The Rose Between My Hips – My Other Lips

My pussy folds its lips around your dick’s circumference like a closed rose with muscles behind
folded petals circumscribe to your vibe, grasping you inside
slide against hidden folds of flesh, mold to mold
velvet soft texture
probing finger defined by pussy trembles contracts
Each quiver entices deeper
I wonder if the men who enter me feel as lucky as I do to explore
Smooth ribbed wet crevices inside
Titillate my senses –
Sometimes I don’t understand how men’ll do anything for a bitch
I get an itch to explore that witch inside
If I’m deprived too long
I want to shout eat me out
Do cunnilingus until your face turns blue
Sex is entertaining
– I’m not much at abstaining
from my sex domain
Can’t contain my appetite and stamina
My pussy is unconstrained and untrained
after you eat me out let me take you for deep love ride
Stop slowing the thrust of your penis when I need faster
and closer
Put your nine in there and stop whining about a deadline
Just relax and give me head we’re already on the bed
make me come before I die of boredom
I like extended sexual orgasms
You say let’s watch the moon rise
And remind me to use the astroglide
You say you’re looking for a deeper thrill,
I say my pussy’s tight and talk about skill
You come back with words of love
And hold out the astroglide for a smooth love ride
I say my pussy loves dick better than soul food
You get unglued I speak in taboos you get shrewd
Talk about how it’s soft wet and firm all at once
Perchance parlance your preference is my wet pussy

Welfare’s Still A Bitch

Back in the day I burned loquacious at welfare’s fair hearings
But soon I learned that when you went to your worker you only speak when you’re spoken to
Everything will be held against you
And twice more if you’re white
You’ll be accountable for every damn penny you didn’t spend
How dare you go to Columbia University on our money
You’ll see white bitch hoe
Now I'm at the welfare center again
I’m still the only white one there
thank god it’s not for me I wait here
I watch as everyone demands entitlements
They have their appointments - will not leave with disappointment
The brothers and sisters and me we see others get special treatment
waiting on names and numbers to be called
Liars - they say first come first served but everything seems stalled
I want mine and I want it now - Latinos and Blacks uprising.
The guards are watchful but do nothing
Those who yell loudest – their workers came out and usher them through glass doors to get what’s theirs
they come back smiling
After that it didn’t quiet down till the room emptied out
After they all got what was coming to them
I wish it had been like that for me
I fought at so many fair hearings
To get my claims accepted back in the day
Each time I recertified they cut my food stamps to zero
If you’re white you get less
if you’re Jewish it’s double less because you know all those jews are rich they don’t come from any Warsaw ghettos and it’s a damn lie any of them were killed in any fucking holocaust

those kikes are Fucking Christ killers is what they are
heard it all my life
A voice inside my head
Each way I turn
Sometimes I forget who I am

And it all comes rushing home like a river overflowing with leaves silt memories
Someone will bring it home to me no matter how long I live

Ladies and Gentlemen: we’ve gone back in time to the 60’s – prejudice crackles like fire in the air.

We need to get our heads turned back to the streets to take back what’s rightfully ours

We need we need we need – medical care money a place to live and survive
So sad - right back at you with the blues tonight

The Time IS Coming ...

They say the time is coming in my lifetime. I want a revolution but there’s not quite enough desperation yet although everyone’s in a state of exasperation – I get the impression through open discussion that there’s been no preparation for any revolution. Our great nation under direction of a new world order. I’d like promotion of peace to be the solution to the problem and I try my best to add my contribution to the plate.

I wonder how we’ll have peace without a fight for our rights? They’re not gonna give us what’s ours because they want it and they got the power. At first I thought the new world order was a joke, with the growing euro the new world order is a threat to our economy.

Puppets run our government. You tell me how many of the current run of presidents emerged from the slums or city streets?

We’ve never even had a Jewish president and probably never will.

Global warning is a conspiracy? That’s what your government wants you to believe. How can all the harm we cause our mother do her no ill? We pull her insides out – all her hidden jewels and resources and tell me this doesn’t affect our earth?

You stop drinking your one large cup of coffee everyday and tell me you feel nothing?

Everything is connected somehow – is it free will or coincidence? I like to meld between the two.

Do you think there are no connections or is it all random selection?

