Soph Apr 19

I had Alexander McQueen dream for us
Six feet under, looking good enough to bury
They said I was crazy as Karl, Choupette aside
But we saw through the Chanel haze
That night, when you held me
My blood ran Valentino red
I was a princess in my Prada box castle, letting down my hair
Braided with ceramic beads like the black girl I always wished I could be
Still, weeks together, sleep evaded
Loving me is never fashionable

Carson Hurley Apr 8

These brawlers becoming celebrities
and the weekend warriors and harlots
being consumed by the limelight
suffocated in the attention
they draw over themselves
they steal the heat
while the artists shiver
in the cold and dark
we are the forgotten
plagued by the talentless
given little more than
a nod of appreciation

Today love is arcanely stool
this rhetoric still pain abet
though she descry a Chairman Mao
only an insight of her macaw
that  her perpetual harmony's bound
and Alfred Tennyson barely there
but in cardigan to dress again.

The concrete slab of our front porch
Became a runway for me to strut new
Summer hand-me-down fashions.

A black garbage bag was my wardrobe,
Providing a bigger bounty of outfits
Than the clearance rack at K-Mart.

This was the largest collection of clothes
Destined for my body, bigger than the selection
My mother stashed on layaway for my birthday.

I cycled through constant costume changes,
Parading across the gray stage like a model,
Displaying new designs by brand names.

This was my New York Fashion Week,
An opportunity to embody new identities
By incarnating them for the public.

My neighbors clapped from their garages
As I rocked the retro sun-bleached Phillies
Championship t-shit for the first time.

July sunshine glinted off car windshields
Like a collection of flashing camera bulbs.

Every piece of fabric became new
When I debuted it for the world
On the catwalk in my front yard.

I celebrated my success with friends
By wearing a Power Rangers t-shirt
And running through sprinklers,

As our parents became backyard paparazzi,
Immortalizing the moment on disposable cameras.

Brent Kincaid Mar 18

I got off the bus
At Eighteenth and Vine
Everything in the window
I wanted to be mine
Beautiful shirts there,
Suits, shoes and hats.
But I couldn’t buy them
No, I couldn’t do that.

I was the wrong color
For Matlaw’s, He said.
That place was for coloreds
And rich pimps instead
Not a tow-headed white boy
What hasn’t got much sense.
I went there that one time
And, I haven’t been since.

But, oh I wanted that suit,
With cranberry hat and shoes.
Even though I had no place
To ever wear it, I knew.
But, I love that store there
On eighteenth and Vine
Even though I knew nothing
In that store could be mine.

The bus went by there
Every day I passed it by.
To this day, I grieve
And never understood why
A Caucasian market
Like I represented
Might go there inside there
And be soundly resented.

It wasn’t a good thing
It’s just how it was then
Before the civil rights thing
Would finally begin.
Yes, I never knew colors
They way others did.
But, what did I know?
I was just a young kid.

But, oh I wanted that suit,
With cranberry hat and shoes.
Even though I had no place
To ever wear it, I knew.
But, I love that store there
On eighteenth and Vine
Even though I knew nothing
In that store could be mine.

I found myself hugging my closet this morning
I got up, walked over to her, stood in front of her and stuck my hands between some things hanging,
Put my cheek against the cold plastic of the hangers, and it felt right

Now this sounds strange
But something became quite clear to me when I felt like my closet was hugging back
It's not the things you wear, it's how you wear them
My closet loves me because I wear my clothes freely
I never wore them to please anyone else
That's why when he told me he wanted me to wear something else I said, "No."
Because my fashion is a part of me and it has been
Whether I was in the fourth grade, wearing my lily pad skort, pink Mary Janes and a neon green top
Or in college,
Unapologetically sporting my baggy white tee, ripped jeans, Birkenstocks and socks
I will not submit to you

My clothes love me back because I am not afraid
My closet hugs me back because she knows that I will never again let a man tell me
"That's ugly."
My fashion is my power.
Let it ring from every tower, you will not tell me what I can put on this body ever again
My body is my temple, and it was not built on your land so you can
Shove it

-E (c) 2017

The Trumpoet Feb 21

How sad for you, Ivanka dear,
the world can be so mean.
You toil so hard both night and day
there at your sewing machine.

