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Thursday, June 5th 2008

4:35 PM

The F*ck Poem by Hilary Hancock

The content on this web page is not to be reused or reprinted without permission of the writer and The Lipstick Pages.



Image courtesy of www.angryflower.com.

The Fuck Poem (or For David)

I am not a prude.
Rest assured, I fuck.
**Gasp**
Thats right, I fuck.
And not only do I fuck,
But I also have sex, sleep with and make love.

So if I am not fucking, having sex, sleeping with or making love to
you-
It isn't because I'm "waiting"
I'm not
It isn't because I don't know you that well
I do
And it certainly isn't because I'm a tease.
If I'm not sleeping with you,
it is because I don't WANT to.

Do not delude yourself into thinking that I am some kind of goddess
That can't find 20 minutes to come down off her pedestal and fuck you!

And while we're on the subject
The same goes for my time.
You're right
I can't be *that* busy.
Although I am one fuckin' busy girl,
If I liked you, I would make time for you.
As much as women needed to hear the sage advice
I think you need to hear it to:

So please, stop
And consider the possibility
That... I'm just not that into you.

Now stop whining.
Stop telling me I'm not paying enough attention to you,
And for your self respect's sake,
Stop accepting less than everything you want!

If I am not laying out the sexual buffet of your dreams followed by
molten chocolate cake
Covered in sprinkles of romance and emotional attachment that you
desire so deeply--
Move on!
This kitchen, is fresh out of sprinkles
And I am not the only fish in the sea...

Why am I the one who has to tell you this?

You are a catch, for sure
But you were not what I cast my lure for
And thus, I release you back into the deep
to be caught by someone who can appreciate what they have
better than I

You see I, sir, am not hunting
I am gathering.
I am gathering stories and scars
Bar tabs too big and nights too small
I am gathering training-wheel mistakes mixed with tight-rope-walk successes
And personalities perfectly poised on the verge of self-destruction
just for the fun of it.

I am collecting pictures and tokens to fill the scrap book of my skin
So that when all the other gals in the nursing home
Complain about that their white picket fence was always dirty
And their good for nothing 2.5 never visit anymore
I can lift my moo-moo to my knees and show them the starting point
Of a map that leads to a road less traveled.

So I'm not going to say I'm sorry;
'Cause I'm not.
Here there is nothing to be sorry for
And I'm not going to pretend that it breaks my heart
Because I respect you more than that.
Instead I will kiss you scales
Remove the hook from your mouth
And release you.

Hilary Hancock

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Monday, June 2nd 2008

4:24 PM

Daytona and Other Poems by Puppet P. Noisemaker

The content on this web page is not to be reused or reprinted without permission of the writer and The Lipstick Pages.





Shawna Robinson - Winston Cup (NASCAR.com)


Daytona

Wandering around.

I am barefoot in the parking lot

of this shitty motel.

Sounds of vehicles swooshing by, and

I close my eyes to feel the Sun burning my

pale skin.

The Ocean’s tide begins to roll in

and out

rolls in

and out

in and

out

in

and out.

Pigeons fly by one after another

leaving marks like seagulls would.

They fly in circles swooping

in and

out and in

and out

in, out, in and out

and into formation.

Under the stars

one after another they fall.


In the back seat of your Impala--

Our motions of sex mimicked the Ocean’s tide.

Our hands fumble in the dark

Eventually finding their way.

salty skin

sweet lips

tastes from our tongues

rolling in and out

in and out

in

and

out…

The heat from the sun triggers effects of experimentations.

Conciseness questionable.


By Puppet P. Noisemaker



Discontinuity


Wandering around

Sweat glistening;

Westward skies glow like the demise of Rome,

Oil rigs and windmills in distant

How strange is the sun light

Feet beat the drums of mans existence

This farm not only grows food

The perfectly symmetrical maze

I was drinking with Johnson’s grandmother

I sat in the airport in a foreign land and waited for my flight home.

I take the same road to work every morning.

Tom must have been a genius

We both knew the truth

Looking out the window into the darkness

Fall of 1983, I was 9 years old.


