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judy smith Jun 2016
Paul Andrew, Scott Schuman, Anton Magnani, Frank Charriaut
Paul Andrew, creator of his eponymous line; Anton Magnani, chief executive officer of Sutor Mantellassi; The Sartorialist’s Scott Schuman, and Carvil artistic director Frank Charriaut packed into Colette on Saturday afternoon to debut their collections for fall.

“They’re very different,” said Sarah Andelman, creative director and purchasing manager of the Paris concept store. “The only thing they have in common is ‘made in Italy.’ You have the American brand, the Italian brand and the French. We don’t want shoes that are too classic. We’re trying to find our feet.”

Andrew was debuting his first shoe collection for guys during Paris Men’s Fashion Week. “Before I started my own brand four years ago, I designed shoes for 15 years for several other designers. I was doing men’s shoes for [Alexander] McQueen and later for Calvin Klein, so I have experience in men’s shoes and I loved it. I remember that time so fondly,” he said.

Colette stocks 12 men’s styles from his label. “This shoe, which may look like a classic shoe from the bottom, [actually has] four layers of leather to the sole, which makes it more aggressive, but still in a very refined way,” he explained, also pointing to sneakers bonded with neoprene and deer skin, “which is super luxurious leather – very light, but it’s also breathable.”

Following Colette, Andrew’s line will roll out to other stores, including Barneys.

Meanwhile, Magnani and Schuman presented their collab0ration — a chic sneaker style in four color ways.

“I really wanted to have something that would have interesting color combinations because, you know, I wear blue, gray, black, taupe a little bit [when it comes to clothes],” said Schuman. “I don’t wear like crazy colors. But for shoes you can do something a little more interesting.”

“Scott really came up with the good idea of making the stripes without seeing the stitch. You can see it’s all folded,” said Magnan, referring to the sneakers priced at 425 euros, or $471 at current exchange.

The duo just unveiled at Pitti Uomo spring 2017 styles, which are white but with “more summery color combinations,” explained Schuman.

Will the pair doing more collaborative projects? “We’re not just dating, we’re married for a little while. No Brexit between us,” Schuman said.

Charriaut presented his first collection for recently revived Carvil. “Carvil is a Parisian brand that was back in the day very chic and hip, for elegant men,” he explained.

Marc Jacobs, who was at Colette Saturday for the launch of Lorenzo Martone’s new eyewear range, purchased a pair of Carvil boots. Charriaut noted they were the style designed for Bob Dylan.

Meanwhile, downstairs at Colette, fans were lining up to get a signed copy of “Undercover Jun Takahashi,” published by Rizzoli. “There’s 25 years of history in it,” explained the designer.

The book, whose release comes following the retrospective dedicated to Takahashi at the Tokyo Opera City Art Gallery last October, is chockablock with his sketches, graphic work, pictures and essays. After a stint at the specialty store, the tome will roll out to bookshops in July. It’s priced at $65.Read more at: www.marieaustralia.com | http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses
Dear Colette,
I want to write to you
about being a woman
for that is what you write to me.

I want to tell you how your face
enduring after thirty, forty, fifty. . .
hangs above my desk
like my own muse.

I want to tell you how your hands
reach out from your books
& seize my heart.

I want to tell you how your hair
electrifies my thoughts
like my own halo.

I want to tell you how your eyes
penetrate my fear
& make it melt.

I want to tell you
simply that I love you--
though you are "dead"
& I am still "alive."

Suicides & spinsters--
all our kind!

Even decorous Jane Austen
never marrying,
& Sappho leaping,
& Sylvia in the oven,
& Anna Wickham, Tsvetaeva, Sara Teasdale,
& pale Virginia floating like Ophelia,
& Emily alone, alone, alone. . . .

But you endure & marry,
go on writing,
lose a husband, gain a husband,
go on writing,
sing & tap dance
& you go on writing,
have a child & still
you go on writing,
love a woman, love a man
& go on writing.
You endure your writing
& your life.

Dear Colette,
I only want to thank you:

for your eyes ringed
with bluest paint like bruises,
for your hair gathering sparks
like brush fire,
for your hands which never willingly
let go,
for your years, your child, your lovers,
all your books. . . .

