The Untouchable — by Barbara De Franceschi

Brio-girl in a lipstick dress
smears herself over the dance floor,
club music bounces
with chicken-fillet breasts.

She knows where the DJ is coming from
as he rubs the turntable with itching intent,
one of many who covet the glossy slide
between hip and knee.

Arms screw the air,
buttocks rotate on an urban beat,
each move brings her closer
to the consummation of fashioned heat.

Her reputation is spicy detail
dripping from underarms in the lavatory gossip pit.
They say she will flunk her degree,
build crumbling altars from pills and spiked drinks.

Contradiction pouts her lips beyond the Botox prick,
performance is knowing tenacity,
she protects her body against animal ambush
with a thermal shield of slinky sateen.


Proposed by Dandyakuza on Friday 18 March 2011 at 11:58 AM · Permalink · Comments (0)

Red — by Barbara De Franceschi

Everyone says it is my colour –
enhanced by olive skin, dark hair.

Silk woven or pure cotton,
the impact is the same,
there is spite in my aura,
pique itches, limbs snarl.

And yet, despite the distaste, I cannot resist
a good buy of coagulated folds.

Red bargains fly from my bedroom rafters,
(kicked and flicked in a frenzied strip-off)
some are enmeshed with dusty webs,
others have a newish furl. Odd looking banners/
floppy arms clutching at beams to avoid crucifixion,
frilly things with fasteners undone fornicate
with down-lights switched on in a scarlet haze.

I often think about taking a ladder to paint
each discarded item with national emblems –
circles and stars, vertical stripes,
half moons, lions upon shields.
Then at night I could listen to righteous voices
lag ceiling vents in a bloody ooze of anthems
while I am snared in crimson tulle.


Proposed by Dandyakuza on Friday 18 March 2011 at 11:50 AM · Permalink · Comments (0)

Helka’s Sleigh Ride — by Judson Hamilton

Prophetically it began to thaw
on the day
you entered this world

at the end of a winter
the likes of which
no one could remember :

month after month
the snow had fallen
white on white

as though the heavens
were heralding the arrival
of something



Proposed by Dandyakuza on Wednesday 09 March 2011 at 01:37 PM · Permalink · Comments (0)

Curt Scarlet Coat — by Judson Hamilton

she stands in a curt scarlet coat 
fashioned from the plumage of a thousand cardinals.

at the sound of him, she turns from the window
(dark damp ringlets of hair
swollen charcoal marks beneath each eye – black lipstick)
at the edge of her coat,
the smudge of a dark inverted triangle between her thin thighs

a metal crank protrudes from her temple and she begins to turn it in slow, laborious revolutions
yawning in accompaniment
mouthing plumes of musical notation 
the music reaches a brief pause in its cycle - -
her torso splits and twists away 
a duplicate slips from her skin, in an identical coat of infectious red,
the same swollen rings, ebony marks & smudges
a disturbing symmetry which only intensifies
as she, too, begins to crank the handle at her temple
invoking yet another generative cycle


Proposed by Dandyakuza on Wednesday 09 March 2011 at 01:05 PM · Permalink · Comments (0)