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judy smith Apr 2017
So you know you’re looking at two very different styles of dress, here. But precisely what decades? When did that waistline move back down? What details are the defining touches of their era? How long were women actually walking around with bustles on their backsides?

Lydia Edwards’s How to Read a Dress is a detailed, practical, and totally beautiful guide to the history of this particular form of clothing from the 16th to the 20th centuries. It tracks the small changes that pile up over time, gradually ******* until your great-grandmother’s closet looks wildly different than your own. As always, fashion makes for a compelling angle on history—paging through you can see the shifting fortunes of women in the Western world as reflected in the way they got dressed every morning.

Of course, it’ll also ensure that the next lackadaisically costumed period piece you watch gives you agita, but all knowledge has a price.

I spoke to Edwards about how exactly we go about resurrecting the history of an item that’s was typically worn until it fell apart and then recycled for scraps; our conversation has been lightly trimmed and edited for clarity.

The title of the book is How to Read a Dress. What do you mean by “reading” a dress?

Basically what I mean is, when you are looking at a dress in an exhibition or a TV show, reading it in terms of working out where the inspirations or where certain design choices come from. Being able to look at it and recognize key elements. Being able to look at the bodice and say, Oh, the shape of that is 1850s, and the design relates to this part of history, and the patterning comes from here. It’s looking at the dress as an object from the top down and being able to recognize different elements—different historical elements, different design elements, different artistic elements. “Read” is probably the best word to use for that kind of approach, if that makes sense.

It must send you around the bend a little bit, watching costume adaptations where they’re a bit slapdash. The one I think of is the Keira Knightley Pride and Prejudice, which I actually really enjoy, but I know that one’s supposed to have all over the place costuming-wise.

Yeah, it does. I mean, I love the BBC Pride and Prejudice one, because they kept very specifically to a particular era. But I can see what they did with the Keira Knightley one—they were trying to keep it 1790s, when the book was written, as opposed to when it was published. But they’ve got a lot of kind of modern influences in there and they’ve got a lot of influences from 30, 40 years previously, which is interesting to an audience and gives an audience I suppose more frames of reference, more areas to think about and look at. So I can see why they did that. But it does make it more difficult if you’re trying to accurately decode a garment. It’s harder when you’ve got lots of different eras going on there, but it makes it beautiful and interesting for an audience.

The guide spans the 16th to the 20th century. Why start with the 16th century?

Well, partly because it’s where my own interest starts, in terms of my research and the areas I’ve looked at. But more importantly in terms of audience interest, we get a lot of TV shows, a lot of films in recent years—things like The Tudors—that type of era seems to be something that people are interested in. That time is very colorful and very interesting to people.

And also because in terms of thinking about the dress as garment, obviously people wore dresses in medieval times, but in terms of it being something that specifically women wore, distinct from men’s clothes, I really think we start to see that more in the 15th, 16th century onwards.

Where do you go to get the historical information to put together a book like this? What do you use as your source material? Because obviously the thing about clothing is that it has to stand up to a lot of wear and tear and a lot of it doesn’t survive.

This is the other thing about the 16th century stuff—there’s so little surviving. That’s why that chapter was a lot shorter and also that’s why I used a lot of artworks rather than surviving garments, just because they don’t exist in their entirety.

But wherever possible, you go to the garments themselves in museum collections. And then if that’s proving to be difficult, you go to artworks or images, but always bearing in mind the artist will have had their own agenda, so they won’t necessarily be accurate of what people were actually wearing. So then you have to go and look up written source material from the time—say, diaries. I like using letters that people have written to each other over the centuries, describing dress and what they were wearing on a daily basis. Novels can be good, as well.

Also the scholarship that has come before, the secondary sources, works by people like Janet Arnold, Aileen Ribeiro. Really well researched scholarly books where people have used primary sources themselves and put their own interpretation on it can be really, really helpful. Although you take some of it with a pinch of salt, and you put your own interpretation on there, as well.

But always to the dress itself wherever possible.

What are some of the challenges you face, or the constraints on our ability to learn about the history of fashion?

Well, the very practical issue of trying to see garments—some of them I did see here in Australia, but a lot of them were in the States, in Canada, in New Zealand, so it’s hard to physically get there to see them. And often, even when you can get to the museum, garments are out on loan to other exhibitions or other museums. That’s a practical consideration.