Dear Colette,
you hold me
to this life.
Trevor Gates Dec 2013
[Fade in, Opera hall; Orchestra is tuning. There is a murmur of people whispering.]

Once upon a time
There was the House of God
And the stage of life

Its key players were man and woman
Supported by Sin and Death

The masterstroke of creation was not of the flesh

But of the souls

[Audience laughs]

I hold in my hand
The diary of a madman

Lined with notes and scribbles
Rotten thoughts to nibble

Food for thought
Or all for naught

Such eloquence and strife
From a torturous life
For these we must share
Alas, who would care?

Would you?

Let’s find out

For in this show tonight, in the heaps of winter fables
And changing seasons
The spectacles and visions shall not be enough


On a magic carpet set for Baghdad
In the Mirror sea of Venus
The performers are all here
For your entertainment

The illustrious Obsidian Theater beckons you all
The Masquerade of the Dream Catcher Ball


With masks, we put on our true faces
Our bare faces are mere disguises
That we wear in public places
But here we’re full of surprises

Mrs. Jujubee isn’t a housewife here
But a sultry dancer, moving to the tune of
Cat house romances

Mr. Wukanlyck isn’t an account anymore
But an eccentric ******* who plays at
Both ends of the field

If you know what I mean.

All these people are able to be their true selves in the light of the stage
How come they cannot be this way in life?
Why can’t they laugh with the bohemians?
Why must it all be a secret life?
Why can they not tell their spouses?
Their parents?
Their bosses?

Why can’t they be what they want to be?

Because…

Their spouses mock the idea of such silly notions and aspirations.
Their parents disregarded their dreams in the hopes they will one day:

“Wake up, get their life in order, so they can get a real job, earn a living, buy a house, get married and contribute to society like a normal person; have a decent life.”

If you can call that a decent life.

Why become another cog in the gears of the economic machine that fuels the fire of excess industry?

Why owe more money to lawyers, bankers and debt collectors in the hopes of owning a piece of property that is just like everyone else’s?

Why push out more unwanted kids into the world where there are already millions without homes, food or even families?

Those “free nations” are ok with owning guns than knowing what’s really happening in the world.  

If another opposing religion or country threatens your comfortable lifestyle then you’re ok with having your government go to war.  

You are slaves to your TVs

Your smart devices

Your phones

Your social networking

Your computers

Your shopping rituals

Your misunderstood purpose

Your narcissism

Your arrogance

Your defensive self-righteousness

Your thin empathy
An obtuse apathy

Indecisive, nail-biting listeners of classroom objectivity
Ridiculing social solicitors of mall shop dogma
The young millennial generations stamped with no discerning identity
Than the loss of critical thinkers which are replaced with
Cultural zombies and robotic masturbators dripping over
Dim screens of cyber people in the millions, filling minds with
Misconceptions, misguided eroticism, racial diabolism that will be
Passed on to friends, family and teachers who will disregard sources and substance
But use the same destructive and dividing strands of unrest
That will define their day to day lives
From the words
The minds
Of frustrated, opinionated
Suburb bloggers
Middle class pioneers that one day
will rule the country
Preaching of the day that all are troubles will be
“Resolved”
And all our past misdeeds and sins shall be
“Absolved”
The crusted, rustic chains of our forefathers’ bane shall be
“Dissolved”

And then maybe we’ll be able to embrace each other
Like in the storybook pages of our dreams
Where men can love men
And women can love women
And the faces, the masks
Will not be needed anymore
Because what we present to the world in the face of that
Higher being
Or simple sun
Will be what we truly are
We will have one life and one face and it will be all we need
Not like before, where our closets have that hidden space
Where we hide our real faces
With that suit of dusty skin
That everyone once in a while we have to sneak away and wear

Little Colette De Salle
Petite college student with features like
Audrey Hepburn
Singing in the underground garage
With Stevie and his troupe
Her songs haunting, elegant and pure
About people she once knew
Her parents
Beaten to death on the streets
By simply reporting the truth to the world
Which their bosses and media supervisors
Will determine what the “truth” is
And what is newsworthy at 7pm

