He's singing
Bergdorf Blonde
Conde Nast Traveller
Rude or ****
Explode Bombshells.
He's singing I'm getting
married
Such a Pushover puppet?

Slave over the silken magnet
Oh so swift and swell let
the show begins

Those ritual love sin's
Miss Polly String smile say cheese
He's the Maneater enticing grins
His Trump Tower bell?
Oh! Hello Poetry
People like twin packing
Playgirl smooching
her lips pillow talk

The puppet stalk
their suitcases, but surprisingly
she falls down and trips
Play up your string's
Love act of rings
Her killer lace went into his face.
They all had a puppet inside.

A daredevil ride
Nowhere to hide
Las Vegas Nevada,
Like no other place.
She was in her prime
Diva,
Donna so Dollie, he had
a craving bank her they all
had to thank him
The foursome the Follie's
Do him
Torn to be so trendy
Such a spendy

Walmart of walnuts
Two amazing dollies
She's the magazine of
Italian Fendi.
Pulling her hair more flair
The whole shebang cashew's
Pushed by his split so
picky pecans.
How it went to her
Big little liar nephew's.
Like puppet curfews
  Hello, Poetry New.
The white wedding blue's
Magnifying big lip's.
He needed a Holly-doll
The next clue?
Silk strings taped up
That puppet took a mighty
long trip...

Did I say plastic puppet is real porcelain skin faces?

Playgirl's cries needed
a dominating diet
Hefner smoking jacket suit

What a demonstration,
pulling on hemming mini
skirt trims chances
dangerously slim
So condemning
caused a riot.
The other crowd what
Oscar Meyer Wiener.
Going to the Vet doggie collar he
was tied to be fit silk suit
Las Vegas show trainers.
Who got caught with the puppet
Honey tricked peanut butter playgirl
Puppet show went all hobbit
over "Twitter" mixed whirl
        
What a nut sometimes you feel
like a nut
sometimes you won't and she
knows you don't

The rest going to H---.
Must I B dreaming?

He's singing I'm your puppet man,
Elephant nose cleaned out the planter's
Such a big spender and tipper.
Brooklyn his name Lucas @ the circus!

Like a physic knows your inner thoughts,
hanging on a string.
Everything that comes out of his mouth is two!

I have a puppet surfing the internet
wrapped her around
Felt an undercurrent_ it was
like pieces of glass
soundproof,
his crafty fingers.

Is he doing the best he can?

He's pulling her madly
Puppet computer search
Penny the dreadful
He expects us to jump when
he's oversexed active
looking for his puppet chair,
in the back.
A ****-day puppet!
He's the pig face twilight zone
muppet's
Well doing the can-can two
Playgirl's
hit the fan
The puppets became
the Gentleman

  Playgirl's shuffling "Rose" deck
   Hollywood screen bedding
    Puppets skillful  making

        The Poem Day.
         Puppets pray
         String cheese display

Obsessed stories Puppets.

Playgirl's color gypsy Rose Leah  
Miss Natalie from the woods preach
Silken Marionette.  
So wrapped like someone's gift
But used thrifty bed
He's in his red-hot Corvette.
Instead of roses, his thing french brie
Stock market up and away tie
I rather have my pasta bow-ties
Swiss, the air she's the playgirl
  Swiss Alp's skiing
he ripped his pant's Swiss Alps hole.
Marilyn Monroe playgirl presidential
dancing on the Christmas pole
Love tropic Pineapple dole
  The bed red hot Corvette. console

Instead of roses, his thing was cheese.
"So Swiss" with holes of lace my face
I hate to burst your cheese,
He dragged his shirt open

Twice the fun playgirl she eloped
I became his string cheese pet!!
I'm not your string cheese.
Hello Godzilla, puppet collection
Bella bella Genie mozzarella

"Puppet overpriced sales
All your friends are a puppet male.
Make a wish blowfish

In all the year how I tracked men's nuts,
she had to string together nut job's,
eat a string cheese.
Polly didn't want animal crackers,
Groucho became like a ******.