But also, especially when I’m talking about using artworks and things, which can be really helpful when you’re researching, but as I’ve said they do come from a place where there’s more interpretations and more agendas. So if someone’s done a portrait and there’s a beautiful 1880s dress in it, that could have been down to the whims of the person who was wearing it, or the artist could have changed significantly the color or style to suit his own taste. Then you have to do extra research on top of that, to make sure that what you are seeing is representative.

It’s a fascinating area. There’s a lot of challenges, but for me, that’s what makes it really exciting as well. But it’s really that question of being able to trust sources and knowing what to use and what not to use in order to make things clear for the audience.

Obviously many of these dresses were very expensive and took a lot of labor and it wasn’t fast fashion—people didn’t just give it away or toss it when it fell out of season. A lot of times, you did was you remade it. When you’re looking at a dress that’s been remade, how do you extract the information that you need as a historian out of it?

I love it when something like that comes up. I’ve got a couple of examples in the book.

Well, it can be quite challenging, because often when you’re first looking at a piece it’s not obvious that it’s been remade. But if you’re lucky enough to look inside it and actually hold it and turn it round different angles, there’ll be things like the placement of a seam, or you’ll see that the waist has been moved up or down according to the fashion. And that’s often obvious when you’re looking inside. You can see the way the skirt’s been attached. Often you can tell if a skirt’s been taken off and then reattached using different pleats, different gatherings; that can give you a hint that it’s then been remade to fit in with a different fashionable ideal.

One of the key ways is fabric. You can often see, especially in early 19th century dresses when they’ve been made of these beautiful 18th century silks and brocades. That’s nice because it’s the first obvious clue that something’s been remade or that an old dress has been completely taken apart and it’s just the fabric that’s been used. I find it particularly interesting when the waist has been moved or the seams have been taken off or re-sewn in a different shape or something like that. It can be subtle but once your knowledge base grows, that’s one of the most fascinating areas that you can look at.

You page through the book and you watch these trends unfold and there are occasional sea changes will happen fairly quickly, like when the Regency style arises. But how much change year-to-year would a woman have seen? How long would it take, just as a woman getting dressed in the morning, to see styles just radically alter? Would you even notice?

Well, this is the thing—I think it’s very easy, when we’re looking back, to imagine that in 1810 you’d be wearing this dress and then all the frills and the frouf would have started to come in the late 1810s and the 1820s, and suddenly you would have had a whole new wardrobe. But obviously, unless you were the very wealthiest women and you had access to dressmakers who had the absolute newest patterns and newest fabrics then no, you wouldn’t have seen a massive change. You wouldn’t have afforded to be able to have the newest things as they came in. You would have maybe remade dresses to make them maybe slightly more in line with a fashion plate that you might have seen, but you wouldn’t have had access to new information and new fashion plates as soon as they came. To be realistic, there would have been very little change on a day to day level.

But I think also, for us now—it’s hard to see it without hindsight, but we feel like we’re fairly fluid in wearing the same kind of styles, but obviously when we look back in 20 years, we’ll look at pictures of us and see greater changes than we’re now aware. Because it happens on a slow pace and it happens on such a subconscious level in some ways.

But actually, yeah, it’s to do with economics, it’s to do with availability. People living in towns where they couldn’t easily get to cities—if you were living in a country town a hundred miles away from London, there’s no way that you would have the resources to see the most recent fashion plates, the most recent ideas that were developing in high society. So it was a very slow process in reality.

If you have a lot of money you can change out your wardrobe quicker and wear the latest styles. And so the wealthiest people, their clothes were what in a lot of case stood the best chance of surviving and being in modern collections. So how do we know what working women would have worn or what middle class women would have worn?

Yeah, this is hard. I do have some more middle class examples, because we’re lucky in that we do have quite a few that have survived, especially in smaller museums and historical collections, where people have had clothes sitting in their attics for years and have donated them, just from normal families over the years.

But, working women, that’s much more difficult. We’re lucky from the 19th century because we have photographic evidence. But really a lot of it will come down to written descriptions, mainly letters, diaries, not necessarily that the people themselves would have kept, but there’s examples of people that worked in cotton mills, for instance, and people that ran the mills and their families and wives and friends who had written accounts of what the women there were wearing. Also newspaper accounts, particularly of people who would go and do charity work and help the poor. They often wrote quite detailed descriptions of the people that they were helping.

