the burlesque poetess(s)

poem-a-day week25 “Confounding but fun-sounding!”

October 18-24, 2010 week25: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
http://locksmithy.livejournal.com/tag/poem-a-day
http://poetesss.tumblr.com/PAD

Tales of Polish bday week/month of more shows than sleep, decadence and melty fondue memories of floral wreathlets that don’t slip off your halo. In close decisions equally-worthy of being the teaser-poem— read my bday poem & my 2nd-to-last cabaret-busk poem, as it has vidjo!

170. October 21, 2010 (thurs., after the witching hour still out singing/being bday noisy…)
Half-and-half & nostalgia in mine

Creep out the garden gate
To all tomorrow’s fondess
Shit, someone got the flower girl

Drunk, wreathlet askew in all these photos
Fear is not endearing, a little wine blush
On the knees, dandelion smile

The cork-pop and laughter over the tear
-jerker toast, something shiny crunching underfoot
While dyed-to-match shoes rub identical

Blisters on the foxes fleeing the dance floor
That scene where “gin-pagne”
And knock-you-on-your-ass applejack

Have happened— be glad the parties
You leave still exhale aftershave and warm
Frivolity, indoor parodies of drum circles

A kind of goosing, unlacing flirting
That sparky new pair in the coat closet
That old story smoking on the front stoop

Throw some stray petals (or lime wedges)
Over your left shoulder for luck
Tomorrow there won’t be empty milk
Bottles waiting outside

poem in part inspired by the wonderful bitty floral wreath-let dangling ribbons my dear photog friend Justin Moore gifted me. pix of me being a drunk flower girl/flapperlet (it stays on even crooked) i’m sure will turn up. (past, present, future) et voila:

the rest of the poems li(v)e below!

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167. October 18, 2010 (mon.)
Wearing Buddha’s eyes like a Venetian

Yeah! Privilege! Lapels
Pouring out of the median-sized
Frat castle dangling untied bows

Having to hook up the table-less
DJ in Yuppieville— touring fauns
Extradited to porcelain parlour, filigree’d lounge

Home enjoying the rare privilege
(i drank too too much hot chocolate
With third rate coffee liqueur)

—of making art journal pages
for fuck’s sake
Yoga postures popping internal

Organs outward, crossword mantras
Murmured by the bird skull shape
Our hips can sometimes make

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168.October 19, 2010 (tues., 2nd to last busk, pre-bday errands)
(F)or a liminal time only

Suspicious moodiness surrounding
The mailbox, our names blown away
Like last year’s paper black cat

Turns out Ticketmaster’s ruined the surprise
Left admiring glass vices in asenine mall
Purgatorio, like airport nausea

Erranding and birthdaying just don’t go
But busking avec manservant’ll do
A fever evening in cloak and foils

i can’t believe i saw pink haired young’uns
Buying grams of “legal green”
Or that for a moment we were those people
Using the ER to get a diagnosis, poor enough

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169. October 20, 2010 (wed.)
Serial pastry artist (killah)

We’re seated in our Spookhouse car
Fancy fondue nook for two
Minute prawns, sherry in egg cups

Tiny jeweled Mr. Bones dangling
From my ear as i talk into your right, did you hear me?
My diagnosis has been downgraded, celebritesse nervosa

Love cocktail in hand for the camera
Phone captures the sliced heart
Smiling without teeth showing

Strawberry slices floating bravely
A nervous shipwreck survivor
Toasting to another year of sea legs

(Sudafed and valium roofies)
Second Starman serenade under the atomic
Mass of the stars— that was hot

i have poor posture in my nested
Egg doll flapper slouch coats
Two layers of black petals to peel
From me: the indoor trench, the furry cape lite

My greenest party favour face
Holding my Shirley Temple
Out of my eyes, i see you

(#cakemenace-ings of yore)

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170. above-the-cut

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171. October 22, 2010 (fri. Last Busk for A.R.T. Cabaret)
Confounding but fun-sounding!

Last assigned outdoor chaise lounge
Act, acidic softshoe for warm wallets
In blue veined hands

Some of this is half in French
Someone tossing quarters
Tit for candy pat, Cantabrigian wind

Foiled by Moustache’d Jack O’Lantern
Treats ‘n tunes for fellow gutter minds
Lolling about in black and white

I never understand what is going on
with your invitations, but they do make me wish
that I lived in the area

The lady who insisted we had tiny guitars
Stayed to eat chocolate, “Do you tap?!”
How many tricks can circus doves

And cobblestone cats do
We have to be able to pack up
And disappear inside our hats
When the house lights start to dim

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172. October 23, 2010 (sat.)
Glad as the letter A, today

for people who prefer to drink
while playing a sitar by candlelight

Blissed out on the ‘Merican Dream
Hot chocolate runs through my veins
Knock off Kahlua just waiting for a reason

Twirling my tinsel baton for my cat
‘s entertainment while i pour liquor
Into the sugar dish, wait for my Lord to boil

Is your barn stuffed to the roof beam?
i’ve got a giant knife for my ice cream cup
Cake, “Five Years is really a Jewish song, because
it’s about facing the apocalypse with too many
belongings to your name.”

image from , too perfect for this! *poem in part in conversation/trying on Maurice Manning’s Bucolics

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173.October 24, 2010 (sun., wk25 fin)

Un-Buddhistic need for the cream cheese
To enjoy being spread, exhibitionistic
Condiments of Manhattan, 2.5 miles is all

This cacophony lasts

between tzit-tzit tassels
Buffets following church service for hipsters
The future makes me think about grand

End tables, eroticized undulations on art deco
Boudoir vanities, satinet stitches on nightgown hems
Damp from catching the spring cleaning disease
Belated discovery of old new art supplies

brown bag cache discovered in frantic parlour/writingarting studio cleaning this weekend. Bobert Bowies and ridiculousness has ensued…(this is a belated apt-housewarming gift for Amymacabre! Frank-n-Furter of my literary heart & many others)

*some poem-quotes moviefluenced by Speed Levitch/The Cruise