To bring the world such wondrous joy
of shoes and bags and fashion
but big, bad Nordstrom came along
and stomped upon your passion.

You seem kind and intelligent
but folks won't buy your stuff,
'cause you support your daddy
and of him, they've had enough.

Ivanka, we all understand
that you must love your dad.
But narcissistic greed and power
have driven him quite mad.

So please Ivanka, intervene.
Enable him no more.
Just let us know you disagree
and step back, we implore.

If you and Jared do what's right,
then you we will adore,
and you may find, your product line
will be back in the store!

You can also see this and my other Trump poems at:
Link to video of this poem:
Written February 12, 2017

He pit
work with
celebrity as
flat crest
hone its
barter where
in fold
of space
and time
with directive
in marketing
score that
with the
code that
holds famous
till another
day break.

Poetic T Feb 19

She was a dainty little one, that's what her mother
used to say, but now she wasn't so young.
Time was a tide that had flowed over her hair once
blonde and flowing down her back now a shimmering grey.

But she had noticed a decline in the world of those of
mature age, clothes were drab ugly and grey.
So much unattractive clothing made by the mother of
modern age dullness. Trying to sweeten the pot by calling
each a different name

The Ashen Collection:  It fell from the clouds and landed on you.
The Pearly Collection:  Even beauty doesn't need colour

Were they not color blind? Ok maybe a few were, but
this was just horrible, it was like wearing cement.
Just as stiff and ghastly to even wear. This just made
people look frightful in dismal clothing not suited to be
seen in the light of any day they walked out in it.

So I had to make a stand, I had to keep this dismal color
from tainting the eyes of a younger soon to be older
generation. I had wrote to the fashion designer by
Email, what just because I'm old doesn't mean I haven't
got skills. Her name is Miss Grey Bottom....

Dear Miss Grey Bottom,

As I am one of less years than more, it would be appreciated that
these years are filled with friends amusement and children's laughter.
I see though that your clothes line has been hitting the scene,
Yes I'm hip with the lingo..

I ask that you add a little color to this line of mature wear
due to the numbing effect it has on those wearing it?
There is no color in there face, no smiles just blank eyes.

At This time were most alive, we need the vibrant feel of life
in our daily lives. Not the mundane clothes that numb the senses.

Yours Sincerely,


I waited and waited, well ok I waited two weeks, ya don't
know how long you have left, it was like waiting for paint
to dry under the ocean. But I waited I even shrank an inch
in the time I wasted. So I thought I would do something about it,
as more and more were just walking around in dismal
clothing draining what little youth they had left. So I got a
few of my crew, and we got our design on. Front loop,
garter stitch, knit left loop, there so many weavings that we could
tell you about but now the first piece was finished.

"Try it on, it was an mixture of all our creativity, so we got
Mr. Robin he was 65 years old and had such cute rosy checks..
He looked puzzled?? "What's a matter Mr. Robin? Half his head
was sticking through the top of the jumper, not worried about
messing his hair or lack of...
He then preceded to tell us that it looked like a unicorn had
thrown up a rainbow on it.. "Oh, Colourful metaphor,
and then he proceeded to dance, I think he was break dancing??
He had good moves for his age.

"Ladies it itches so very badly, “I wasn't dancing,
"It feels like I have ants in my pants, crawling around
this jumper that I must take off now...

Sighing and regaining his composure,

"I never knew I had those kind of moves still in me,

Giggling slightly, he then folded the jumper.

He politely put it on the table, saying that if each did a
singular design, their own creation that it would be an art piece,
each a creation of their colourful imagining.
But please, please not in wool, try other fabrics.
And with this ladies of knowledge weaved there ideas together.
Two months later and quite a few pennies spent they produced
their own line of vibrant colours fulfilling the gap where drab,
grey clothing had drowned the feelings of an older generation
needing colour in this moment of their lives.

