Lulu's poems

1. Lulu's Dedication

Portly blokes who long to straddle
Some emaciated model

Types who pant for busty beauty
Eager for a spot of dirty

Sporty men who dream of humping
Till the woman's bruised and limping

Mournful types who fancy junkets
Where the girls are bought for trinkets

Fleshly gits who'd like to ferret
Out a virgin pure of spirit

Lazy men who want a busy
Copulation-hungry hussy

My punters all whose lives are sparse
Whose breath is bad and conscience worse

You desperate fans of tit and arse
To you I dedicate my verse

2. Lulu Carlos Williams

So much depends
on the pink vibrator

Shining with water-
based lubricant

Placed neatly

The black
High heels.

3.Call Me External Reality

"the skin itself, the meeting
edge of man and external
reality, is where all that
matters does happen, that man
and external reality are so
involved with one another that,
for man's purposes, they had
be taken
as one"

(Found poem, from the prose of Charles Olson)

4.Lulu on Men
Anonymous as cash they come
To lick your tits and grope your bum.
The doorphone croaks. Each punter's led
To the curtained room with the blatant bed.

You wait a moment. This is when
You ponder the odd ways of men.
For some are sweet and some are bores.
And some won't let their eyes meet yours.
And some are brutes and some are tame
And some ask nicely if you're game
To try positions out of books.
Some say nice things about your looks,
And some are bad, or mad, or sad,
And some are older than your dad.
Some have jokes they want to tell you
Others mainly want to smell you,
Tits and armpits, neck and hair
As well as (need you ask) down there
There's some who think you're out to rob,
Whilst others simply lie and sob;
And there is one who calls you mum
And likes a finger up his bum
And wants you to pretend to come
Like it was the millennium.

And you remember there was one
Who, when the usual things were done,
Stared at you like he'd like to call
As loud as murder, "Is that all?"
And "Is that it, then? Is that sin?"

You got a glimpse then of a life
With perhaps an anxious, awkward wife,
And it's as though you simply knew
How his dissatisfaction grew,
And how for years he still resisted,
Though his fantasies insisted,
Till today at last he came along
To do the thing he thought was wrong,
To taste a final wickedness.
He watched as you slipped off your dress;
He heard your usual cheerful chat.
As you did this and you did that,
The way you do. You did your job.
You used your hands, you used your gob,
Etcetera, the way you do,
But his wide eyes did not see you.
More than that, they did not see
Anything much at all, poor chap,
Except an existential gap,
A great abyss, a lack of meaning.

You gave him babywipes for cleaning,
And he dressed himself and he went away
To the cold street, to the grey day.

5. Lulu's Sonnet

My sheen suffices me. Puritans,
Bellow for my delectation! Downy
I am, slender but not scrawny.
It's like a high-speed hopscotch, my dance,
A game, not self-expression.
I laugh at the word self; abstract, I'm above it.
I shall blank your cameras with the light
Sparklings of my eyes - Passion?
My toy, my cherub, my pet poodle,
He does what he's told. Sometimes
I let him play through me and at his naughty tricks
Laugh, but he comes back to his leash. My needle
Pricks love-knots on my forearm. Times
Repeat themselves. Winter comes like an axe.

6. Lulu Reflects

The mirrors round her bed display
Her having it in every way
All day and every day

All day it is herself she sees
On her back or on her knees
Trying so hard to please

Oh mirror self, my glassy twin,
Do you think we'll ever win?
Let's not give in

Dave Tidyman

If you've any comments on Lulu's poems, Dave Tidyman would be pleased to hear from you.