Submissions by JohnFeddeler
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
My poems are blue collar; they work hard.
deep to solace
what she conceals is no more beautiful than what she shows.
what she shows. where she goes, deep in the folds, to hunt it,
to kill it & bring it forth, the mad rush of passion that she can’t
wait for. it moans & spits from precious swollen lips & the
hideous beauty of it is revealed in the wet spot.
good girl, bad girl. angel or slut. call her what you want, but if she’s
not a whore I’ve never been in her bed.
sometimes you got to bend low. when I order a shot, Tommy the
bartender bends low behind the counter, to grab the...
what she shows. where she goes, deep in the folds, to hunt it,
to kill it & bring it forth, the mad rush of passion that she can’t
wait for. it moans & spits from precious swollen lips & the
hideous beauty of it is revealed in the wet spot.
good girl, bad girl. angel or slut. call her what you want, but if she’s
not a whore I’ve never been in her bed.
sometimes you got to bend low. when I order a shot, Tommy the
bartender bends low behind the counter, to grab the...
1157 reads
13 Comments
saints of the broken heart
city of a constant moon. dismal avenues patrolled by scarred
soldiers of a distant war, & a hooker under every street lamp
waiting to be picked up.
the glory is that I am here with the chain-smoking hustlers,
the whiskey seducers, & the bad girls who ride the wild,
unpredictable bronco of love all the way to a broken heart.
we are left with rescinded affairs of passion & the poetry of it,
written on tear-stained cocktail napkins.
a woman will tell you right to your face that she loves you, & she
won’t stop, even if...
soldiers of a distant war, & a hooker under every street lamp
waiting to be picked up.
the glory is that I am here with the chain-smoking hustlers,
the whiskey seducers, & the bad girls who ride the wild,
unpredictable bronco of love all the way to a broken heart.
we are left with rescinded affairs of passion & the poetry of it,
written on tear-stained cocktail napkins.
a woman will tell you right to your face that she loves you, & she
won’t stop, even if...
1539 reads
10 Comments
Polish doll
she won’t like my strange, ragged canto. she regrets that a poem
makes her cry, except poetry is an instrument of sadness.
so I take her to a seedy divebar. she needs to know where I come from,
& why I keep going back. there’s a story on every cracked vinyl stool;
there is heartache in every shotglass.
the big-souldered Rockola is quiet, too quiet, so I drop in a few coins. she
likes to dance close & slow. me, too. I punch up a sexy blonde singing
‘wake up & make love with me.’ I hold her hand between us & she rests
easy...
makes her cry, except poetry is an instrument of sadness.
so I take her to a seedy divebar. she needs to know where I come from,
& why I keep going back. there’s a story on every cracked vinyl stool;
there is heartache in every shotglass.
the big-souldered Rockola is quiet, too quiet, so I drop in a few coins. she
likes to dance close & slow. me, too. I punch up a sexy blonde singing
‘wake up & make love with me.’ I hold her hand between us & she rests
easy...
1659 reads
14 Comments
beggar's run
I was tired, more tired than death. but I had to drive hard, & the
lonely highway wouldn’t get any lonelier. nights like these, I was
too weary to saddle up, so I’d lay on my back & tell my whore,
‘crouch & stoop.’
I’d get the old gang back together, what was left of them. Bill had
been gunned down, ambushed as he left Rosa’s Cantina. at least
he had a spicy last meal. Rusty Lopez had served five years in the
Army, he’d be ready to desert..
Krater’s term at ‘Quentin was due to expire, he’d be skittish as a
wild pony to...
lonely highway wouldn’t get any lonelier. nights like these, I was
too weary to saddle up, so I’d lay on my back & tell my whore,
‘crouch & stoop.’
I’d get the old gang back together, what was left of them. Bill had
been gunned down, ambushed as he left Rosa’s Cantina. at least
he had a spicy last meal. Rusty Lopez had served five years in the
Army, he’d be ready to desert..
Krater’s term at ‘Quentin was due to expire, he’d be skittish as a
wild pony to...