But in terms of actual garments, yeah, it’s very difficult. Certainly 18th century and before, it’s really, really hard to get hold of anything that gives you a really good idea of what they wore. But in the 18th century—it’s quite interesting, because then we get examples of separate pieces of clothing worn by the upper classes, like a skirt with a jacket, which was actually a lower middle class style initially and then it became appropriated by the upper classes. And then it became much fancier and trimmed and made in silks and things. So then, we can see the inspiration of the working classes on the upper classes. That’s another way of looking at it, although of course that’s much more problematic.

It’s interesting how in several cases you can see broader historical context, or other stories happening through clothes. Like you point out that the rise of the one-piece dresses is due to the rise of mantua makers, who were women who were less formally trained who were suddenly making clothing. Are there any other interesting stories like that, that you noticed and thought were really fascinating?

There’s a dress in the book that a woman made for her wedding. I think she was living on her own, or she was living with a servant and her mother or something. She made the dress and then turned up to her wedding and traveled quite a long way to get there, and when she arrived, the groom and all the guests weren’t there. There was nobody. So she went away and came back again a week later, and everyone was there. And the reason that no one was there before was that a river had flooded in the direction that they were all coming from. She had obviously no way of finding out about this until after the fact, and we have this beautiful dress that she spent ages making and had obviously gone to a lot of effort to try and work out what the latest styles were, to incorporate it into her wedding dress.

Things like that, I find really interesting, because they talk so much about human and social history as well as fashion history, and the garment is the main way we have of keeping these stories alive and remembering them and looking into the kind of life and world these people lived, who made these garments.

Over the centuries, how does technology affect fashion? Obviously, we think of the industrial revolution as really speeding up the pace of fashion. But are there other moments in the history of fashion where technology shapes what women end up wearing?

One example is where I talk about the Balenciaga dress from the early 1950s—with a bubble hem and a hat and she would have worn these beautiful pump shoes with it—with the introduction of the zipper. Which just made such a huge difference, because it suddenly meant you’d have ease and speed of dressing. It meant that you didn’t have to worry about more complicated ways of fastening a garment. I think the zipper made a massive change and also in terms of dressmaking at home, it was a really quick and simple way that people had of being able to create quite fashionable styles on a budget and with ease and speed at home.

Also, of course, once women’s dress started to become simpler and they did away with the corset and underwear became a lot less complicated, that made dressing a lot easier, that made the introduction of the bias cut and things that sit very closely to the natural body much more widely used and much more fashionable.

I would say the introduction of machine-made lace as well, particularly from the late 19th, early 20th century onwards where it was so fashionable on summer dresses and wedding dresses. It just meant that you could so much more easily add this decadent touch to a garment, because lace would have been so much more expensive before then and so time-consuming to make. I think that made a huge difference in ordinary women being able to attain a kind of luxury in their everyday dress.

That actually makes me think of something else I wanted to ask you, which is you point out in your intro the way we casually use this word “vintage.” I think about that with lace. Lace is described as being a “vintage” touch but it’s very much this question of when, where, who, why—it’s a funny term when you think about it, the way we use it so casually to describe so much.

Oh, yes. It’s crazy. I used to work in a wedding dress shop and I used to make historically inspired wedding dresses and things. And brides used to come in and say, “Oh, I want something vintage.” But they didn’t really know what they meant. Usually what they meant is they wanted something with a bit of lace on it, or with some sort of pearls or beading. I think it’s really inspired by whatever is trending at the time. So, you know, Downton Abbey became vintage. I think ‘50s has always been kind of synonymous with the word vintage. But what it means is huge,
Terry Collett Apr 2013
Look at her
Greenfield said
he was referring
to Miss Money

a girl who sat
two desks in front
hair light brown
drawn into a woven plait

at the back
bet she’s  
got **** on her
he said

you glanced over
your finger turning
the page
of the history book

some text
on the Tudors
some boring ****
who had six wives

or so you’d read
the girl was engrossed
in writing
hand gripping a pen

head slightly down
I wouldn’t know
you said
bet she has

Greenfield uttered
the history teacher
had his back
to the class

fingers with chalk
scribbling
on the board
you noticed

the girl’s neck
between blouse collar
and light brown hair
my cousin’s got *******

he said
saw them
when she was dressing
one morning

while straying
at her house
getting ready
for a wedding

he drawled on
you followed the text
with your finger
the second wife

had her head
chopped off
poor *****
you thought

Miss Money turned
her profile captured
ear
eye maybe brown

then turned
back again
sunlight
from window’s glass

blessed her head
but Greenfield talked
of her figure
and waistline

instead
making motions
with his hands
in the air in front

history
was lost on him
Miss Money
moved him more

at least
some aspects did
not the finer things maybe
but he kind of

wrote and made
his own
dull history.
kirk Mar 2019
There are people in this world, and I don't mean to preach
I am exercising my rights, and my freedom of speech
Opinions will be expressed, but there's not much I can teach
Except these people drain the land, all ******* like a leach