The puppet master showing
his game piece
and pull on someone else's

We have our dreams,
My perfect stranger,
Though we never really met,
Perhaps; never shall meet.
Still, we amble along together,
Navigating the lamentable brook,
Unfulfilled promises, foaming,
Swirling around our bare feet,
The cold of reality numbing our toes,
Skipping over rocks of broken ideals,
Once cherished, but not here, no,
They are fractious and discarded.
Trickles of tormented sighs, tease,
While avoiding guiding ropes of life,
Which would snag our thoughts,
Straining against friction burns,
As they attempt to bind us tightly,
Holding us prisoner, when in truth,
We are capable of incarcerating ourselves.
Although, our minds are free, yes,
Living beneath the same impassive moon,
Bathing within its stolen light,
Stealing our own, moments of peace,
As in sleep, we slip away unnoticed,
To hold each other, so loving,
Above the clouds, sharing caresses,
Smooching around, and round,
Oblivious of telltale tears on our cheeks.
A shooting star arcs across the sky,
‘Shall we wish?’ You ask,
‘Nah,’ I reply; wishing is for fools,
Be content; acceptance is the key,
My perfect stranger,
We have our dreams.

© Paul M Chafer 2014

What happened to dancing?
And I mean grooving
Moving to the beat of the music
not that
back to front, raunchy, distasteful, vertical *** on the dancefloor foolishness
I don't want any of that unclassy bending over
***** pressed up against a stranger, up in my face,
I mean up in my behind business type of dancing.
None of that too-close for comfort, get-a-room type of grind
I want some of that smooth jazzy, hold my hand and spin me around moving, and
I want some of that 80's finger-snappin', and some of those Breakfast Club hip-shaking, arm-gyrating
What I don't get is why
The moves from ***** Dancing seem cleaner than today's so-called dancing.
I want to be able to go to a club
And have enough space for myself and you to be dancing like we're dancing at home,
with the privacy of our rooms
I want to be able to dance, and let us return
and have a much-needed cultural dance revolution where it doesn't have to be something your mama won't be ashamed of.
I want some of that jiving, and more of that 70's finger-pointing, and fast-feet moving
Man, I just want all of us to dance without it suggesting anything more than smooching.

A wife her husband's tool did sever,
Causing him in court to file for divorce
From his cruel and heartless smasher.
And ere the Magistrate with a voice
Mellow the man narrated how his mate,
Prior to that brutality, has been starving
Him of ***, that except to procreate,
She rarely allows him conjugal gendering.

Another pair about which I read, this time,
Howbeit, it was the wife that sought for
Split from her hubby, whose chief crime
Was, again, appertaining to the succour
Of copulation, telling the court that for almost
Six months straight, her man never did her
In the buff behold, let alone upon her crust
And crumb feasted; wherefore depriving her.


Is love acclaimed nought but a fancy fad,
That at last in divorce it at times ends?
The above accounts are no tales, though sad,
By a drunk told. How heart commends
Itself to lovelorness' rack! What about spouses
Also that did their partners ****** for a reason
Dark? Why will married couples their houses
And homes turn into affection prison?


And those couples initially, at first, when
They in courtship were, would truly seem,
The very best peacock and peahen
To themselves--a groom and bride dream.
Was this sight silly and that heart foolish
When they did settle for that guy and girl
Of all babes and blokes admired and cherish-
Ed then, for whom they did daily whirl?

Marriage dissolution is a grave malady,
Rendering relation, keeping parents and kids at
Bay by breaking a once very close-knit family
Apart, and, which also pierces God's holy heart
With anguish; yet we seem to be making light
Of our vows sacred: for worse and for better,
To love indeed forever in good and ill plight,
Uttering promises at the altar that no sooner alter.

Though marriage is beyond the bliss of bed,
Enduring nay by just rolling in a deep hay
Ever and anon, and smooching to the red,
For couple cannot in that mood every day
And occasion be; yet of coitus, each other
Must they not deny for some excuses bogus,
But should sate their oats promptly, rather
Than yielding to concupiscence or divorce.

And what is the mileage of marriage
Betwixt man and wife upon this earth,
Who with their lips did cheerfully pledge
Before witnesses present,--is it the dearth
Of reasoning when to each other said: "Till
Death do us part"? I cannot it truly fathom
Whole, how marital unions break up. But still,
Know I, relationships do persist with wisdom.