1100 reads
8 Comments
her livid eyes
like Clifton Webb said in Laura, ‘know what he calls women?
dames & dolls.’
how else would I sing their virtues? they come in two distinct charades:
regular & dirty or fancy & dirty. I filter out the saccharine lies & the
clichés & radar in on the dirty.
she’s tricky, she’ll string a lover along till it’s thick enough to make a
hemp noose around his neck. she’ll drag him thru sticky makeup &
oleander perfume, French kisses that get him dizzy enough to bump
off her rich husband, then she’s gone with bags full of cash...
dames & dolls.’
how else would I sing their virtues? they come in two distinct charades:
regular & dirty or fancy & dirty. I filter out the saccharine lies & the
clichés & radar in on the dirty.
she’s tricky, she’ll string a lover along till it’s thick enough to make a
hemp noose around his neck. she’ll drag him thru sticky makeup &
oleander perfume, French kisses that get him dizzy enough to bump
off her rich husband, then she’s gone with bags full of cash...
1207 reads
8 Comments
cabaret blue
her song was a little too quiet as she sang it – it was a good song
if you paid attention. her backup combo were content to play their
set & collect a paycheck.
the drinkers in the club just drank & laid out their slick pickup lines;
each of the ladies did what she needed to, twirling a stray curl &
I-don’t-care lookaways, to out-glamour the dolls around her.
the chanteuse in her shadowy nook had a timid, earthy sound, like
a thrush in the snow, maybe, so I listened when nobody else did.
one night I shanghai’d her as she came...
if you paid attention. her backup combo were content to play their
set & collect a paycheck.
the drinkers in the club just drank & laid out their slick pickup lines;
each of the ladies did what she needed to, twirling a stray curl &
I-don’t-care lookaways, to out-glamour the dolls around her.
the chanteuse in her shadowy nook had a timid, earthy sound, like
a thrush in the snow, maybe, so I listened when nobody else did.
one night I shanghai’d her as she came...
1319 reads
8 Comments
dirty windows
these summer nights roil, too hot to sleep. I sit on the fire escape,
pan-handling for the spiral of a breeze from the stale air, as I
observe the tenement across the way.
it peers out at the vagrant streets thru dirty windows, & every window
has a dirty story. whores, junkies; outlaws & expatriates. but mostly
common people, cast into a quagmire of despondence by this ugly
world. the guy in 12C, rocking the cradle of a motherless baby. the
stripper in 8B, who sits in a claw-footed bathtub, smoking. her eyes
are dark but dancing, noon to...
pan-handling for the spiral of a breeze from the stale air, as I
observe the tenement across the way.
it peers out at the vagrant streets thru dirty windows, & every window
has a dirty story. whores, junkies; outlaws & expatriates. but mostly
common people, cast into a quagmire of despondence by this ugly
world. the guy in 12C, rocking the cradle of a motherless baby. the
stripper in 8B, who sits in a claw-footed bathtub, smoking. her eyes
are dark but dancing, noon to...
1296 reads
8 Comments
female noir
she had colors once, bright & flamboyant & slick.
but I made her black&white.
dim & grainy, gritty like old movies. we walked in it till we choked
on the fog. her tears made her plain, a sketch shaded in variants
of sorrow, & the rain made her pretty again.
she was part femme fatale & part virgin whore. she knew the words
for going down easy, switchblade romance, orchestral maneuvers in
the back of a black sedan. how to treat a man good when she was
under him, then leave him drunk & broken in the gutter. if it...
but I made her black&white.
dim & grainy, gritty like old movies. we walked in it till we choked
on the fog. her tears made her plain, a sketch shaded in variants
of sorrow, & the rain made her pretty again.
she was part femme fatale & part virgin whore. she knew the words
for going down easy, switchblade romance, orchestral maneuvers in
the back of a black sedan. how to treat a man good when she was
under him, then leave him drunk & broken in the gutter. if it...
1991 reads
12 Comments
Eden far and gone
I can tell you this: Eve is in every woman.
she likes it dirty. & me, it’s the only way I know.