It now felt like what once was missed entered their lives through
the creations of these vibrant grannies.  But as there designs were embraced by the [silver mains] people of older graces.. The dullness was fading, and a certain lady didn't approve of such sunlight in
those that once wore her garments now being used as wash clothes.. Miss Grey Bottom was sullen for her plans to make the word
feel as she did, sombre in thoughts that weaved into her designs.
But she wasn't giving in  without a fight, she brought out new collections that had a hint of silver grey a hue not colour but
not as bland... but this was a start, its was called the;

Cloud collection:  Everyone has a silver lining..

Fashion Granny smiled, as she knew that seeing those of
Mrs Grey bottoms age infused had slightly changed her,
and with that they made more clothing to invigorate those
of climbing years..
Reviews were steadfast from those wearing there line:

Mr Whitehall:  I love the colouring of your clothing, it was
like it was made for my personality.

                                        Thanks F.G

Miss Waterson:  I feel like a millions pounds, this line enriches
my life every day I wear it.

                                        Thanks F.G

These were but a few of the thousands of reviews they were
scoring at 4.9 out of 5 stars in the reviews and the grannies smiled,
glad that they brought some reflection into their collection of clothing.
There was a knock at the door, and to all there surprise none other
than Miss Grey Bottom.

"Hi grey, about time you answered my email,  
Said her sister. Yes Miss Grey was fashion Grannies sister,
older by 10 years 2 months and 3 days.

"Why wouldn't you answer my calls and emails??
" I was really worried about you and those clothes so
gloomy yet I could tell the beauty was trying to come out
with those beautiful lines,

She just stared at her sister in silence and then, noticing
a tear she wiped it with her thumb tenderly holding her sisters
face. Miss Grey burst into tears and Fashion Grannie held on
to her sister, they hugged for what seemed like forever before
Miss Grey composed herself. "I have missed you so much,
Fashion granny smiled,
"Me to, you silly sausage, 
She introduced her sister to all those who helped her with
the colouring and design of their brand F.G, then they sat;

"Your my sister I didn't want to burden you with my

Fashion granny lent over and kissed her sister forehead

"You silly sausage, that's what family are for,

With those words a smile eclipsed Miss G B's face,
a smile rose across her sisters remember that beauty
that she once knew returning to her sisters face.

"Well you have me and my crew as friends now..

"Your crew, giggling aloud Miss G.B couldn't
even frown for she was for the first time in a long
time smiling, laughing.. Even though tears were
falling they were of happiness, not sadness as before.

Three Months Later,

The world had become a brighter place as sisters
and friends created art woven from cloth and not
only for those of silver locks, but these were hip
grannies they were weaving for the younger crowd.
The first show was about to start and they looked
out to see if many had come to see the new line,

A unicorn had thrown up a rainbow collection:
         So much colour you'll see rainbows in your sleep

It was an international hit, and the grannies were so proud
of what they had done not a singular person, but as close
friends. They carried on with this until they retired which
was not as far away as you'd think. But they had made new
friends and two sisters had once again found each other again
both thinking of how proud there mother would be now.

Wrote for my daughter, she is awesome 1359 words I know little long but worth it for her
Mims Feb 10

I'm collecting,
And perfecting,
My wardrobe,
This week,
What shall I wear?
Who shall I be?

Shall I be the shy one,
Star wars shirt,
Skater skirt,
Converse sneakers,
And a beanie?
To shelter insecurity?

Shall I be the masked one,
Adorning rays of sunlight on my cheeks,
And cats on my eyelids,
With roses on my lips?
Tight black dress,
Catch my reflection in shop windows,
Converse sneakers,

Or how about the edgy one,
With black lace chokers,
Shirts decorated with aliens,
Cut black tights,
And unconventually zippered shorts?

Or how about......
Any bloody one of them,
Or all of them.
Cuz that's just who I am I guess.

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