If your a copper lover, and you like the boys in blue
Politics may float your boat, perhaps you don't have a clue
Royalists could take offence, you know what you should do
a WARNING from this moment on, I wouldn't read if I we're you

Just forget about crap brexit, it's the British who will pay
Who cares about a ******* deal, or if we go or stay
We never had no interest, with that ***** Theresa May
Her cabinet is full of ****, but they've always been that way

We don't need any governors, trying to take our land
Or politicians trying to rule, with their unruly hand
A state for every president, all thinking they are grand
And local law enforcement, I can not ******* stand

All people in authority, treat the rest of us like flops
The civil servants are not civil, nor are the ******* cops
Their issued with a uniform, and believe they are the tops
Illegal **** and seized drugs, are shared in bent cop shops

You could get a thrashing, locked behind that steel cell door
Or mowed down in a pursuit, or beaten to the floor
They get away with ******, and a hell of a lot more
In case you did not realise, Police have immunity from the law

Never mind Ladies and lords, in a world of pure desire
The deception of constabulary's, and the monarchy's a liar
They all adopt god statuses, it could be even higher
Escort them to the Wicker Man, sacrifice them in the fire

The Governments they ruin lives, their footsteps where dirt soils
Our leaders are unscrupulous, every country's left in spoils
Prime minister's winding up the world, in continuous loops and coils
The queen should go and **** herself, along with all the royals

A horses **** springs to mind, as well as ugly trolls
When I see that Prince Philip, and Camilla Parker Bowles
Charlie boy well what a ****, dragging Diana through the coals
Their the spongers of the state, all living of our tolls

Just take a look at palaces, and look at where we dwell
We're treated like we're second rate, and we all ****** smell
They stick their noses in the air, and you can always tell
That we're seen as the common folk, and we can go to hell

When seen in the public eye, you know they are looking down
They're no better then anyone else, underneath their royal gown
Why are they put on pedestals, and made jewels of the crown
And live in places that could house, half an ******* town

Who cares about false visits, who cares where they have been
Their only trying to look good, their not really all that keen
Flood victims and tsunamis, well they just want to be seen
We don't want the tossers sympathy, and ******* to the queen

Isn't she just too **** old, she should be abdicating
The rest of them can *******, their all so aggravating
Higher aches no one needs, because they are segregating
We're categorised into a class, and there is no negotiating

Disband the current monarchs, because they are out of season
The Tudors should've been the place, to put a royal freeze on
Why are they the privileged ones, there isn't a good reason
They are all above the law, and maybe that's high treason

All successors to the throne, they never had a spine
I'd rather be a *******, now the crown has lost it's shine
When there's marriage on the table, their not likely to decline
Has Meghan Markle ever been, The Bride of Frankenstein ?

I knew you were an actress, take a look at yourself now
You are like Kate Middleton, your just another royal sow
Is William a pig ******, he's reared three swine's but how?
Perhaps Harry's had a bit of  Kate, and bred that stupid cow

Because a prince just came along, and it was you they plucked
Was it the thought of royalty, when in you were then ******
Does aristocracy have its folds, are they all neatly tucked
The only job you have now, is lay down and get ******

Can I make one suggestion, now please don't take offence
You don't have to reproduce, with these two smarmy gents
Do you feel obligated, to mix in with their scents?
Or because you're now a royal, you have free tax and rents

Never mind the cushy jobs, when your in the special forces
Send William to the front line, after his training and courses
Why should our country pay, for all their false endorses
Is Margaret part of their clan, or one of the sad horses

The Duke of Edinburgh's award, why didn't he just pass
Sarah Ferguson was a commoner, and from a different class
Did Andrew like her freckles, did they extend down to her ***
She wasn't all that bothered, once behind the palace glass

