Fixed beneath a red light
the padding of feet encased
in cheap leather and heels
that click with clock accuracy
smoke trails beauty, though
none is found in seedy street
corners, and brilliance is only
apparent in those that chuckle softly
at propositions not to their liking
trap that clutches victims
of self inflicted parasitical revenues
blindfolded morals travel leggy investments
that hurry encounters in minutes...
less time is less money spent;
while regret sits in the backseat
and laughs a malicious sound
tangles the night with it's
rank breath, and teases until
it becomes it's own prey
pretty girls are no use
in a courtesan's trade
fluff dies quickly, replaced
by gritty blonde encased shells
and those that remain to breathe
are of those whose numbers exceed
attainable dreams, life dies quickly
in back alley, and everyone
counts luck in pennies.
Author notes
Written March 31st, 2006
A contest entry
- A Poetry Contest VI by -BlackKnight-.
400 points, ended April 6, 2006, 9 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - -x-Whore-x- by xxRainbowDawnxx.
550 points, ended June 20, 2007, 22 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
1 - 16 of 16
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ahhh yes but this night would not be my choice if I was to be there, which I am glad I am not to be. I like the standing starting stanza and the final one.
x -
Look at all these wonderful comments - I guess I picked a winner...
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Dark subject but bright imagry and lucid consistency of message. The idea of beauty being wated and being replaced by gritty encased shells is quite excellent poetry. Well diercted at this subject. This subject comes so cheap, yet this is rich - images thrown around like M & M's melt in your mouth - random but well spoken. A winner.
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Ah, I see. That makes sense. We are alike in a great many ways then. A part of my family (and the one I grew up around primarily, as well)were actual prostitues, drug dealers, jail bait, domestic violence abusers or lived in it, alcoholism and so on and so forth. No one escaped... but me. No drugs, no smoking, no drinking. Though I don't know why. We all knew it was wrong, I don't know why I didn't. Maybe I just couldn't stand them, or the way they looked, who knows. Anyways, they kept away from me anyways, I was violently mean, aggressive and I never spoke. (after I hit my teens, before than, I just keep in dark corners and never spoke) Everyone stayed the hell away from me, out of fear. No one knew what I was really capable of, but they had a good idea...
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Ah... the life of a whore. The irritation is deeper than just the prositution of something that should be cherished (and I use prostition in a general sense, not just selling sex). Story time ( and I can relate this through comment as no one hardly ever visits my work unless featured, except for select few)...
I grew up mainly around my father's family, though I hated them. Had to put up with them until adulthood, though... so I made the best of it. My grandmother is normal for her generation... married young, had children, was faithful even when her husband wasn't. Good old fashion morals, I guess. Though, from her daughters down... every female in that family is a "slut/whore"... hell, even the men are, in ways. Moralless. My aunts are good old fashioned sluts. Would spread their legs for anyone, and anything. Free rent, groceries, hell, a babysitter at times. You name it.
I overheard someone (I was young... the faces faded, but the words never did) that the grandchildren (females, there was three of us) were destined to follow the same path. We (of course I was grouped in) were all expected to become what the previous generation was. And true to it, my two female cousins (and some males) followed those footsteps perfectly. Both cousins are in the triple digits with men (and women)... have sold themselves on corners and in bars, for free stuff that doesn't amount to shit, really.
I refused. I wasn't going down that road, I wasn't going to prove two idiots right... and haven't. Though it has soured me to the life that those other relatives lead, and others who, I believe, go the easy way. It doesn't take any skills to spread legs, nor intelligence. While some are forced into it by life situations... and to each their own... the people I know do it mainly because that is who they are. Nothing more.
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Yeah, I did gather that the concept of a whore's life, causes you great irritation. Though my real curiousity is in the 'why' it gets to you so much. It bothers me to, the pointlessness of the acts that should be so full of meaning but are stripped, really gets to me. But I suspect your reason is a little more specific.
And don't get me wrong, I don't mind if you write more. I just didn't score you as high, because I read one very similar not to long ago. But your wording, meter and structure was great, and that was proven by your bronze (contrats!). So don't misunderstand. And yes, I do think we tend to cling to the very words that we can stand the least. The must really dig into us hard, right?
You saw your 'impersonal' poems tend to be about women and for a very personal reason. I find that interesting. I would like to know the why. And though I can always guess, again, I think it's something truly specific to a life experience you had.
I wouldn't say that your poetry all sounds the same, but there are pieces that are clearly closely knit sisters. But I believe that to be do, that the issue that is within in, that made you write it in the first place, is still so fresh in wound, that you can't let it go. If you were to resolve it, I think the content would entirely disappear from your work. So it might be useful as an indicator for you?
