the burlesque poetess(s)

poem-a-day week24 “Delicate deli inappropriacy in ascots & bowlers”

October 11-17, 2010 week24: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
http://locksmithy.livejournal.com/tag/poem-a-day
http://poetesss.tumblr.com/PAD

(re-demonstrating how not to stash money your first day of busking in broad daylight)

164. October 15, 2010 (fri. rain’d out buskin’ lead to Brookline flyering/debauchery)

Desire is matched by
The distant rhythm
Telegraph the breast
This tasteless catechism
An anxious calm

There will be no copper jingling
As it tumbles out of hat, hair
Loosened into small change
Twisters as our tips rain onto

Boutineer, bound breast, sidewalk
Stage too damp in this Oh, Boston
Storm means roaming Friday night

In flapper cape, in character to flyer
Flaunt kamikaze song at the Jewish
Neighbourhood’s sex shoppe?

Let me regale you with linen napkins
And kugel samplers- delicate deli
Inappropriacy in ascots & bowlers:

Nearby hospice patron
Speaking at a Friday night volume
In a rather rowdy restaurant

We normally love the place
But it’s just TOO LOUD tonight
Repeated to waiter, manager, busboy

Until we finally notice
Their untouched soup and wine
(If we’d been fastier ruffians

We’d have pounded it and toasted
Them L’Chaim! on their way out)
You can’t kick Semitic gem’d gesticulations

And youthful jazz hands out of a booth
For being queer(ly dressed) and bubbly as greps
Water, giggling animatedly ‘bout fisting

In cartoon voices vaudeville bespeaks
Folks rather spiffed up, you can’t point us out
As those rough lookin’ teens with silver topped canes

Lesbros in chimney spout tophats! The one with
The nose ring and monocle! Tattoos and cuff links!
It’s how the boisterous/bourgeoise

Get away with any everything
Isn’t it? Starched & collar’d delinquents
Matzo ball robber barons

Of your calm soup and crackers evening
Paying customers as pretty as we
“Get away with” enjoying ourselves, entertaining
Anyone warm-blooded as bouillon broth

(top italics are ‘poems by removal’ i wrote via The Passionate Life)

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

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poem-a-day week21 “Broad hip’d broadcast markup language”

i’m everso everso tardy/be-hind/betwixt & ‘tween & playing awful ketchup, mes amis. do forgive me. last sat. (Cynthia von Buhler-world) to now (and it’s not over yet!) have been some of the most overstimulating art wankery ginormous and important-to-me performances of my life. and i started teaching my zine workshop! happy lady. full service multimedia freelance burlesque poetess & professoress, at yo soivece.

September 20-26, 2010 week21: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
http://locksmithy.livejournal.com/tag/poem-a-day
http://poetesss.tumblr.com/PAD

140. September 21, 2010 (tues.)

I. Busking “MinInstruments” (tinys + Edrie!)

When sexy Communists—
i mean dominatrix Socialists—
i mean socialites of sidewalks

Get out of the car button’d like Louise
Brooks, bee-stung bob ready for the front line—
(Queue swimming with green paper)

Autocoaches crash abrubtly, yellow spyglasses
Tinkle of glass, a tin giggle in the distance

We are now lousy with illegit’ $2 bills
Pauvre Thomas Jefferson
(He didn’t seem like a “1 belt” kind of guy)

II. Hypothesis Show première

Once upon a childhood paleontologist—
i mean middle school marine biologists—
i mean all grown up burlesque

Inquisitive minds must combine
Experimental tassel twirling, subverting
The strip tease, tighty whiteys

And poetry of womanism, faces on flour and syrup
Food product like Frank-n-Furter’s
Garter’d lovechild with Marie Antoinette

Singing phallus, beckoning to be
Lap partners—
i mean lab partners

img of Kirby Bits from ‘Midnight Vultures’ by Lacy Gazelle, FB & top hipstamatic of Edrie from her FB

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

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poem-a-day week20 “Here agony— In bloomers, bunnies beloved by hatters”

September 13-19, 2010 week20: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
http://locksmithy.livejournal.com/tag/poem-a-day
http://poetesss.tumblr.com/PAD

135. September 14, 2010 (tues.)

Walk-in appointment with the architect
Of my collapsible midway, a myriad of mumbling
Intoxicating monologues from con-artists

Illustrated scholars in each booth
Twirling their kimono belts suggestively
Narcissus flower prints throbbing with colour

Behind these silk cords muses twirl
i turn like a carousel pony impaled with dreams
For your delectation, to jostle your journal
.

i woke inside a chapter book
The bohemian twenty-something nothing
Year olds, somebody not quite Mrs. Dalloway

In a bouquet-print wrap dress
A paper hostess to vegan viscera
Cheeseless jokes, just waking up

Inside your life while the bday boy
Has a lot of catching up to do
And a ten year reunion to declare not worth it

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

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poem-a-day week17 “subdued ‘morse code’ section between the verse and the chorus”

August 23-29, 2010 week17: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
http://locksmithy.livejournal.com/tag/poem-a-day
http://poetesss.tumblr.com/PAD

118. August 28, 2010 (sat. New Blood ORG, cloud club)

Cleverly parking
Below piano factory
Balconies, cops and

Construction to seduce
Me away from the cookies
Spose i can learn you

Some Ziggy in the extra
Courtyard mossy “green room” rail
-ing propping journal

i swear i do other things
Than sit on stone benches
Making neanderthal spark starts

A capella “Mein Herr”
Summons the off duty
Emcee down from cloud

i’m just stoked to be
At a garden salon, biting
Off lyrics, bantering by tiki light

http://youtube.com/user/tinyrevue

i’m rah-ther proud of this week-in-verse, i hope you enjoy!
the rest of the poems li(v)e below!

