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

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 neck wear 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.


* You can read more of Bojana’s work at Blogging with Bojana




  2. I can’ 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

    • 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 1 person

  3. Bojana, I Love the way you use language to both subtly and aggressively spotlight polarization. The message of your poetry is always fierce but not predictable. It lures you in and then shakes you, never allowing you to look away. Your poetic voice has a beautifully unique rhythm that is tangible. Gorgeous piece!

    Liked by 3 people

  4. 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

  5. The oldest profession
    . . . acting.
    All started with a fig leaf.
    Ends with a fake orgasm.
    Hollywood sits on a casm,
    above a fool’s gold mine,
    filled with Arab oil
    paying its way,
    from Syria to Yemen
    with foreign crime.
    From the big screen,
    to a bloody battle scene
    where the innocent scream
    … Yes, there is a monied,
    muddy connection.
    Bright lights to hide the evil
    lurking below the surface
    of the glittering film festival.

    Liked by 1 person

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