Celebrities tolerate her majesty, they must have some endurance
Those poor ******* on that show, the Royal Variety Performance
Britain's Got Talent has it's winners, I hope they have insurance  
They're there for the prize money, not for the royals assurance

A variety of royalty, but there not all that enticing
So many bent police officers, who take small cuts from slicing
We don't want dodgy minister's, collecting and over pricing
It's a constabulary of governments with too much royal icing
Lawrence Hall Jan 2019
The (beep) painting (beep) dates (beep, beep) from (beep)
Holbein’s (beep) first (beep) visit (beep) to (beep)
England (beep) oil on oak (beep) a (beep) golden
Tudor (beep) rose (beep) over his heart (beep)

The chain of office his aurea catena
Of faith in God and in his king (beep, beep)
Is (beep) the (beep) paper (beep) in (beep) his
Hands (beep) Averil (beep) Manchin’s (beep) petition?

Saint Thomas seems to look so far away –
Perhaps he sees beyond his martyrdom day




Except for the rhyming couplet I’m having a bit of fun here. The Holbein painting of St. Thomas More is beautiful (beep) in every way, and I am grateful for the opportunity to spend some time before it. The Tudors to Windsors: British Royal Portraits from Holbein to Warhol exhibition is brilliant as is everything the Houston Museum of Fine Arts does:  https://www.mfah.org/

Saint Thomas More, ora pro nos
SaintThomasMore, HoustonMuseumofFineArts
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2017
oh! woe is me and woe is thee,

this noble, royal but blighted line,
this now benighted House of York,
its reign hath ended,
its famous, familiar format felled by an
enhancing, advancing Tudor technology blade,
and now lays bloodied in Bosworth Field,
both Richard III and
his Boswell biographer,
Sir Eliot of York,
no more,
unto history's flocculent dust of bones and
lost manuscripts
now forever
consigned

the lathe of mocking shouts of
"Long Live the King,"
cut the fingertips still searching too many
pull down menus,
all penned in a modern
faint hearted font

these guides,
some above and some below,
their exact location discoverable
only by the pain of new childbirth,
not worthy Maestro,
of the indignity
of trial and error

'pon my soul, these menus,
alas, give no guidance intuitive on
how to save this, my newest folio,
in the lady-in-waiting status of
draft

history is a usurping, scheming Mother Queen,
seeking power advantageous for her own issue,
but new bloodlines gain ascendancy inevitable,
but this focal turning point,
came upon us yeoman folk unannounced,
like a medieval black plague slaughtering
our poetic composure -
why were we not consulted?

hath England not taught us plainer folks,
the singular lesson of tradition,
the value immense of retaining
what has gone before,
that all hallowed must be kept,
and some changes
turned aside,
another cheek of change,
must be refused!
  
'tis no accident of fate
that the Crown Jewels
in the Tower
do reside,
the selfsame place many other
Kings and Queens
were Tudor dispatched to meet a ****** end

the smiling, soothing sayers
gentle the troubled masses,
with whimsy and whimpers of
"this too shall pass,"
and promises that the contempt of familiarity,
shall soon enroll and enfold
all untended and now untenured objections

but my memories yet mourn the loss of
simpler times and a simple place that welcomed an Ameddican
back in nought '13, and where he has placed his trust
in its servers and its Yorkshire servant to keep his
thousand plus poems pillowed safe

so no more changes,
by your leave,
do not forget the no longer mighty Tudors,
were themselves felled by times childless ravages,
no more emendations,
if you please,
lest these hoary hairs mine yet turn,
a whiter shade of pale

surely undesired,
yet one more revolution
from these formerly
English shores to come arising,
haunting thine
venerated palaces of poetry!
seriously, I like the new format though I must say finding my way around on a small iPhone is not trial and error, but trial by fire!
Lawrence Hall Jan 2019
A Man and a Woman in the Ticket Line
for the Tudors to Windsors Exhibition at the Museum of Fine Art

“SO LIKE SHE SAID THAT HE SAID THAT SHE SAID
I SAID THAT REDNECKS WERE LIKE THAT YOU KNOW
CAN YOU IMAGINE PEOPLE LIKE THAT HERE
I LIKE TRY TO PERSUADE THEM BUT YOU KNOW

“SO LIKE I SAID THAT AXLE WAS BROKEN
SO LIKE I SAID THAT THE BEST COFFEE IS
SO LIKE I SAID THAT WE LIVED TOGETHER
SO LIKE WE WERE JUST FRIENDS YOU KNOW...”

