Tag Archives: the world’s oldest profession

Some Girls Dance For The Love Of The Thing

Some girls dance
For the love of the thing,
And others For the security that a ring
does bring.
While others, with a fixed smile
Dance in bed
For they have bills to pay
Although it has been said
That some would rather be dead
Than go down that way.
Be that as it may
Will you condemn
Those who with men
Consort for pay
When the wolf
is baying at the door
And call them, “Whore”?
Or will you
Metaphorically flay
The lonely men
Who pay
For company,
And more
With a girl you label “Whore”?
Tell me
Who will you condemn?

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Beautiful women
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You may browse at your leisure.
There will be no sinning
For we
Only offer company,
But, what goes on behind closed doors . . .
We break no laws
But, discerning gentleman will understand
that money may command
a girlfriend
For the night
If the price is right,
But we must both pretend . . .
You do understand that we
Only provide company . . .

tottering on stilettos

Tottering on stilettos
Girls from ghettos
(And a few middle-class
Girls too) pass
Through lonely doors, and sing a song
That will be around so long
As mankind
Requires? desires?
More than food for his mind.

Did cavemen win
Young women to sin
With fine polished stone?
I own
I do not know
Though I suspect it was so.
And still girls go
Through lonely doors
And are labelled, hoars

You May Lie

You may lie
Back and think
Of your native lands,
And sigh
So he will think
In his drink
That his hands
And unshaven kiss
Have tipped you
Into the abyss
Of bliss

In his heart
(The better part)?
He may know
That it is not so,
But drink
Causes many a man to think
The untrue is true,
(But there are sober fools too).
And you,
do you Do
What you Need to
When you take the cash
Of the lonely, brash
And rash?

The Lost Soul

A wiff
Of cheap scent
On bedclothes
For him to sniff
When she goes.

How easy it is to repent
Of the money spent
But, he knows
That when the wine flows
The weak
Will seek
For a she of a certain profession.

Had he belief
He would make his confession
To the priest who knows
Where the lost soul goes
To find a temporary relief
On the Siren’s reef.

Mums The Word

An interesting expression
Is “the world’s oldest profession”.
Many a confession
Has the priest heard.
Mums the word.
He knows the flesh is weak
And will not speak
Of the desire
Burning in peasant and squire,
For discretion
Is his profession.