WOMEN OF THE SEA

Every year films take place on the French Riviera
Hookers stroll in and out of the big hotels
Lo sceicco bianco
jerks off in the shower
picturing putes de luxes, well-dressed and well-mannered bombshells
for Arabs in white when the Sun goes out.
Smiling contentedly
groping, growing, probing, rolling, exploding into
girls who keep their mouths shut and
legs open.

It’s been going on for 60 years, movies
under the glare of the spotlights and
sex in the world with
polarized sunglasses, protection against prying eyes
denying the redundant stare
hand in hand in Cannes. Yacht girls on the alluring Cote d’Azur
a balmy playground of the rich and famous.
Sun-soaked sophistication.
The chain clanks as the anchor falls through the water
cars pull into the bay to unload fresh meat
classy mesdemoiselles like ships make headway against the gale
a gateway to success.
Professional prostitutes, B- and C-list Hollywood actresses, beauty
queens and whimsical models dreaming
of a world at peace when needed
kept close at hand, nude and half nude,
always in the mood despite
remarks made in bad taste.
Combination boilers providing hot water on demand.

Winemakers babble about the wine production. The murmur of the waves.
Grape selection, cultivation, pressing, aging, bottling, tasting
wine and girls with perky breasts who
smile at men willing to spend a fortune to relish
the bubbly taste of diamonds,
Armand de Brignac and Dom Pérignon
Prisoners finally taste freedom. A sparkling taste of
attainability.

Orphaned children.
Street children sleeping rough.
Malnourished mothers giving birth to underweight babies on TV.
Scraggy children choke themselves awake on flies
swarming inside their mouths. Squawking birds fly low.
Switch it off, the craggy voice is heard
his words slurred
tucking into lobster stew
harbored in the big blue.

White Pearl Caviar, white truffles,
white moose cheese made in limited quantities for
men in white.
The fish bite every day. Good fortune.

A fragrant pine-clad coastline at sundown
dreaming in colors.
A recurrent dream about falling from great heights.
A wife dreams of going back to school.
A single mom of a two-year old dreams of going to America
daycare and neckwear at the back of her mind.
A girl leans against the headboard
fantasizing about a life outside of rent hotel rooms.
A dream vacation, a dream car, a dream house in the country
A dream hub and a couple of rugrats
A golden retriever in the basket
A recurring dream about happily ever after.

A gift for elderly men’s eyes they were
the most beautiful mermaids with a rare talent for
grinning, loving and
making good use of their talents.
Nature gifted them with a fine body
and a strong stomach, so they thought,
a little piece of heaven bought and
brought sealed in an envelope
their aching legs gave way, and they almost fell.
50 grand worth happiness.


 

via WOMEN OF THE SEA ~ BOJANA STOJCIC — MORALITY PARK

Author: Blogging_with_Bojana

I'm diggin' Need to grow, have to push Flicking through vinyl and feeding the rush I dig for that one and I open the haunt It's takin' all day from the back to the front I'm diggin' and diggin' You know Sorry baby I'm gone diggin' www.bloggingwithbojana.com

72 thoughts on “WOMEN OF THE SEA”

  1. What a fun look at the sordid side of this famous film festival!

    A couple of years ago, we were driving from Nice to Toulouse and when we saw the road signs for Cannes, veered off an stopped for breakfast. It was a lot of fun.

    Liked by 3 people

  2. Brilliantly expressed – a real tale of two poles which exist alongside one another whilst eyes remain blind. And then the drive which leads some to do anything to cross the line…and the abuse that then ensues. An excellent piece.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. I can’t stop reading this one. The way you tell two tales that are part of a whole. The subtle use of alliteration in a few places.

    Every reference is carefully selected and placed. There is not one word wasted nor one wanted in place of another.

    Bojana, I think this may be your best yet. And you who hid your poetic voice from us for so long.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Well, I did think long about the topic and it took time to put everything in its place so that the poem would sound the way it does.
      I do love alliteration and repetition in writing. They are pretty powerful devices.

      Thanks for the compliment. I enjoyed writing that love poem but nth thrills me half as much as addressing social injustices.

      Liked by 3 people

    1. There’s so much deviance in the world, isn’t there?
      But then, not all deviance is negative. It is said that without it, it’d be impossible to change the world.

      Thanks for reading, Steve.
      (P.S. Greetings from Split, where I was told that Markesich could be a Dalmatian last name, though a very rare one.)

      Liked by 2 people

  4. I love this. I like poetry that can be awful and gritty (in a good way… not awful poetry). I have to say the first three or four stanzas and the last two were probably my favorites. There was a bit of the “it,” you know, the moment happening in that last stanza.

    Liked by 2 people

      1. Poetry is great, especially when you’re in the groove. I’m a shit poetry writer, but I still think it’s fun.

        Yeah, not up to much and also a whole lot. Summer was crazy. Partial bathroom remodel that involved taking the roof off. Epic trip to Oregon to… basically watch our kids in Oregon… other things.

        How’ve you been?! Writing, clearly.

        Liked by 2 people

      2. Don’t believe everything you see…
        I’m actually on vacation, first in Serbia, now in Croatia, doing nth but lazing about, reading and posting things I’ve already written. As I said earlier, I’m too damn relaxed to be productive. I need my stress and depression back.

        Liked by 2 people

  5. I can smell the reality in this powerful write. The only fucking thing that could possibly make me wish to be younger – would be the chance to go street singing with you.

    Liked by 2 people

  6. To misquote a line in a movie I saw the other day, “talking about poetry is like dancing about architecture.” I don’t feel qualified to make long, sweeping responses to the amazing verses I see before me (from you and the others) so I generally just read, go “wow,” and check out all the dancing afterwards.

    But the way you take social issues and make them “rhyme,” it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.

    What can I say? Dance on, sister, you’re building skyscrapers.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. An awfully insightful poem, and this piece dug at me deeply
    “The chain clanks as the anchor falls through the water
    cars pull into the bay to unload fresh meat
    classy mesdemoiselles like ships make headway against the gale
    a gateway to success.”
    Your words are a stark reminder of what happens in the underbelly of the glitz.

    Liked by 1 person

  8. I’m with Tom. I don’t have the poetic sensibilities to offer a worthy comment. All I can do is tell you how visceral, sad, brutally satiric and sadly REAL picture you just painted. It’s as if you just described a dark underworld that is right there in plain sight. You are freakin’ brilliant

    Liked by 1 person

    1. And I think it’s freakin’ brilliant that we share this space.
      Reality often sucks. Poetry only imitates. It’s when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words. Luckily, I have lots of things that bother me and seek expression.
      Thank you. Always.
      (How r u doing?)

      Like

  9. Having been intimately involved with a festival or two in my time, there’s always a darker side to these events. The bigger and renowned, the darker the things that lurk beneath the veil. I love what you wrote here, the messaging, poetic devices, and flow are on point. Thank you for sharing! Sincerely, Brian

    Liked by 1 person

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