The man speaks loudly, up and down the hall
The woman, well, she hardly speaks at all
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com.
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.


Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on amazon.com as Kindle and on bits of dead tree:  The Road to Magdalena, Paleo-Hippies at Work and Play, Lady with a Dead Turtle, Don’t Forget Your Shoes and Grapes, Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go, and Dispatches from the Colonial Office.
The house dated back to the Tudors,
Half timbered, in need of repair,
They offered it me for a peppercorn rent
If I’d do some work on it there.
Right next to it stood the Catholic Church,
All pillars and deep seated vaults,
I thought I could make it a comfortable lair
Despite its old timbers and faults.

But Kathy was not so enamoured,
She said that she’d rather a flat,
‘There’s dry rot and beetles,’ she stammered,
‘So what will you do about that?’
‘I’ll think about that in the morning,
For now you’ll just have to be brave,
You’ll love that old bed, and its awning,
And think of the money we’ll save.’

We got settled in and explored it,
The wainscoting seemed to be fine,
With three rooms upstairs, and an attic,
I seized on that, told her, ‘It’s mine!’
She wouldn’t come down to the cellar,
‘It’s too dark and creepy for me.’
I thought it would do for a storeroom,
It had its own hearth, and chimney.

One day I had leant on the mantle
When something had moved in the wall,
A bookshelf slid back near a candle,
Revealing an ancient priest hole,
But way beyond that was a tunnel
The led all the way to a crypt,
So this was their ancient escape route
For anything termed Catholic.

I thought I would wait to explore it
Till Kathy would like to come too,
But she had just shivered, ignored it,
And said, ‘you just do what you do.’
I couldn’t contain my excitement
As into that tunnel I went,
Imagining priests that had used it,
To burn at the stake, or repent.

Then halfway along in an alcove
I flashed the light, looking in there,
And there was a man in some red robes,
He sat, sprawling back in a chair,
And there on his skull was a mitre
That headdress for bishops of old,
And down by his side was a crozier,
All glittering, fashioned in gold.

But lying between his skeletal feet
Was a sight that I couldn’t absorb,
I felt at a loss, on top was a cross
On a gold and magnificent orb,
Caught short in his flight from the protestant’s might
He was stealing these treasures away,
In hopes that the realm of England returned
To the one true religion one day.

I picked up the crozier, picked up the orb
And I took them from where he had fled,
I didn’t tell Kathy, but thought it was best,
So I hid them both under our bed.
That night we heard chanting, a hymn in the dark
That had Kathy awake and in tears,
While I could see phantoms surrounding our bed
Giving form to a host of my fears.

There was an abomination of monks
That were filling the room from the stairs,
And chief among them was a bishop who stood
At the base of the bed, and just glared.
I leapt out of bed and recovered the orb,
And I handed the crozier to him,
He gave a faint smile, and then in a while
He was gone like a ghost cherubim.

I never went back to that tunnel again,
To tell you the truth, I was scared,
I knew that a fortune was hidden within
But to go back again, never dared.
I’m hoping that bishop has saved me a place
In a heaven for those who are saved,
So I can tell no-one where he lies in grace,
That knowledge I’ll take to my grave.