She is Ms. Colette de Saille
And will be dead before she graduates
Because someone didn’t like what she said that one night
Calling out the Pigs and suits making sure no one paid
For her losses


This is Ken Sosnowski
But tonight on this stage he is Aveda Cicada
And she is who she is from birth

Like you all that sits before me

With shadowy smiles
And grins holding flowers, doves
Secrets

And

[Applause]
The Obsidian Theater, entry 16
eph you see kay etouffee if you see Kay tell her a catawampus catahoula hound hog dog crossed bayou levee last night all right what did you say if you see Kay tell her a catawampus catahoula hog dog crossed the levee last night all right i heard what you said the first time why you got to repeat eph you see kay you ******* ****** **** what? what did you say you ******* ****** **** heard you the first time you **** a **** a ***** a ***** hello stop end begin believe conceive create no thank you i already ate what? what did you say begin believe conceive create no thank you i already ate quit ******* repeating yourself  you ******* ******* hello stop end begin believe conceive create eph you see kay etouffee if you see Kay tell her a catawampus catahoula hog dog crossed the levee last night all right

the renown physicist dressed in brown wool suit brown leather laced shoes white shirt burgundy knitted tie wild curly graying hair climbed the stairs walked across the stage stood at the lectern adjusted narrow support pole height reached down into brown leather briefcase retrieved his thesis concerning the relative theory of everything tapped microphone composed his posture made a guttural sound clearing his throat looked out at packed full auditorium it became evident to the distinguished audience the renown physicist’s fly was open and his ***** hanging out it was unanimously dismissed as a case of professorial absent-mindedness

all the creatures of the earth (excluding humans) convened for an emergency session the bigger creatures talked first grizzly bears stood upright explaining demand for gallbladders bile paws make us more valuable dead than alive sharks testified Asian fisherman cut off our fins for soup then throw us back into the sea to die elephants thumping heavy feet stepped forward yeah poachers **** us for our tusks rhinos concurred yes they **** us for our horns wild Mustang horses neighed about violent round-ups then slaughtered processed for cat food whales complained of going deaf from submarine sonar tests then sold for meat many dolphins sea turtles tuna swordfish sea bass smaller fish swam forward pleading about getting caught in long line nets barbed baited hooks over-fished colonies chimpanzees described nightmares of being stolen from their mom’s when they are very young then used in research labs for horrible tests song birds chirped about loss of their habitats land tortoises spoke in gentle voices about being wiped out for housing developments saguaro cactuses dropped their arms in discouragement masses of penguins solemnly marched in suicidal unison to edge of melting icebergs polar bears and seals wept honey bees buzzed colony collapse disorder bats flapped about white nose syndrome coyotes and wolves howled lonesome prairie laments the session grew gloomy with heart-wrenching unbearable sadness sobbing crying then a black mutt dog spoke up my greyhound brothers and sisters and all my family of creatures i sympathize with your hurt but it is important to realize there are people who care love us want to protect us not all humans are ravenous carnivores or heartless profiteers a calico cat crept alongside black dog and rubbed her head against his chest an old gray mare admitted her love for a race horse jockey who died years ago a bluebird sang a song suddenly lots more creatures advanced with stories of human kindness Captain Paul Watson Madeleine Pickens Jane Goodall a redwood tree named Luna testified about Julia Butterfly Hill the winds clouds sky discussed concerns by Al Gore lots and lots of other names were mentioned and the whole tone of the meeting changed every one agreed they needed to wait and see what the next generation of people would do whether humans would acknowledge the cruelties threats of extinction and learn grow figure out ways to sustain mother earth father sky then the meeting let out just as the sun was rising on a new day