Gehinnon is only 12 months not eternity like for Christians and you have to do so something unforgivably bad – some big sin that most of us won’t do I like to think so anyway

I keep promoting peace in spite of people telling me revolution is blowing in the wind

Caught in a tailwind spin, we’re all blind on a work grind, and stabbed from behind. Everyone knows being taxed this way is illegal and was meant for corporate America not us poor working class shmucks who can barely pay our rent.

view of washington heights in NYC on a snow day

Shirk A Hard Day’s Work

Night filled with red light energy from softly lit candles all aglow
Smell the spell of delight, a complimentary southern belle
Cell phone perfect in my sight, a knight without his armor – it’s worth another write
No sense being polite when I’m shaking with stage fright
Uptight dwelling in resort new york, my crash pad my quarters my crib
Just because I’ve been a good little soldier all these years doesn’t mean I wasn’t tired of it
Let loose is what I say
As the intruder compels me to my computer
I have the link whaddaya think?
the living never run out of to do's,
only the dead do, got to keep up with the joneses – no flaccidity only morbidity
run the washing machine with some caffeine sprinkle of morphine
I wasn't here - brought the cats to get them care
If you go to jail don’t depend on me for the bail
My new york voice jams with music for free provided by gcast puts me on blast
Hark the herald angels sing – glory to a newborn king
I left my grad degree in Tennessee for all the good it does me
I had my first degree from the school of hard knocks
I’m not suicidal – my life’s a tidal wave – I’m a matinee idol who’s homicidal
My crows’ feet don’t impress, I’ve lost the scent as I bless the winter cress and pray for a stress less success to reassess I won’t confess – I’ll digress again
My bridal suite awaits, no more tweets, it’s not a balance sheet of vanilla velvet draperies
My new wedding dress, the press release went out yesterday
The ring's a perfect fit – diamonds are a girl’s best friend
The noblesse requests to attend, progress to a soft caress, a recess to excess, suppress the acrid taste of fecundity laced with equal parts serendipity and alacrity, laudably posted digested and vested accessibility perhaps a touch of civility blended with acceptability
The North Star, a bright white light providing the spark to find my way home in the dark

ADVANCING ON SATORI

Been waiting all night 

to hear your poetry, I said 

You’re that beat generation 

spewin that heat and light

Pure energy, that scene 

You were on the bus or off it 

I should’ve been there 

with ya’ all back then 

You were hardly born then, you answered 

probably just born in tha sixties 

No, I said, I could’a been there 

I was born in ‘50 

I shoulda’ been there 

But somehow I never went anywhere 

I admit it tho, 

I wanted to Be On The Road. 

And one day I almost took 

The Electric Kool Aid Acid Test 

But on that day, I was absent from life. 

I should’a been there 

But somehow I never went anywhere 

I cud tell you sometime, ya said 

why you never went anywhere 

You, with your omnipotent self 

How would you know anyway? 

I wondered, Did ya really know 

why I never left home? 

It was a prison 

     built of fear 

         loneliness 

             emptiness and despair 

I never had a life 

A child’s needs unmet 

never given what I longed for 

I couldn’t have what wasn’t there 

Fuck it, I’ll say it, it was 

     abuse, neglect 

     comes in so many forms 

        eats away your self esteem 

Made me weak, 

     slow, scared to go 

Robbed me of my faith, 

     my soul, my glow 

My inner harmony, 

     my sanctity 

     my sanity

I was a prisoner of fear, 

     a prisoner of war. 

I met you, read your sixties words 

your suffuse charm 

emanating from your Hobo soul 

I wanted to possess your poetry 

    your style 

         the 60’s and the 70’s 

         poetry of hope 

         An air of romance 

         a taste of escape 

A breath of fresh air 

     from a smog-filled street 

     the smoke and stink 

     rising slowly like gases 

     from the filthy pavement 

I was a prisoner of war 

Your words bring back the time ... 

Words like book, crib, jibe 

a stone’s throw away 

the sun low-fives the trees 

God damn! Your words excite me 

    Sex talk, like poontang, tallywhacker. 

    Wow man, I never heard it, 

But it’s cool, I understand it. 

Your blatantly primitive lust 

your licentious eyes

devouring me 

Staring at my sagging breasts 

cruising over my body 

    smoothly, 

as though it were highway 59 

Resting on my nipples 

    tingling 

like a jellied door buzzer 

my fallen butt and 

orange peel thighs 

Only served to fuel your lust 

my allure waved strong 

snagged by your naked desire, 

    your lust 

as you gorged on my scent 

teasing my libido 

A test in trust 

Your tongue flicked against your upper lip 

What’re ya’ havin’ babe, ya’ said 

No thanks, refused the drink 

Been waitin all night to hear your poem 

a moment abundant with heat 

stifling humidity 

complaints about intensity 

panties clinging damply 

Unbearable, prolonged 

I want to hear the poem 

my date languishing in time Y

our glass passed to my hand 

Contact, your eyes implored 

    lust and soul 

Give me sixties or give me death 

symbols of peace, 

Baby you’ve got heart, 

Go with the flow 

no looking back 

no sorrows or regrets 

resolute to recreate 

a life renewed

reincarnate 

more chances to fulfill the goal 

Don’t hesitate 

Go on! Get on the road 

Don’t worry if the bus is full 

Symmetry of faith 

advancing on satori 

will get you there 

    explore, 

search for more 

no more prisoners of war 

First published in 1995 in Grist on Line one of the first online poetry mags that came into being. At that time several people accused me of being a "post modernist" and I had no idea what that was so or more importantly who it included. I immediately began reading post modernists to understand what I was being accused of.  I couldn't format this right for blogger but on the linked version above, the formatting is correct. This poem is a throwback to the sixties generation