Meanwhile, that man's stitched willie will
Not rise as the sun and be on a nymphet
Set again, save by a miracle. But his evil
Ex-wife can go on to relish in ****** couplet.
Thank heaven, he has three offspring from the
Pact; while the latter story produced only one
Child. Many do take a petty lust for a pretty
Love, playing their queen and king like a pawn.

the Wonder no longer…
I no longer wonder

the whose, or is it the who’s, the whys, and even
an occasional wherefore art thou, and what’s their real name,
are they alive or passed, from whence they came, or,
the origins of their names, the name of that movie where
what’s his name fell in love with blonde from that tv show,
with the detective and the raincoat who always smoked
a cigar though was never seen with match or tobacco,
these mysteries that nagged, burrs that came mid-sentence,
causing grown people to curse and smack their head, now,
blessedly put to bed in seconds depending on the goodness
of your internet connection…

but now I wonder if the world is better off with instantaneous
information much of which is hooliganism and mis and dis,
made-up-as-you-go-along but now recorded as gospel truth

well recall the happy, romantic nature of falling in love across
the library table, secret smooching in dusty stacks of tomes, or is it tombs, that were never read but contained the secrets of the universe…

but never for too long, for repair and restoration I do take
a triple dose of Prevagen,

when and if,
I remember

She stops before the glimmering mirror,
falters and prepares.
Gangly and awkward,
Legs unfolding, leaning forward
she drinks.

A slender skyscraper gallops,
sashaying.

A wet bud uncurls and blooms.
Winding, uncoiling, plucks a leaf.

Enchanting daughter of heights:
Embraced by the clouds,
Smooching the stars.

Towering sky-queen, ossicones her russet crown.
Bronzed cloak, auburn jewels.

From protuberant knees to shadowy lashes,
a lofty leader,
willowy wanderer.

As you sit in the cafe
in the shopping mall
you see Sophie
and her man friend

smooching across
the table
he with moustache
and thinning

combed back hair
and she
with dark black hair
straight to the collar

of her white blouse
they purse their lips
he closes his eyes
leans forward

she likewise
as if
in some French cafe  
in some 1950s film

you sip your latte
watch the show
he once worked
pushing trolleys

in some super store
she unsure
but with a carer
sometimes seen

walking the mall
or in the bank
or shops
and some days

she’ll come up
and say hello
in a loud voice
as if she’d not

seen you
in a thousand years
other days not at all
or she’ll tell you

some news
about her life
or some small trouble
that’s got her down

today she sits
and kisses
and converses
with the man friend

and he’ll laugh
and maybe she too
and hold hands
over the cokes and cakes

you sit back
in the chair
and watch them there
repeat their kissing

or holding hands
the Romeo eyes
now open
leaning near

mouthing words
you cannot hear
she lips still pursed
says loudly

of a love
she feels
or how hot
the weather is

or how his scarf
untidy looks
or unbuttoned shirt
others who do not

know them sit
and gawk
and make snide comment
behind their hands

make judgement
in their bourgeoisie world
but you like others
who know them of old

sit and drink
and make no judgements
of what they say
or do but watch

the kissing
and holding of hands
like in a B feature
at the cinema

waiting for
the real thing maybe
but content to see
the movie through

having no where to go
or other things to do.

Tonight, thinking on you,
My mind is ablaze, fully illuminated,
Akin to a fabled city swinging in festival,
You light me up inside, and I glow brightly,
Bathed within the warmth of your sweet love.

Tonight, thinking on you,
My heart is dancing the greatest dance,
Revelling, an unbridled pleasurable release,
Passionate love flowing freely in our kisses,
Smooching, swaying, in each other's embrace.

Tonight, thinking on you,
Our spirits are riding upon crazy horses,
Galloping over moonlit plains, racing the stars,
Our nakedness glistening with heady scents,
Mind, hearts and spirits, subtly joined as one.

Tonight, thinking on you.

A praying mantis presides
Over and over
A congregation of fools
Assuming a God-like position,
Predicting today, predicting forever.
He preaches, the act of holiness,
The act of reality,
Where smooching is divine,
A path to miracle.
But miracles do occur
The deaf became dumb,
The dumb became deaf,
The healthy became sick,
The sick became dead,
The dead….I wonder !

I saw you today.
Thought I would be okay.
But I wasn't.

Opened up to old math notes.
Your name written all over the pages.
Hearts filling up empty spaces.

I knew I'd see you in Spanish.
Awkward in there it was.
Why did we choose to sit next to each other?

I forgot how despairing it was to walk to class alone.
To have no one to hold.
Twitch at every sound of smooching.
Turn when you hear "I love you".

My hands so frigid.
My lips are deserted.
Why cant this feeling let me be?

I urn for the chance to wave hi.
To say it.
To look into your dark brown eyes.