David Lewis Paget
Rope to ***** the weather, sweet sixteen dreams
The mirror tells we can have some fun in teams
I can't find my reflection anymore, searching in eloped reconnaissance streams
Lassoes in the sky, stealing cars under the starlight standing in strong dreams
Another day in paradise, looking better in paraplegic purging preteens
The electric fuzz on your face touches my standing goosebumps gleam at the ****** seams
Bumblepuppy acolyte turning at the prongs of the tattered road, calling up your Hessian friend and making politics right at the sanguineous pea-brain lean veal after the mob gets out on Russian ruby streets running with honesty
On the other side of the world, where the sun sets and polite moonrock never survive on The Berlin Wall tonight abseiling away sealed away, waiting for the ballot or the ballet
Waiting for the limelight to subside, guts tellin' me to keep my self in lowly mad hatters tied to napes, hundreds hanging by weather reports claps in laughter, descending tents by the brook beaming at us in starry dynamo of the thousands
Losing himself in a lucid dream of what was once the world's reality now sleeping, dead presidents in stygian darkness
Hanging on to the word of the weatherman, crime is rising in Russian motherless children hung for misdemeanor looking for a metaphor, the nation understands and wants to know us
Ukraine leave us from the 1990s, too late the third stone from the sun has taken three turns, we are at the trapdoor
Resurrecting the insurrection, pejorative for misnomers and draconian dead beats sibilant suss
Too bad I see the whole earth, on my body stains on laconic red flags, still fly indeed
Flying in the wind, like idiots in the weatherman's underground cuss dirt into the report sowing dead seeds
Unable to see the sun behind cold clouds in stormy weather, battered suitcases breeze by murmurs talking by-lines and stolen **** in ****** underwear ****** unable to breed
Then, the bombs falling and shifting with changeling wind charred sun under the unbeing reading in the Aurelius light
Thousands in the starry dynamo might outshine us all and the nation can't hold us back and keep us far from the fault in stars
The silver lining in the cloud, puerile virile as lady lying Glasnost to the prognostic benzedrine patient
I've never seen a can in hang in stormy weather
Charting out the Chinaman on the hydrogen shore, communism is on the brink of helium war with itself, viscerally hanging from Tomorrow's daughter
Whipping up the foamy sea like cold ice nostrums thawed in search of the antidote to warm red planets named after Roman Gods
Looks like the sea lord created a thalassocracy for the sea cursed by memos and pastiche, droll parody in the mewling hall of the rebuke of free-prose poetry hanging on the tinkering lampshade
Touch me now, never or now bullish books read the list of people who were once on this winding road just like us shining crummy ******* now in a handful of stardust
Being is tougher than living, and the berserk wind keeps changing
Under forked lightning, it gets worse when the spoon picks me up
In my wet dreams, I'm killing myself hurting to find if you can put your mind to this cornish dream of Cavendish and hashish
Stuck in the stitches, and the ******* don't drip blood and sweat it
Ukraine leave us from the 1990s, too late the third stone from the sun has taken three turns already
Murders on the mystery train, never reach the orient station looking for a whimsical refill
Halting sloth the indolent, I remember redolently like moth attracting to the blazing coruscating gleam, that's when a screaming teen becomes an upstart or a fiend
With an iridescent grin, caviling on the shore asking more from jackknifed business kitsch photos of the crosses
Throwing them in the trash, just like that
Ire of the nation broken with the lugubrious sleep of dinners after the summer's madness, hurt by the locked hearts in an armed madhouse looking at everything like geniuses
Asking what does it mean? Motifs and everything, lintels on the fluorescent signs on numinous streets caressing our wires, hanging by the piano wire
Waning adolescence now has a name in Hades' beard made of fiery pubescence that doesn't wanna listen
Tantamount to the king's orders, ligature marks on the hands that only know cuffs
The que glibly glistens in the lively dungeon
Hosted by bacchanal and mistresses, Elizabeth Bathory in the company of friendly books full of picturesque pedestrians on the streets of angry murders with ****** sleeved shirts
Blackened lackeys looking for a toss of change or pederasty with Countess Dracula
Moloch, you have made my life changeable despite skiffs
Moloch, I hang in the balance of the skirmishes of scorching fire burning at the midriffs
Easter bloc, ropes hanging for whoever doesn't wanna burn in the witch fire, sold for 200 pounds in a dilapidated home, till the berserk wind blows the candle out, old under Tudors that say a lot in a few words about style in art as slavery is merrily rampant
Killing the people, in the name of the republic of 1968 reminiscent of Phoenician Lands, rueful murmurs arouse the twisted looks turning out the traitors
From the rapidly changing wind, that brushes our hair and kills the pain of hanging to our families in bunkers
From the road of hope, I find some affliction in the forgiveness
Of my lord in whom I find breadth, heareth, endeth the breath that lendeth thy will, in the lengths of my souls searching for horizons in Old Earth
I died with my elegy in 1968, the wind still hoists flags in my name in death three years in the latter
Rebecca Oct 2020
A man of conviction,
a cult of personality.
His name was Thomas More,
a philosopher of society.

An advisor to the king
a saint some would say.
He met his dreadful fate,
on a cold November day.

Treason was his crime
a direct correlation,
he skipped the ceremony
of Boelyn's coronation.

Tyranny took over
the Tudors dynasty.
You do not snub the wives
of the infamous King Henry.
"One man to live in pleasure and wealth, whiles all other weap and smart for it, that is the part not of a king, but of a jailor." -Thomas More

— The End —