Song of The Succubus – Poetry in Burlesque

Master_Nick-Succubus-BurlesqueI’d mentioned that Saturday night’s Bodacious Bombshells Burlesque Revue’s “Goddesses and Monsters” show was well received. I’ve heard many fine words in particular about the act Angel Kitty and I performed, wherein she embodied a succubus while I played the part of the preacher who warns of the corruptive influences of succubi and irreverent smut.
(Of course, the border between smut and art is an arbitrary distinction, all too often delineated by self righteous fellows like the one I portrayed– But that’s a topic for another entry.)

Between the cast, crew, and audience, many wondered just who wrote this smut, or, as one should say, poetry.

I did, cannibalizing lines from a prior poem or two, and weaving them together with new lines, all in preparation for the performance.

I’ve also been asked if I can share those lines.

I can and will. Here they are!


I bid thee, good folk, lend your ear,
For heresy is printed here!
Beware such smut, and go in fear,
Lest ye may shed a bitter tear!

Song of the Succubus

There’s a legend of a woman,
though they say she isn’t human.
Holy men, they call her wanton,
Even dub her as a demon.

Master_Nick-Succubus-Burlesque1On wing of bat, and clad in sky,
Through windows fly the succubi.
When midnight wood they may espy,
They spread their thighs, and sigh and cry.

The holy men, they fear the soul
May be lost and swallowed hole
If one surrenders in his bed
To women whom they haven’t wed.

True, these men perform the weddings,
And thus dictate all the beddings.
In this way they bind the women
And the minds of mother’s children.

Yes, holy men have much to win,
And coin to gain by tales of sin.
So might the tales of succubi
Be not but something like a lie?

If one is drained upon the dawn,
It needn’t mean one’s soul is gone.
‘Twas just a long and pleasant night,
Of fueling winged woman’s flight!

The Cult of Motherless Father
Dubs her a soul-sucking demon,
Yet spirits are not worth her bother.
She prefers supping ‘pon semen.

Though most unjust, some pass the blame
For their own lust, and set to flame
The succubus, the much defamed,
And all of us who won’t be tamed.

All they who banned the eldest game,
And those who brand the flesh with shame,
And reprimand the wanton dame,
They preached and planned, but seldom came.

Master_Nick-Succubus-Burlesque2To those whose spite grew out of fear,
The winged ones shall not appear.
Such men shan’t know the joy they’ll miss:
The soul aglow with naked bliss!

So raise a glass– (or member–) high,
To all the loving succubi!
And raise a toast to all of us
Who dare to love the succubus!

Master Nick Roberts © 2014

Why are my pants off?

The succubus did it! I swear!

Why am I wearing garters and thigh high fishnets?

Do not question!

Fly by again to watch paintings progress, and to catch updates on exhibitions, performances, publications and more!

For a succubus story, zombie bites, and similarly twisted fiction, acquire a copy of “Gonzombie and Other Dark Tales”

Photos by Wendy Williams

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