Now I stare at you from a distance.
And I'm thinking, "Do you feel the same way too?
Do you feel so drained?
'Cause I know i do."

the first time,
it was a real smooching,
there in the rain
the passion
running down our
skin

I had just asked her out
I had just brought it to a head

everything up to that point,
the flirting,
the jokes,
the talking back
and forth for
hours,
had all been leading up
to that moment,
there in the pouring rain,
the water flowing down
the side-walks and we
couldn’t even feel our
feet

but I grabbed her,
asking what secret
she had been hiding
from me

and she wouldn’t tell me,
but she gave this little nod,
this little glare, that said
“do it now you fool”

so I did

I did and we kissed,
we kissed as the world
flooded and our friends
partied on and it was
magical

now we’re not really sure
what the future holds

we haven’t gone on a date,
yet.

but that’s what Friday’s for
that’s what the future is for

and for now,
I can deal with having
a single kiss a day

still flirting,
still shy,
still unsure

but we both know
there’s something
different

something worth smiling
about

I caught a nasty dose of loneliness
I'm sure it was from the man on the train
Blowing kisses through the window to his children and partner
Whose tears trickled au revoir in the rain

Or maybe it was from the two women smooching
In the night club on the seats opposite me
They were gasping and panting, but  not for breath
while pawing each other with urgency

Perhaps it was because I left my window open
On a sizzling summer night last week
Through which I heard devotions of love being shared
By a tipsy couple gaily romancing on the street.

It was the scent of juicy, honey dew melon,
It was the golden kiss of the sun,
It was the warm summer feel
that let me know you were the one.

It was reggae basses and baritones blessing the air,
It was your lips on the back of my neck letting me know that you were there.
It was the screech of the fan
replacing the tune of the ice-cream van,
It's funny how both joy and sadness reside with that man.

It's the gentle waves smooching the edge of the tub,
those summer nights, when we gently fell in love.

T.S.

By Arcassin Burnham



maybe i was wrong once before,

maybe i was wrong once before but,
she was,
the only thing to keep me from going insane,
i fly near the night,
telling myself,
what more can i gain,
to think it would ever change,
the heartaches and the pain,
and people forget your name,
but she didnt,
learning all the secrets,
and the foul plays,
with all the cruel intentions,
from the south,
it stays,
remember when i told you that i was a shy kid,
remember that the only thing i was,
was quiet,
remembering all the stupid stuff i did,
and when i did it ,
you were still there,
smooching and planting kisses,
you very ******,
and couldnt tell anyone about it,
if your not anymore,
i really doubt it.

when i met you,
my heart was beating like drums,
and when i met you,
kisses deeper than it was,
you made me,
flee every scene,
just to meet you,
i swear to the lord,
that i wouldnt never leave you,
very loyal,
you were,
love cross the stars and the earth,
and the rhymes that i made for you,
reading wouldnt hurt,
remembering you changed my mind on alot of things,
when i didnt believe,
i saw the light,
you bring,
and when the sun is down,
neon lights are my passion,
wishing i could have the power,
to be in your position,
under your bed,
in your closet,
under your sheets,
in your bathroom,
reading the diary,
saying i was sweet,
but not knowing they will ripped out soon,
and i hate it,
maybe i was wrong once before,
this feeling cant be shaked,
but its something i just cant ignore,

guess my prediction,
was right,
she called me on the phone,
and said she was done,
without saying goodbye,
plots been thickening,
the whole entire time,
too bad for suspense,
when you fall out of line,
i mean,
a few arguments here and there,
wouldnt be worth anyones time,
but the thing you have to see is,
you were out of line,
said some things you shouldnt have said,
leaving her crying out,
walk out the door,
and think you have it all figured out,
put your insecurities behind,
lead a new chapter,
will it all be the same,
like it really matters,
i told her it was all because im not satisfied,
what kinda drugs that i was on,
telling her that lie,
but she still cries,
and i still lie,
its like were not,
in love alot,
shes talks to me,
as if shes not,
and i dont care,
im all i got,
is she keeps screaming at the top of her lungs,
breaking my eardrums,
so away,
i run,


if it wasnt for me,
she wouldnt be like this,
what does a man have to do,
to get one more kiss,


if it wasnt for me,
she wouldnt be like this,
what does a man have to do,
to get one more kiss,

she was
she was
she was,

Part 3 should have been the understatement,
of what love is,
you shouldnt play with feelings,
you work so bad to get,
some people say this alot,
if the shoe fits,
what ever floats your boat,
or a hit-or-miss,
a mister should always have a miss,
forever love will survive,
if noones alone like this,

She was
She Was,
SHE WAS.

