tangerine dreams…
Photo by L.K. Thayer
Photo by L.K. Thayer
Thank you all for your devotion & juicy contributions!
L.K. Thayer is in a play called “O’Neill’s Ghosts”
Rehearsals start today for a September 5th opening!
(See previous post for info)
Too much is happening for me to split my focus
so I bid you a sensous summer and see you
this Fall!! xoxo
– L.K. Thayer
Whores Don’t Kiss
I used to live off Sunset & Formosa
in Hollywood
for a few years
I don’t know
it could’ve been longer
it could’ve been shorter
I don’t keep track
of time too well
down the street was and still is
The 7th Veil Strip Joint
back in the day when you saw
10 to 12 hookers on every corner
doing intimate things with men
without getting intimate
I would walk down to my favorite
neighborhood bar
and always play
“Tell It Like It Is” by Aaron Neville
on the juke
I’d have my song lyrics on me
have a few drinks
and start singing them
a capella in anyone’s ear
I had the songs
and the songs had me
I wrote them after a break up
after a nervous breakdown
after all, it was better than
empty sex in an alley way
in the back of anywhere
(of course, I made sure I fit some of that in too)
I miss the ladies on the corner
it gave this town more depth
more soul without the heart
in this town where fame is
the drug of choice
wondering how to get it
how to score it
how to become
a household name
like Ajax or Swiffer or Rice-a-Roni
this town is like a giant melon baller
that keeps scooping out your guts
to make an ambrosia salad
for the masses to snack on
eat it while it’s
fresh, it gets old fast
and you have to toss it out
like whores turning tricks
for their pimps
we all have to answer to somebody
somebody’s always calling the shots
but you can’t give it all away
you’ve got to keep your cards
close
and they will fuck you
but just remember
whores don’t kiss
© 2011
To order “Whore’s Don’t Kiss” on Amazon.
self portrait & poem – L. K. Thayer
© 2013
with Rex Weiner & Michael C Ford
Produced by Eve Brandstein
____________________________
she lies there, her mouth gaping open like a baby bird
not wanting to eat but waiting to grasp death
her body heaves every morsel of sustenance up
she is aching to leave the nowness
she is a ghost of herself
a white corpse that they keep plugged in
sucking up her insurance
stuck in a barbed wire nest
the baby bird wants to fly to heaven
she is in between, no strength to scream
no more words, no more coffee, no more cigarettes
no more television or snickers bars,
she just wants ginger ale.
Shadow, Shadow, Shadow, she cries for her cat
misses him more than her dead husband
let her go. Why can’t they just let her go?
I kiss her forehead. she says my skin is soft,
I say so is hers. I tell her it’s alright to go now.
no more beauty pageants, no more titles, coke
or Frank Sinatra, no more bowling trophies
or casting calls, no more rejection. let her go
her life hurts of emptiness, she can’t swallow it any more
Blanche Dubois without the streetcar and no desire
on her lips, let her go…
she’s been there and done this and that,
smoked crack, she doesn’t want her life back,
take her off life support, she is coming up short,
if I could assist her suicide I would,
have mercy on her, we do it for animals,
but we let people suffer,
how cruel to let her lie in her waste and wallow.
It kills me to see her wither. Her voice once so deep
barely a whisper, now only a skeleton of her former self
my BFF, my darling neighbor, Miss CA. 1944.
no more tiaras, no more crowns, no more L.A. Times
off with her head, let the red queen go,
gently into that good night, please,
tuck her in
she has written her last poem…
her last rhyme
Shadow, Shadow, Shadow
it’s dinner time
(“Shadow & the apple” photo by L.K. Thayer)
© 2012
*A portion of the proceeds for each book sold will be donated to Doctors Without Borders*
I am a story… ~Cklara Moradian
The elephant in the room is armed
with breastplates Each time a woman’s
name is called we hurl our collective
breath ~Barbara Moore
Bella was forever Mrs. Peacock
in the library, rope in hand
hanging on harsh words ~Apryl Skies
for all the wild ponies in my life
may we always run free…~Alicia Winski
Dear Friends,
Mark your calendars for March 14, 2012! For the BOOK RELEASE IN THE COMPANY OF WOMEN: An Anthology of Wit & Wisdom, Sass & Class
In celebration of International Women’s History Month (March) and National poetry month (April) I cordially invite you to the official & much anticipated Online Book Launch for In the Company of Women; including the work of over 40 talented women from across the globe!
This is so exciting for all of us and we know you will enjoy the collection of over 100 carefully selected pieces of literature.
Proud contributors include Alicia Winski, Amanda LaPera, Annie Brodrick, Annie Hilerio, April Michelle Bratten, Apryl Skies, Barbara Moore, Bina Gupta, Camille Solari, Candice James, Carol Knepper, Carol McAdoo Rehme, Catharine Grasty, Cristina Umpfenbach-Smyth, Cklara Moradian, Gillian Prew, Gloria J. Wimberley, Helena Hunter, Jacqui Corcoran, Jessica Wilson, Karen Jones, Kate Lamberg, Katherine L. Gordon, Kimberley Rockdale, Lauri Langston, Leila A. Fortier, L.K. Thayer, Lois Michal Unger, Martina Reisz Newberry, Melissa Grossman, Pam Lampe, Paula Lietz, Peggy Anne Larson, Petra Whiteley, R. V. Reyes, Sadie Harris, Samantha Ledger, Sheila Crawford, Sheila Hageman, Silver Corbin, Sophia Argyris, Stephanie Bryant Anderson, Teri Louise Kelly, Tracie Skarbo, Trish Falin & Wanda Morrow Clevenger
For more info please visit our website: www.EdgarAllanPoet.com!
With much love and inspiration!
—
~Apryl Skies~
~Author ~Poet~ Filmmaker~
www.EdgarAllanPoet.com
This is the cover foto, copies available soon!
© 2011
I used to live off Sunset & Formosa
in Hollywood
for a few years
I don’t know
it could’ve been longer
it could’ve been shorter
I don’t keep track
of time too well
down the street was and still is
The 7th Veil Strip Joint
back in the day when you saw
10 to 12 hookers on every corner
doing intimate things with men
without getting intimate
I would walk down to my favorite
neighborhood bar
and always play
“Tell It Like It Is” by Aaron Neville
on the jukebox
I’d have my song lyrics on me
have a few drinks
and start singing them
a capella in anyone’s ear
I had the songs
and the songs had me
I wrote them after a break up
after a nervous breakdown
after all, it was better than
empty sex in an alley way
in the back of anywhere
of course, I made sure I fit some of that in too
I miss the ladies on the corner
it gave this town more depth
more soul without the heart
in this town where fame is
the drug of choice
wondering how to get it
how to score it
how to become
a household name
like Ajax or Swiffer or Rice-a-Roni
this town is like a giant melon baller
that keeps scooping out your guts
to make an ambrosia salad
for the masses to snack on
eat it while its
fresh, it gets old fast
and you have to toss it out
like whores turning tricks
for their pimps
we all have to answer to somebody
somebody’s always calling the shots
but you can’t give it all away
you’ve got to keep your cards
close
and they will fuck you
but just remember
whores don’t kiss
© 2011