Tag Archives: the world’s oldest profession

The Agency

Beautiful women
For your pleasure.
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 . . .

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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.

Circles

Countless pages,
Throughout the ages,
Filled by people, a few perhaps sages.
It goes in stages,
Toleration then repression
Of the world’s oldest profession.

Some cry “shame!
The men are to blame!
Fine or confine
Them in jail,
Such a policy can not fail
To bust their lust.
One must
Prevent
The descent
Of women into prostitution. Shame! Shame!
The men are to blame!”

Others say
“Let the men pay.
Providing the women are willing
It is no business of society how a man spends his shilling.
Many do freely choose
To use
Their bodies to obtain financial recompense,
It does not make sense
To fine
Or confine
A man
When a girl can
Continue in her profession.
The answer lies not in repression”.

The nights are growing longer.
The earnest ponder
On the solution
To prostitution,
While John and whore
Go on as before.

This poem was prompted by the following article, by Julie Bindel, advocating that those who pay for sex be fined or imprisoned, (https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2016/jul/13/decriminalising-sex-trade-protect-workers-abuse
).