PSYCHIC ABILITIES, PART 1

Both parents had psychic abilities,
I’ve come to see it runs in my family
this ability now passed on to me
I’ve always seen what will come to be
I see people on the other side to say goodbye
In death I’ll meet family once more -
My sister came in a dream to me the night she slipped away
I saw her sixteen again. Farewell Georgette
Shaking her finger scolding me with scalding anger
Although religious she neglected Jewish mores
turned from temple’s door,
In death, she’s left behind her miseries, her disease
I hear her voice lingers on a sweet breeze
I wait to hear her eternally
once again we’ll meet - our destiny

recent reading at La Pregunta

Thanks to Marilyn Thomas King for hosting La Pregunta and a kick ass show. Thanks to Dean Washington for videotaping. Thanks Fred Arcoleo, accompanying on guitar.

Life's Work

I don’t want to work another day
Hear people talk behind my back and say
I don’t work as hard as I ought to
I left early - got caught - lied and said I was in the library
after the children left
My work was done
Why should I stay
Bereft by 3 pm each day
driven to exasperation
complaints follow me
I came late I leave early
They tell me talk to Thomas who is 5, a year older than the others in his class. He picked up a chair and threw it somewhere. Luckily it hit no one. I could talk to him till I’m blue in the face.
Thomas needs to be in a special setting I'm betting they want some magic answer
They tell me call his mother get her in here
The mother comes in
cigarette dangling from her lips she says what can I do I have to go to work I have to make money. The espresso with milk she sips matching her own brown color, a drop drips down her chin
Downcast eyes
She patiently repeats I have to go to work, I have a family of 4 to support
she's got to hold down the fort, it's not for sport -
tomorrow she's got to go to court, she says- and that's another day lost
I have to pay my bills, what time can I go to my job
working working I talk about Thomas
She shakes her head - she doesn't know what to do
I pray I cry for me and others
I want to live free - I watch her sip her coffee, a cold winter day
My energy dissipates I anticipate our fate, acclimate to
another day, another school, a 15 year old girl is hearing voices, she’s afraid of someone in her head, a neighborhood Santera
A plethora of voices in her head make her scream
I hold her head to allay her pain told her to imagine a beam of white light, God supreme protecting her
no one else knew what to do
So they brought her to me, grateful they said Friday was their day for me
She held my hand and prayed
using strange erratic and loud routines
I told her she’d be ok, I'd keep the demons at bay
told her the saints she prayed to would help her
teachers and students were scared they were glad I was there
They called EMS tell me
I should take the girl no one knew was psychotic to the hospital
They called her parents
I got in the ambulance with her
They were afraid she’d go ballistic again is why they asked me to go with her.
At the hospital they say she was only calm with me cause I entered her world so perfectly
Helped her hold on for hope, played her band-aid, her nursemaid
There are times when there’s no place to go but inside someone's head
join them inside to guide them, I do it so easily it’s because I too am crazy
I long for the american dream - as we glide downstream in my capable hands
my sensibilities attacked by another breaker wave
It’s hard out here for a social worker

Poetry of Pounds

My pounds circled me like a shadow of darkness
I wore them like a protective shield
They accompanied me everywhere I turned; I carried them
A labor of self- hate evolving from my prison
Longing to be free from weight and worry
Pounds surrounding and grounding me holding my spirit
Hostage within the layers of fat,
so t’was fate on November 5th
When Mongo insisted we’d enjoy Gay Poetry Night
& I met the love of my life

These pounds were faithfully gained, a labor of distaste which at the time was resentful
I didn’t do it for me – I did it for him but in the end it killed both of us
These pounds were gained over time; it took a decade for me to begin to emerge again
These pounds were made for sitting watching TV and eating,
They weren’t meant to see the world
They weren’t made to write poetry prophetically or prolifically
These pounds were made to enslave and hold captive
They did their job well

Suddenly I was hired for a new job
Recently retired, all the time in the world
The position offered no benefits or pay only love, sex, & inspiration
Would you take that job? I did

Someone saw beneath the layers of fat shielding my spirit
I saw myself in his vision, and began to shed pounds
A different me began to emerge from my shell
I stand before thee and thee and thee and thee
Judge me no more – and go the way of the pounds I discard


© Joy Leftow 2007