there is a cemetery in Paris named Père Lachaise buried there are the remains of Jim Morrison Oscar Wilde Richard Wright Karl Appel Guillaume Apollinaire Honoré de Balzac Sarah Bernhardt the empty urn of Maria Callas Frédéric Chopin Colette Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot Nancy Clara Cunard Honoré Daumier Jacques-Louis David Eugène Delacroix Isadora Duncan Paul Éluard Max Ernst Suzanne Flon Loie Fuller Théodore Géricault Yvette Guilbert Jean Ingres Clarence Laughlin Pierre Levegh Jean-François Lyotard Marcel Marceau Amedeo Modigliani Molière Yves Montand Pascale Ogier Christine Pascal Édith Piaf Marcel Proust Georges Seurat Simone Signoret Gertrude Stein Louis Visconti Maria Countess Walewska and many other extraordinary souls it is rumored at late dusk their ghosts climb from graves gather drink fine brandy from costly crystal glasses smoke fragrant cigars and once a year on November 2 party hard all night culminating in deliriously promiscuous ****** **** it’s difficult to know what the truth is since the dead don’t talk or do they
You took my hand with eyes of fear
Against the fence in mud burried
Your pet... wet colorless...desolate
The lovely bird who sang to you
Who made your day when you were sad
Now still and gone
never to sing
Trying to grasp
What's after life

Leaving the body was too hard
For a toddler to understand
You said " us too  ? we also die?
I tried to explain eternity
Your big eyes of woe
Crushed my heart

Colette Anne Naegle
Women bent over in a circle
A quilt is being born
Created with precision
of structure, harmony
Geometrically perfect
wedding band,log cabin.

The men are far away
fishing, hunting bisons
A dying fire, logs glowing
Icy winds wisttle under the door
back out through the chimney flue
Strong women, used to dangers
hunger, incertitude
marauding Indians
hidding out in the woods
Tighten up your circle
warm up your fingers
the quilt must be ready
For the new bride of spring
Colette Anne Naegle

copyrights 2009
I love America and wanted to learn " as much as i could from its people" as i am a new American of European ancestry: British, Scotish, Irish ( Armstrong one of my ancestors) and some French
I was raised in French and British in language  and learned to speak like an American .
Mutted sounds
The city sleeps... traditional
Rest...closed shutters
Against the heat....skies white
Blinding, implacable
Brurnt, liquid: coupolas baking
Through centuries of glazed splendor
My lover's breath on old fashioned
Sheets: starched, crip...ironed flat
Our bodies recouping
In the cool inner wall... welcomed presence
Nary a sound...inanimate objects
Enrobed in silence
Languid , heavy, waiting for the shadows
Announcing night's fresh enconter.
Colette Anne Naegle

copyrights 2005
Third Eye Candy Feb 2013
she plots your course but let's you plot your coarse
and  mavericks stammer in the haze-what? of her misadventures...
save those who plus.
if you must know, then you are obsolete... you may repeat the same **** questions
and flee elite. you may squander your whimsy
in shunt courts, and bind your Thoom !
you may chum the waters, some sharks shun
in favor of clear doom
of stayed
tongue.

you may this all, or remain
or remain,
young.
In a deep recess
Cloaked in darkness
Her shinny body
Glowing outside of its opaque deeds
Waiting for a prey
She does not miss a beat
The fact that you are alive
Makes her tremble with hate
Black becomes her
Messenger of death
A she twirls around in her webb
Exposing the red dot
Of her hour glass

Colette Anne Naegle
copy rights 2007
Twirling madly with his stars
In Arles
Surrounded by night at the café
Where he drank pastis

Bonding
With his sun  illuminated wheat
Taking a walk among
The wind blown cypress trees
His girating irises
His spinning suns

Loosing my eyes
in his self portrait of red hair
intent stare
Of genius

How sad ...they never told you
What a giant you were

Colette Anne Naegle
copyrights 2005
Navaho...sitting by your tee,***
Looking far away...
Lost in space and time
Old warrior
Tired and  tranquil
Remenbering the old braves of yore
Phantoms that you see  
Among the clouds
Old partners of wars
Pow wows... in the night skies

Sleeping on the hard earth
Joined in efforts , tenacily
Wise as serpents
Light as a deer
Running in tall grasses
Your arrows  lined together
Above your shoulder
Your name" light foot"
Protected by the canopy
Of the wide Arizona skies