Puppet P Noismaker



Nostalgic


I sit around typing in my underpants--

scratching the dog with my foot to appease morning barks.

All of these habitual rituals are what keep me from slipping

back to the place I was before we met

when I stayed up all night and slept all day—

drinking cheap whiskey from the bottle and riding my bicycle through the city drunk

and alone—

Lover after lover I lost.

One, two, three, to heroin and number four to the Mormons…

Oh those Mormons!

Broken hearted and unable to breathe--

You met me unexpectedly.

My hair was a mess and I was on too much ecstasy-

I said I loved you and you remembered.

And all the rest…

History.


Puppet P Noisemaker



Untitled


Dogs will fight over your remains

just like Jesus.

They will pick you apart with your words.

Manipulate your works

Until they become politically correct.

Cash-in on your beauty.

design suits with your doings to fit their lives.

Claim that they knew you—

yet never broke bread with you.

Place their words on your tongue

And then swear to god that it is what you said—

Swear to god this is what you would do.

Swear to god that it is what you would want.


Everything that you stood for

will have been wasted.

Until all that there is left --

is their interpretation of your love.


Puppet P Noismaker


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Friday, May 30th 2008

1:58 PM

7 Poems (1996-2000) by Janet Hammer

The content on this web page is not to be reused or reprinted without permission of the writer and The Lipstick Pages.


7 Poems (1996-2000) by Janet Hammer


1.

I’m looking for you in a dust storm

Sand cuts my eyes

Like tiny razors

I reach out to touch you

Wind rips tiny tears

In my skin

I call out to you

Dirt fills my throat

Heavy in my stomach

I can almost see you

Standing in the shade

A beer in hand

Smile on your face

Laughing

And waving goodbye.


Jeh

3/00


2.

I imagine myself

Faraway from my surroundings

Staring at a fountain

Full of Lily pads

A frog atop each one

The frogs see me

Staring at them

Knowing

That I’m not really there at all

They are singing

A lovely froggy courting song

To the girly frogs

In an adjacent fountain

The frogs pair off

Singing together

I, back in my chair

Smile silently to myself

Thinking of the tadpoles to come.


Jeh


6/99



3.

Reclining in a chair

Drinking the days go by

Daydreaming about you

The sun lays on me like a blanket

Phantom caresses

Pass over my shoulders

Sending chills down my spine

I almost see you

But it’s just a ghost of my emotions

It’s just me and this beer

No one else

My friends all sick of my ramblings

But I can’t blame them

I am too.


Jeh


8/99


4.

I saw a man on the bus

He looked right through me

Like a dirty window pane

I noticed some dried food on his shirt

It looked like pizza

He talked to himself

In hurried and hushed words

The thoughts seemed important

As I sat back and tried to ignore him

I heard one last sentence

“I loved her damnit, I loved her”


jeh

7/96


5.

He stares at me with bloodshot eyes

We tell jokes between drinks

Always drinking

We gaze at each other

Across tables filled with empty glasses

I know what thoughts he has

A secret language spoken

Involving brief looks,

Misguided gestures,

Short and small kisses

We stumble along

Holding hands

Listening to a world moving around us

We go on, side by side, every day

Never knowing

This could be our last

But we know we’re lucky

So we hold tightly to each other

Just hoping

That this time

Our luck doesn’t run out.


Jeh

5/99


6.

The lights in the sky are fading

Spreading like butter

On a hot frying pan

The reflection of the sun

On the water of the river

Like a penny in a fountain

On child’s wish

Never to be told

It could involve this place

This moment

These skies

Like a painting in a museum

This is only a moment

One out of a million

And at which point I die

So it does also.


Jeh

8/99


7.

I can’t stay anymore

Somewhere on this dirty street

Another bar is waiting

Shiny bottles

With different colors of liquid

Whispering my name

I’m not the only one who hears

Because if you notice

You’re never alone in a bar

Even open only one minute

There are already three others

Eagerly awaiting

The most sacred of fluids

Ever the after work crowd

Practically slashes throats

For a spot in the front

So you see, I can’t stay anymore

Because somewhere

Out there

Is the drink

That understands me.


Jeh


3/00




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