Edited on Apr 07, 6:40 because ''. -
LOL Yep. One of my little 'obsessions' are whores and people who cheapen their bodies with multiple meaningless encounters with people who fade at morning light into a number. It's a personal thing, actually. Long story, but odd in it's own little way.
There shall probably be more, though.
I've noticed that we all have words that have special treatment by us. It's odd that the words you mentioned are the ones that I dislike the most... whore (red light being a part of that), cheap, and regret. Maybe not so much the words, but the acts behind them.
Another thing, if you notice with my writing, is that I tend to stear towards females... I center most of my writes (the unpersonal ones) towards women and their lives... that, too, is a personal reason.
But yeah... sometimes I'll go through my own collection and think of how they all sound the same. Connected in ways I didn't think of while writing. And some wonder why I get burned out, and go through periods when I can't think of a thing to write.
Nope, no foot fetish. Even my poor feet are neglected. Ugly little suckers.
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Holy mother... How far have I fallen behind in your work? I came on here... and had to hit 'more' to go far enough back. And the sad part? I don't even remember where I've been or what I've been doing, to not have reviewed... That can't be good.
Anyways, I guess this is where I left off. I had thought that I reviewed this, but I don't see anything. So I guess I was wrong.
I'm glad to see you made it into this contest. I wanted to play, but I just didn't have anything that would fit, while it was open and by the time I did, it was already closed, and I was too out of it, to harass him to let me in, like I usually do. (though he probably gets a kick out of that)
You know what I noticed about at lot of peoples work (my own included) that I read regularly? We all have certain trigger words that make often into our poetry. We can't seem to let them go. I wonder what that says about our pysche. Not that we aren't original, but certain words sneak in a lot. Like for you, you love the words 'red light' and 'whore' and 'cheap' and 'regret'. You lick all the salt of those words! LMAO
You know, I make a game of looking for them now, don't you? And, as much as you hate feet, you're always talking about those too...
I don't know chica... Maybe you really do have a foot fetish. Unlike you, I love feet and always keep mine painted red. (though they're pale as a ghost and look like they belong on a cadaver... ~ahem~ )
This one, I'd give a '6'. It's written well, but you wrote a incredibly similar piece, subject and all, not to long ago. So that's why. It's 'average'. Not bad though, I just love your 'non-licking' creativity. But I did like that one line:
~~pretty girls are no use
in a courtesan's trade~~
This one is sadly too true, in more than the courtesan's trade... -
Excellent
A very intense write. Excellent investments in "momentary" flashes of visions. Truly very moving and memorable. Good luck in the contest. -
This is a brilliant write as always...
"pretty girls are no use
in a courtesan's trade
fluff dies quickly, replaced
by gritty blonde encased shells
and those that remain to breathe
are of those whose numbers exceed
attainable dreams, life dies quickly
in back alley, and everyone
counts luck in pennies."
I wish I could express myself half as well as you...Good luck in the contest...
Lynda
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The line "life dies quickly in the back alley" is right on target and profound. I think this is one of your best! I really enjoyed the description and the grit in this poem while not being condemning of characters.
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The images work and the story unfolding works. I had a little difficulty as I could read from one line into another as if they were the same line. I am unsure if this was intentional or not.
A clever write that would appear above my intellect today
Thank you for sharing. -
good one
oh plenty to ponder over some nice lines and images ....workd for me -
Brilliant... true beauty is replaced my cheap plasticness that emulates what was once there. lost in too many bitter days! We written
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very raw and realistic , touching on every aspect of such a life that somehow fell between the cracks
pretty girls are no use
in a courtesan's trade
fluff dies quickly, replaced
by gritty blonde encased shells
unfortunately the above lines are seldom thought about while the pretty has not faded yet Well worth my time reading , and best wishes in the contest,
reenie
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Regret becomes it's own prey??? Interesting concept, and it has me thinking, but I'm pretty sure I'm not going to buy it on face value. Otherwise, the imagery is strikingly vivid, and I can buy into luck counted in pennies, if one doesn't count the price otherwise paid. So your point is well taken.
Your read speed and texture is uncommonly good for this type of poetry.
Overall, whether I buy the package or not, you went for it, and that matters. You painted a picture, drew on your reader's emotions and offered meaning at a subliminal level. And overall you pretty much pulled it off. I appreciate writers that challenge me to see, feel and think. Nice job.
Peace,
~RJ~
Disclaimer:
Just my humble opinion....your opinions may differ. Although side effects of agreement are generally mild, projectile vomiting, sexual side effects (involving sheep), sudden death or more serious reactions have been reported in rare cases. If symptoms persist consult your thesaurus.
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