Colette Anne Naegle
copy rights 2005
When i was knee high
Could i ever cry for our countries gone under
Because we had to surrender
Shredded by German's plunder
Yet i rejoiced and thanked God
when the sun was shinning
I did a lot of day dreaming
watching the clouds as they went by
The only jewells i saw were the daisies by the road
their perfect little rows
of white petals , center gold
I dreamt of far away lands where people were free
free to speak, free of fear and striffe
America land of my dreams
you were floting in my inner space like a desert's mirage
I clung to it with determination
until the day, it came into action
Young Gi's fresh faced, full of youth
smiled at us from their metal girth
tanks, cannons, guns and the likes
They looked so vulnerable and young
they held my hand " small " in theirs " strong"
in their palms well fed and reassuring
they could be so loving to a little girl
who defied dying
So land of my dreams you will come true
In my heart you grew and grew
till one day, i will see NewYork bay
Land of my dreams you will be mine

Colette Anne Naegle
1945
I wrote it at twelve when America blew down the **** sign in Berlin
You gave wings to my hopes
a chance for my talents
I wear your space like a coat of freedom
Your skies
As a hat of cornucopia
Your mountains
as an echo of love
your plains
as an ample cape of independance
Your oceans
as the children that you gave me

Colette Anne Naegle

copy rights 2006
Thank you America
I am a leaf in the winds
        Of time
Floating through space
        hurridely
Face up, face down
Knocking on walls
      of eternity
In an Einsteinian sort of way

I do not belong
  to this plane
Going in and out of
  Many dimensions...
Like the spirit that i became

Colette Anne Naegle
copyrights 2008
Fronds of grass
Struggling toward the sun
Cutting through the earth
With their sharp green shoots
Sun streaming through the branches
A perfect breeze for a perfect day
The world is still

Near the bark of a fallen tree
Lies a young man in repose...
His skin is fair,
The wind plays in his hair
Almost a child
With tender spots of pink
Around his ears, the nape of his neck
A young soldier wearing his uniform
Golden buttons adorn his chest
Right above his heart

A clean round hole
The war came by
He is gone

Colette Anne Naegle
Copyrights 2005
When i was knee high
Could i ever cry for our countries gone under
Because we had to surrender
Shredded by German's plunder
Yet i rejoiced and thanked God
when the sun was shinning
I did a lot of day dreaming
watching the clouds as they went by
The only jewells i saw were the daisies by the road
their perfect little rows
of white petals , center gold
I dreamt of far away lands where people were free
free to talk, free of fear and striffe
America land of my dreams
you were floting in my inner space like a desert's mirage
I clung to it with determination
until the day, it came into action
Young Gi's fresh faced, full of youth
smiled at us from their metal girth
tanks, cannons, guns and the likes
They looked so vulnerable and young
they held my hand " small " in theirs " strong"
in their palms well fed and reassuring
they could be so loving to a little girl
who defied dying
So land of my dreams you will come true
In my heart you grew and grew
till one day, i will see NewYork bay
Land of my dreams you will be mine

Colette Anne Naegle
1945
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2021
i think, which is synonymous with...
the plethora of feelings
most associated with doubt:
that there are as many thoughts
as there are doubts:
which stress the atomised creature:
this qua se:
     etc.
              the internet ended up
being a... ******* terrible idea...
for the worth of a postman...
the "world" trudged on...
ploughing the fields while anchoring
in the dead...
time was history of Neptune...
   space a self-contained "self"...
                the decrepit insurgence
of a gush of air teased with
avatar ice-sprinkle... bombast
after every bombast of the most
choicest effort of wording achieved
nil - or there-about(s)...
we were so solemnly sworn into an "oath"...
loitering there was this miracle drag
of a drug... upon sedation little
things exploded without q.
or -west borne... the migrating harangue...
sleepy whittle england of
those on a suffix leash of -ish...
like a teasing of....
making amends to (a) prior
scrutiny...
the internet was a terrible idea
it's also  terrible idea to...
listen to BBC radio 3...
all the tax payers' "communism" of worthwhile
redistribution tail end of chimera work
marvels...
no adverts... or... rather...
very little of 'em to mind...
but then again:
there aren't enough hours...
to have to listen to... what the radio kept
while the t.v. medium "forgot"...
via too much interruption of
being almost telepathic:
  the insomnia per se
coupled with the u.v. charged libido
overt-stimulus of completing
a hard-on...
of the last, at Ypres and near
to the heart of Ilford... the nerve to...
buy a ***** mag from a "******"
of jazzy stash...
prior to the internet there was
this glamorous itching:
a momentary lapse in hierarchy demands...
etc. etc. ehyeh asher...
       the world was enough: involving...
it wasn't so... bogus  entrapping
fickle...
i could have understood fake:
but fickle... and fake... simulated
at the speeds of simultaneous?

