Tag Archives: prostitution

A man of the world addresses a young woman of easy virtue

“A service like any other,
But don’t tell your mother
As she
Is not like you and me.
We see
The truth plain
(which many distain)
That for the right price
He Can frequently have the She
Of his choosing
And vice
Is a call
Or click away.
How easy ‘tis to fall
Off a log, and oft we lack
The will to climb back”.

I Saw A Great Tent

I saw a great tent.
In I went
And found therein
Every man’s particular sin.

There I met
A girl called regret
Who did smile
And for a while
Invited men to forget
All pain.
Returning again and again
They Forged their own chain.

I shook my head
As the gambler said
“This time I shall win”,
For I saw the bookie grin

Drinkers from far and near
Revelled in wine and beer.
They drank and drank
As the sun rose and sank.
“Cheers.
More beers
Here, barmaid for we are soon dead”.
Someone said.
As he spoke
That tent disappeared in sulphur and smoke.

K Morris reading his poem ‘Circles’.

The debate surrounding sex work/prostitution appears to go around in circles, with one side blaming the sex bias, and saying that they should be fined or imprisoned, while the other argues that the state/society has no business interfering in what occurs between consenting adults. Often, it seems that neither side is listening to the other, while client and sex worker continue in their age-old roles.

 

Mannequin

As a mannequin in a shop window, at which people stare,
She stands in the glare
Of the bedroom light.
Once, such things did excite.
Now all is null
Or on occasions, he
Takes a dull,
Almost professional interest in yet another she.

Gazing at the girl, in her birthday suit
He thinks on the route
Cause of his obsession with mannequins.
Loneliness or sins?
Where begins
A man’s cursed traverse
Of the path to the ever lasting bonfire
Where desire
Ends in mechanical sport
With a mannequin bought
Out of boredom.
He knows there is no true joy in hoardom
For him or her.
Still, in despair
He takes a half-hearted pleasure there.

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
).

Behind Closed Door

Comfortable hotel beds
And lights that turn red,
On pavements cold
Where only the bold
Or foolish dare to tread.

The dread
Of discovery
And reputations shot beyond recovery,
May keep the mean streets clean,
While behind closed door
Things go on as before …

In April, the French legislature introduced a law making it illegal to pay for sex, http://www.theguardian.com/world/2016/apr/06/france-passes-law-illegal-to-pay-for-sex-criminalise-customers.