You don’t want to go
With that kind of woman,
Henry’s mother said.
What kind of woman

is that? Henry asked.
The kind that offer
themselves to men
who are not their

husbands, his mother
replied, sitting back
in the soft chair by
the fireplace, joining

her fingers, forming
what she used to call
her church. Henry watched
her church form of finger

forming, his eyes sliding
over his mother’s dyed
hair, the grey streaks,
the nose, the thin red

painted lips. But isn’t
that kind of women
providing a service?
Henry asked, walking

to the window, watching
his father mowing the
lawn, sweat on the brow,
the eyes dead looking.

Service? His mother said,
her tone icy, Service?
She repeated, that’s not
service, Henry that’s sin.

S.I.N. Henry raised his
eyebrows, there was in
the pocket of his pants,
a pack of fives, unused

as yet. Oh, Henry said,
Duncan Smold had this
woman in the back of
his car, he called it hard

smooching or some such
word. Henry’s mother
eyed him closely, her eyes
narrowing. Then he sinned,

Henry, he sinned, she said,
pushing a hand through
her hair, her features going
red. Oh, right, Henry said,

I’ll tell Duncan next time
he’s in his car with some
woman in the back, that
he’s sinning, Henry turned

away, he didn’t want his
mother to see him grinning.

Its exactly 1095 days ago..
When the love I knew flee from my path
The sweet rhythm turned sour
As my heart bolt out through the door
Leaving no trail to follow

A miserable me turn apart
Laying helpless with no heart
The warmth of the weather
Felt freezingly cold
And the comfort of the night
No longer suits

I could remember my dreams turning into a wild mare
And even the cool siesta
Was all itchy
My smooching pillow grew thorns

In my miserable self
In all broken mirror
Picking up my pieces in no piece
Trying to plaster the remnant of me
Just 1095 days ago

It all seems like the world will end in no good time
But in my remembrance of this days
I'd found myself lost within
The tick of it tide

And now,
The love that is sure been replaced
Is back
Knocking at the same door it bolted out
Through
Just 1095 days ago

I watched you walk away a moment ago.

Quickly.

I wasn't prepared for this moment.

The loss I feel.

The trepidation beating me down, hollowing out my heart.

Scarring my existence without the softness of death.

I must suffer in this loss, weak and frail – ****** and lost.

I dropped my head for one second – only one – so that the tears may fall.

I looked back to where you were but you were gone.  I wasn’t ready for you to be gone.  You had hurriedly turned a corner, dodged into a building and left me on the sidewalk, crumpled and distressed.

That I know of, you did not turn around to see me one last time.  Perhaps your “one last time” look came when you said you didn't love me any longer and you walked away.

So easily they fell – those words – “I don’t love you anymore.”  Yes, you said “anymore” not “any longer.”

When did that happen?  So that I may know, please?  When did I do something?  When didn't I do something?

Please let it be something because I can’t live with it if the reason was simply that I was just being me.  To think that being myself, the only person I know to be, could have driven you away. (Into the arms of another!)

Oh, is it that?!  Someone else?   I truly have lost – to someone who has no face, at least not to me.  To you, it may be the most beautiful face you have ever seen and you can’t stop wanting to be near it, to hold that face in your gruff hands and smooching it …. Over and over and over and over.

Sans the face.  Forget about it.  I need to know, where did I fail?  Please let me know.  I fear though, you will not – let me know, that is – because you all but ran away from me, to put distance between our two hearts….mine broken, yours yearning for the face of another.  The face.

There it is again.  This face that I don’t know – mocking me while I sit, sobbing, on a sidewalk – holding my coat tight around me, the cold making the snot run from my nose and down my face.  I shiver.  

I will sit a few moments more – an hour or so, a day – longer to wait for you to come back and pick me up.  You will come back, won’t you?

sleep crumpled,
doe eyed and snuggly,
little mr just about four, climbs up into the big old bed.
his tousled, towheaded blonde curls bouncing
and plants a smearing, smooching kiss on my lips, before climbing into the middle bit of the bed,

the bubba spot.

then bestowing the same loving brand on da's lips
and wriggling like a fish,
he makes himself....
comfortable.

king of the bed

and hums himself back
to sleep.
we look at each other,
over his nodding head
and smile.

he is the gift ,
we did not know
we wanted,
but are so very glad,
we recieved
and we marvel at him daily. this bit, of you and me and god.
we doze all three,  
and the blucat beside
a knot of happiness and love,
in the big old bed.
contentment,
nestles, rich within our hearts
our minds at peace
together again.