the burlesque poetess(s)


i'm jojo lazar, each and every one of your/s burlesque poetess(s) ~ vaudeville/verse upon request for all your parlour room seance needs.
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~ Friday, April 22 ~
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My cento for NaPoMo

Just a saloon-ful of sugar

Lying: to drink a dark with tiny

shards plunge me deep in love. Put out.
Emerge, twitch green trousers,
naked man full of salt

all dopey in the glass. To open your tiny…
Beak-mouth, the trick
is to make it pilot-personal.

Little corners of a kind of ham,
and candy limbs. Something offensive?
A carousel-sweet dress, someone

stands and weeps in the glass.
I stand in duct tape, lying. I stand
on the porch, bathrobe wired minefield.

Me deep in love? A refrigerator wrapped.
(Not really necessary to eat the food.)
Put out pungent oranges
wet from long hair.



“Lying: to drink a dark with tiny” by jojo lazar
submission for National Poetry Month Cento Contest, run by Danielle Pafunda (a sometimes-comrade in VIDA-badass-ery)

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*Guidelines for the NaPoMo Cento Contest

Thanks for your interest in the National Poetry Month Cento Contest! 36 poet judges graciously join me to choose our three winners. The prizes: a selection of the judges’ signed books for each winner. For more about the judges, please click here or scroll down to visit the post below. Here is your complete list of contest guidelines:

On April 21st, all day long, I Tweeted lines of poetry from the Academy’s Poem-A-Day Archive. You can collect these lines by scrolling back through the @POETSorg Twitter feed, or you can read them on this blog by clicking here or scrolling down past the contest entries.

Please assemble these lines into a cento (see below for definition).
By NOON EST on April 23rd, post only your cento, real name or pseudonym (whichever your prefer), and a valid means of contact in the comments section of this post. Email addresses should be formatted thus: * yourname [at] provider [dot] com * to keep your email safe from spam. You may also include special instructions on how to format your cento in the post, should your entry be particularly complex. I’ll do my best! . . . [napomocento.blogspot]

For the curious: http://napomocento.blogspot.com/2011/04/lines-from-twitter-feed.html

Tags: npm napomo contest my art brown bag art cento form poem
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~ Friday, October 23 ~
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@James_Graichan (paid) and commissioned a villanelle on wolves in sheeps clothing, or something to that effect. i think the last villanelle i wrote was jr year of high school, and about rainbows. tee hee. more commissions en route, folks. thanks for your patience. + 14. The fabled forest of innuendo Her garters were in fact redder than her hood. A dagger hid glinting inside her shepherdess crook, she blushed to think of stalking prey in this wood. She squished hidden toads it seemed wherever she stood. Grandmum’d once said, “You’ll end up in a bear trap with your head in a book!” Her garters were in fact redder than her hood. She’d let a hunter see and snap their lace once, “Could you show me the path to the caves? In exchange for this look?” She blushed to think of stalking prey in this wood, but went daisy pale as his leather’d hand warmed, started to feel good shepherding her thighs apart, atop a barstool she shook her bonnet off. Her garters were in fact redder than her hood. After much mead, she slipped her blade in his codpiece, he understood little as she sliced a lock of his shorthairs, a trophy she took. She laughed and flushed to think of stalking prey in this wood. She followed his advice, wolf tracks to the dark cavern. Should she call out to her Grandmother’s coven, announce she’d found their nook? Her garters were in fact redder than her hood, she’d arrived with a pelt, no longer maiden prey in this wood. xo your poetess, j.m. lazar

@James_Graichan (paid) and commissioned a villanelle on wolves in sheeps clothing, or something to that effect. i think the last villanelle i wrote was jr year of high school, and about rainbows. tee hee. more commissions en route, folks. thanks for your patience.

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14. The fabled forest of innuendo


Her garters were in fact redder than her hood.
A dagger hid glinting inside her shepherdess crook,
she blushed to think of stalking prey in this wood.

She squished hidden toads it seemed wherever she stood.
Grandmum’d once said, “You’ll end up in a bear trap with your head in a book!”
Her garters were in fact redder than her hood.

She’d let a hunter see and snap their lace once, “Could
you show me the path to the caves? In exchange for this look?”
She blushed to think of stalking prey in this wood,

but went daisy pale as his leather’d hand warmed, started to feel good
shepherding her thighs apart, atop a barstool she shook
her bonnet off. Her garters were in fact redder than her hood.

After much mead, she slipped her blade in his codpiece, he understood
little as she sliced a lock of his shorthairs, a trophy she took.
She laughed and flushed to think of stalking prey in this wood.

She followed his advice, wolf tracks to the dark cavern. Should
she call out to her Grandmother’s coven, announce she’d found their nook?
Her garters were in fact redder than her hood,
she’d arrived with a pelt, no longer maiden prey in this wood.


xo your poetess, j.m. lazar

Tags: commission villanelle euphemnuendo form poem $1 poem alt. history fairy tale
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