I rub her cheek, gentle-like, till she’s swooning, she’s practically
purring. then I slap her hard, to remind her that love is pain.
I ask her if she wants it rough. she moans my name.
she says yes. yes! & it goes that way…
I’ve heard the serpent speak.
I’ve tasted the fruits of forbidden passion.
if I need to learn the story of the first seduction, the first deception, I can
journey to the Old Testament, the Garden of...
she likes it dirty. & me, it’s the only way I know.
I rub her cheek, gentle-like, till she’s swooning, she’s practically
purring. then I slap her hard, to remind her that love is pain.
I ask her if she wants it rough. she moans my name.
she says yes. yes! & it goes that way…
I’ve heard the serpent speak.
I’ve tasted the fruits of forbidden passion.
if I need to learn the story of the first seduction, the first deception, I can
journey to the Old Testament, the Garden of...
1319 reads
10 Comments
Dolina ('maison' girl)
a man can get so drunk, he can’t spell his own name,
yet he can hunch over his table in a saloon, pull a blue pen from his
coat pocket, secure a ruled page from the serving girl that she ripped
out of a ledger, & compose the most beautiful, heart-broken poem.
let the whiskey spill & the tears fall where they may.
in the trenches of a bullet-scathed nightmare, I fire my weapon through
the fear in my eyes, Bogart & Hemingway at my flanks. when the enemy
rifles have gone silent, we rise from the pits like forlorn shadows & ...
yet he can hunch over his table in a saloon, pull a blue pen from his
coat pocket, secure a ruled page from the serving girl that she ripped
out of a ledger, & compose the most beautiful, heart-broken poem.
let the whiskey spill & the tears fall where they may.
in the trenches of a bullet-scathed nightmare, I fire my weapon through
the fear in my eyes, Bogart & Hemingway at my flanks. when the enemy
rifles have gone silent, we rise from the pits like forlorn shadows & ...
#war
#alcohol
#lover #ErnestHemingway
#lover #ErnestHemingway
1456 reads
9 Comments
haven of loneliness
I cruise to bars in different parts of town
hoping to hit one that the rain hasn’t found.
she sleeps. the days lay a brutal payload on her, & she hasn’t got the
fortitude, nor the desire, maybe, to carry the weight of my burdens
along with it. so I leave a note, the vague specter of a goodnight kiss,
on the nightstand.
harlots, street girls: they’re as common as sin. comes a time when I’ve
had my fill of them, nights when I hang in a pick-up bar strictly to drink.
I can detect her perfume as she approaches me, splashed on to...
hoping to hit one that the rain hasn’t found.
she sleeps. the days lay a brutal payload on her, & she hasn’t got the
fortitude, nor the desire, maybe, to carry the weight of my burdens
along with it. so I leave a note, the vague specter of a goodnight kiss,
on the nightstand.
harlots, street girls: they’re as common as sin. comes a time when I’ve
had my fill of them, nights when I hang in a pick-up bar strictly to drink.
I can detect her perfume as she approaches me, splashed on to...
1799 reads
16 Comments
hotel amour
I watched her from my dimly lit table in a classy gin joint,
as Bogart used to call it. she sat at the bar with her legs crossed.
occasionally she’d rub her calves together, raising one knee a
little too high. it made the hem of her dress ride up obscenely, &
the men observed it as if they were stalking a tainted secret.
she studied hard all her life to be exactly what she desired – a
bad girl. her body was a danger that could take a man to a place
that was uncharted on the itineraries of most women.
finally, a joker took the bait...
as Bogart used to call it. she sat at the bar with her legs crossed.
occasionally she’d rub her calves together, raising one knee a
little too high. it made the hem of her dress ride up obscenely, &
the men observed it as if they were stalking a tainted secret.
she studied hard all her life to be exactly what she desired – a
bad girl. her body was a danger that could take a man to a place
that was uncharted on the itineraries of most women.
finally, a joker took the bait...
1457 reads
13 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by JohnFeddeler