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poem-a-day week15 recapping the “retrosexual”

August 9-15, 2010 week15: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
http://locksmithy.livejournal.com/tag/poem-a-day
http://poetesss.tumblr.com/PAD

i’ve decided like that no-good army of TOys band i’m in (who defines its genre as steam crunk) i’d like the tiny instruments to be categorized as “retrosexual.” all of last-last week was spent gearing up for the tiny instruments’s premiere (pix/poem for that!) and palling about with The Slomski Brothers on the new england leg of their epic world tour. thus, the poem-a-days reflect that. not a bad week, eh? all art and delicious vaudevillian-ry.

104. August 14, 2010 (sat. - Boudoir Noir, Club Passim)

Listen to Madam
Match-make celibate carnies
Shut the wardrobe door

Don’t flash your netting
It’s not presidential red
Lips that will catch fish

Teacup-shaped escapes
Sidestage— no one cares ‘bout tush
A lighter, a light

Alleyway, butts’ flight
Scraped together etiquette
Rubbish bins, torn words

Chocolate shout outs
A bourgie to-go box, please
Save tupperware sin

Table of foxes
Crumbling five hours of butter
Into martini’d mouths

Glitter sticks to pillow slips
Now, purse your lips

.

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

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32. “guitar hero” for @emb2k1

Guitar hero

Players hump their way through the speaker fabric
using layers of candy shell plastic.
At last! In their minds the bass thump, pumping
lyrics have always been rubbing them through their
jeans, teasing them from the back seat sub woofer
with bubble gum breath and Beatles 1 inch pins.
The radio single always tousled their hair lovingly
and adjusted the stray, mysterious-making, too long bangs
while smiling from the other side of the pocket mirror,
the digital stereo display. How to cross through
the red velvet ropes, climb inside the amp, champagne
room to croon in the cocktail lounge where
all the music you listen to on repeat goes
to have all the teenage sex?

The other side of the Looking Glass
sound system, now with a guitar-shaped peripheral
(musical equivalent of a jelly dong) to stimulate and
simulate the fret buttons on the controller. Don’t fret,
you too can fingerbang Joan Jett and bite Bowie
back on the back and solo with Slash
and crack skulls with Alice Cooper
(he will drink anything not labeled
“Drink me.”)

by your poetesss

+

i took the bulk of my twitter-poem-request-topics from amanda palmer’s secretwitter contest concert at the bridge this time last year, the army of toys opened and it’s where many of you met me initially. those of you who’ve -not- met me whilst i was flashing my bum, being inappro’, musical, loud and gaudy and gosh down bawdy (maybe through the tumblr creative writing directory?), you may not know i’m a no good miscreant in the boston vaudeville vorld, and that the TOys’s cd release is tomorrow night! we go on tour sat, and we are playing the after-party for the finale of amanda palmer’s Evelyn Evelyn tour June 19th. but there you go. this poem topic was no doubt influenced by miss AFP. i remember seeing her peform ‘guitar hero’ solo at sxip’s hour of charm summer 07. it was intense, it stomped on my already-broked-at-the-time heart, i’d never seen her without brian, and i didn’t know it was the beginning of a whole new incarnation of her art and my own life was about to get very different very fast, too. never could i imagine that less than half a dozen performances as the burlesque poetess later wld end me up with the TOys, at the cloud club…anyhoo, this photo is by cbane on flickr of the live guitar hero show with the danger ensemble. lovely folks. lovely photo that captures a lot. je shut up now with the dithering. xo

for @blindkitten ‘on tap dance’

15. Hoofer Club

Near the end of their lives
they believed that certain sequin’d persons
were entering their house, endangering
their broken mirror collection. Sneaking peeks
at their dance notes, opening tins of loose tea.
A few screws loose from their hats— hooves.

Being very distinguished
in percussive footwork,
Italiante bannister’d theaters
with limited fenestration—
they became a paranoid duet, their insistence
on caped costumes muffling their
Cinncinnati Flam - Double Shuffle - Shirley Temple;
rendering their razz a ma tazz invisible.

Someone is sneaking into our place to
spread dust and fluff and Paddle Turn—
wear down our shoes!

Though originally the single balcony sort
they met when one hawked rosewater
and the other—
well it was the street corner shuffle.

I could outdo the hot dog seller’s mamba,
but this cat had that cramp roll,
that satirical wooden sole. Wasn’t long
til’ we became Slap and Happy.

Stump and Stumpy. Jazz provided
further rhythmic complexity
to their senility. Their canopy bed’s
red velvet had long since gone to rot,
and one day the curtains fell,
along with the heavy iron curtain rod.
The dust settled in pirouettes.

+

i feel like a jerk because this was 98 percent done until today, Ryan! and i’d just left it moldering away in my Bur’ Po’ computer/poetry folder. i swore i’d finish it around the absinthe bar gig in woostah! you gave me the sweetest wee niblet of a present ;) i intend to finish a number of other twitter-req’s i had already started, folks. i adore you all, so.

by your poetess, j.m. lazar