to Urban poems. Real life. Real words. Poetic flow.

25 November, 2010

Wednesday’s Girl

Lips parted, poised
Whispering over the noise
Heart on sleeve
Cleavage released
Watch the rise and fall
Of glowing breasts
Visible beneath see-through vest
Trying to regulate breath.
Adjust expectations
Avoid undue exasperations
When hopes of deep love
Are replaced with only Wednesday night
Love in a glove 

Deep in the seat of expression
Lies the lesson
Betraying the blessing
As bounteous bodies pressed
Removing clothes
Baring souls and arses
Passion flows. Love passes
Through veins
All in vain. As his intent
Is for pleasure.  Much to her pain.
Her intent is for love
But she’s playing his game
And remains neutral to his advances
Instead she dances
The slow grind
Slow burn. 
Another lesson learned
And promptly forgotten
As wet drawers 
Wash away rational thought

He enters her state.
Warm, slippery, tight
Immediately contemplates his fate to night.
Fight or Flight?
Fight: Love and Stay?
Flight: Cum and go?
The former is tempting
The latter is the usual pattern
Latter wins.
Panting begins
Before she arrives
He’s gone!

Lips parted, poised.
He took the noise
On his departure
Breast swell, under the heavy spell
Of his ever fleeting nature.
She sighs
Tears sting eyes.
As she begins to realise
She’s just Wednesday’s vice.
He’s gone without a trace.
Next week.
Same time.
Same place.

Filthy Cash Money

Filthy cash money
Stains hands bloodied
From the menage game:
Gain. Stack. Churn.
Watch as morals burn
Holes in veins
Then stash cash in falsely named
Offshore estates.

The flies buzz round
As the stench rises
Causing a crisis
While naive money lovers
Hunger for inflated interest 
Free loans
Secured on homes
Where fiecies dipped papers
Can camouflage in designer pieces.
Children starve.
While nuclear arms
Bomb their houses.

A trillion dead Queens
And Presidents
Exchange hands
For a mother's sons life
On the oil-mine
Fighting on the front line
To secure more filthy
Cash, money

Why suffer when the 
Is in conflict diamonds
To drip off necks
And fingers
Not just of rap singers
But Hilton's daughters
In Senators quarters
Innocent women slaughtered
When caught with a diamond
In their love storage
Cavity search gets it back
Into the wrong hands
And forced entry to
Their vaginal tract.
That'll earn 'em!
But husbands will spurn them
Sell mothers and daughters 
Into Whiteman slavery
Won't put much food with his gravy.
The pimp will eat high off the hog
As he forces women to
Shake their ass to
Save his soul

Dirty.  Sexy.  Gold.
Gets sold, brought with filthy cash
Crisp, clean notes
In Gucci totes
To fund the airline industry.
Fly a mual in
Wait, while he passes out
The sin within
A latex skin
Get two kilos in
Street value
Two million  
Plus, a private jet
Better yet
A condo in Barbados
And a private education
At Eton
Or Harvard.
Old money escapes prisons
As a thirty storey glass building
Home to the hedge fund division,
Washing and rinsing
Filthy. Cash. Money. 

Status Junkie

Getting high on approval
Get your knees dirty for a
Better job title
Got a key of validation
Light the pipe of 
Where are you heading to'?
Grand Delusion Station?
Won't feel good unless
Somebody's blowing blue smoke
Into your Grand Anal.
Just one more hit please...
Give me a Pay-rise 
In exchange for family ties
A big toe on the next rung
In exchange for a young one
What!  My own office,
Six hundred and sixty six above street level?
Damn! I'll gift wrap my soul
And present it myself to the board of De'Vils
Status Junkie
Upgrade me to celebrity
Up-weight the arsenal
To obscure reality
While I  snort Fabulosity
And  shoot-up on  'licious