si-mul-ten-ous...
   sim-ul-ten-us...
like simulation of "ten" is upon...
"us"...
    to archive the 29th century is to
archive the "concept" / therefore use
of paper...
      my paper this paper...
a tree a breeding of  feeding
of all that's leftover and in the eyes
of all: however quick the Ronin
involvement... there's this stretch of
imagination that comes across an:
impasse... alternatively prescribed
as: quo, status...

one cigarette, two cigarette: fold...
a crow with but one wing managed
to scoop up the entire leafage of:
this autumn, this crispness...
this drunken...
         death-fetish sickly sweet
addition of decay: prospect...
prospect of revised invigoration:
via the drying of blood...
my new... quench-thirst scrutiny...
how these implosions happen and
"happen"...

and it's not like i'm missing
viral elements
to **** enough happy
to later produce drone strikes
of the hammer happily
every after children for
a sikh g.p. to "look after":
but... what i am stressing is...
this particular end of misery...
it ends with me...
it ends here...
it ends now...

           i don't need this worth
of an inheritance tax...
this clingy "necessary"... additional
bulls-eye blank stake at
a viper's bite...
a (wo)man by the name of:
sarah everard...
             was never reported missing...
was ever to be found...
the world is b.f.g. and by now
i presume there's a special assortment
of a hell for the deeds in reverse...

a wasting of a womb...
but thank **** and all the critters &
grasshoppers
this is a heavily arrived at sigh of...
well, yes... "potential"...
who would have guessed that...
***** was her way to tabloid a "go"...

the internet was a terrible idea
as ideas go it
was ******* pink pretty of me to
think of having "bypassed the editorial critique"
while only having attained a
Pavlov's sick'em tactic:
succinctly less exploited:
  beside this... hard boiled egg:
with a runny yoke... sort of... moi...

that she is... a pretty "Colette" of a sarah everard;
morbid torso tossing:
invigoration prone asp... bite & nibble...
numbing... like the loss-of-a-trill-R
in both French und Hen-gleash...
blister... button...
               agitating a burning of butter...
for signature that's
additionally:
           a statement of refining dough
used in poach:
     alias with the addition of -ing.
Wisper, because time
passes so quickly.
Wisper for fear the clock strikes
one too many

The hours like sighs
rob us of our moments
the good, the bad, the indiffrernt
I try to hold you .
Like the seive holds water
Through my fingers you glisten
you glimmer, you disappear
Time, time, my elusive one
You make my life appear
like a dream I hardly dreamt

You are going, you are gone
Of all the sunsets of my days
I'll remember but a few....time so dear
So unpalpable
You are gone

Colette Anne Naegle
copyrights
2006
I’d seen her wander along the street
A number of times, or more,
And know I should have approached her then
But she might have said, ‘what for?’
I could have asked for a date, but then
I left it much too late,
And saw her then with a guy called Ben,
But he looked like spider bait.

He had a straggly beard and hair
That stood up straight in spikes,
I don’t know what she could see in him
For my first response was ‘Yikes!’
His frame was thin and all caving in
And his clothes were contrabands,
But he clutched at her with a bony paw,
With hair on the back of his hands.

She went to stay at his cottage, which
Was set at the edge of the wood,
More of a tumbledown shack, I thought,
Not right for that neighbourhood,
It lay half-hidden between the trees
With their foliage hanging down,
You had to push past the bushes that
Enclosed the whole surround.

She’d sit out on the verandah with
The sun about to set,
While I would creep in around there
For a glimpse of her, Colette.
I thought, perhaps if she saw me there
She might come out to see,
And once I’d managed to talk to her
She’d fall in love with me.

But Ben would never let go of her
Nor let her out of his sight,
He kept her there by the spiders that
Would weave their webs each night,
From every dangling branch there hung
An orb web in the breeze,
And in each centre a spider that
Would make Colette’s blood freeze.

I think he must have been breeding them
He seemed to take delight,
In pointing out how the thousands seemed
To weave there every night,
Then she began to withdraw from him
And refuse his coarse demands,
Whenever he went to reach for her
With his scrawny, hairy hands.

The webs ballooned and they hit the roof
Formed a blanket from the trees,
They covered the little cottage and
I heard her frightened pleas,
She couldn’t leave the verandah though
She said she’d have to go,
He said that he was a spider man,
And that’s when I heard his ‘No!’

She didn’t come out again for days
And I heard her cry at night,
‘I hate this place, and I hate your face,’
But he said, ‘You’re my delight.’
A week went by and I heard her sigh,
The last sound that she made,
So I burst through all the gossamer webs
With an old and rusty blade.

He was knelt beside her form supine
In the corner of the room,
While she was wrapped in gossamer fine
And looked like a large cocoon,
I lashed out with the rusty blade
And cut off his evil head,
When thousands of spiders scurried out
From his neck, and over the bed.

I cut her out of the tight cocoon
And peeled it back from her face,
She hugged me in the gathering gloom
And said, ‘Let’s leave this place.’
I’d like to say that she went with me
But I’d left my run too late,
‘I’ll never look at a man again
Since he made me spider bait.’

David Lewis Paget
Colette Williams Dec 2014
I think the real reason, Colette,
The reason for why you haven't left yet
Well, you're afraid of taking that next step
And admitting you deserve to do your best.
Ryan O'Leary Aug 2018
Over in Belfast the Brits used
a wire mesh on landrovers.

Across the street from me
Colette has lace curtains.

Up above the computer a
spider has woven a web.

Down below on our terrace
a French lady wears fishnets.

The sun has just been eclipsed
by a ***** black cloud and, yes

You guessed correctly, the
Parisian Shelia has gone inside

And I am here like a spare
***** at a wedding holding

         My pair of

              O-O

      
        Binoculars.
Ryan O'Leary Jun 2018
Over in Belfast the Brits used
a wire mesh on windscreens.

Across the street from me
Colette has lace curtains.

Up above the computer a
spider has woven a web.

Down below on our terrace
a French lady wears fishnets.

The sun has just been eclipsed
by a ***** black cloud and, yes

You guessed correctly, the
Parisian Shelia has gone inside

And I am here like a spare
***** at a wedding holding

             My B -

               0-0





      
        - inoculars.
Izze Jan 2020
you're right. i could never understand, but

i want to, and

i want you to come back to me months or years later and tell me you're sorry, tell me you've missed me, tell me that this is the year you're going back to costa rica and would i like to come try those mangoes with you?

i would

i want to wake up in the mornings, not punched in the gut with pain and longing when i open my eyes, but by morning breath. i want to relish in the naturalness of bed head and cold feet. i wanna drag myself out of the warmth of the covers and make an egg scramble, just to watch you drown the whole thing in bbq sauce. "it's good!" you say, just

wait

don't worry about being selfish, love. i've been there already and i decided a long time ago that the good outweighs the bad. plus, we all have stuff to work on, right? lord knows that i could definitely work on myself

forever, because

i've already done a bunch of selfish things, and i know that i'll tell you about them years down the road and we'll laugh and cringe and wrinkle our noses. but then we'll get up and go shower and go make breakfast and i know i'll be thinking about how

i want

to go to the supermarket today love, ET and Lucy are staying after school for the 3-5th grade dance, so we should probably pitch in and donate some of those cupcakes we like. the ones with the organic frosting. you'll say, "hey iz? don't forget

to say

goodbye to Colette at the elementary school, even if she leaves you right away for the table of play dough. i know that hurts your feelings but you are the adult and she is the 1st grader". you're right, love, she is the first grader, so i'll make sure i'll say goodbye in the funny way that

i do

anyway, i gotta go now, but i just wanted to say a few things and make sure you knew that you're in my prayers

forever and ever, amen.

! ! ! ! !
i think i do understand. but i also know that everyone always comes back to salted caramel, and that the best pairing is always with vanilla oreo cream.

— The End —