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Charlotte Ahern Jul 2020
there’s only one place

where you can walk on the stars

just be sure

to keep your face forward

so not to step on any corpses
no notes, I think I get my point across lol
Michael R Burch May 2020
by Michael R. Burch

There is no sense of urgency
at the local Burger King.

Birds and squirrels squabble outside
for the last scraps of autumn:
remnants of buns,
goopy pulps of dill pickles,
mucousy lettuce,
sesame seeds.

Inside, the workers all move
with the same très-glamorous lethargy,
conserving their energy, one assumes,
for more pressing endeavors: concerts and proms,
pep rallies, keg parties,
reruns of Jenny McCarthy on MTV.

The manager, as usual, is on the phone,
talking to her boyfriend.
She gently smiles,
brushing back wisps of insouciant hair,
ready for the cover of Glamour or Vogue.

Through her filmy white blouse
an indiscreet strap
suspends a lace cup
through which somehow the ****** still shows.
Progress, we guess, ...

and wait patiently in line,
hoping the Pokémons hold out.

NOTE: This poem is almost entirely fiction. There was a Pokemon craze when my son Jeremy was a little boy, and I did see birds and squirrels foraging in parking lots from time to time (and sometimes fed them myself from my car’s window), but everything else is fiction. On the rare occasions that I went to a Burger King, I would go through the drive-in, so I wouldn’t have known who the manager was, or how much time he/she spent on the phone. I think the poem probably started with the image of birds and squirrels squabbling for scraps of food in a parking lot as I waited in a line of slow-moving cars, then evolved as I imagined the hassle of going inside to “speed things up.” Keywords/Tags: America, Americana, American, culture, society, vanity, youth, progress, fast food, video games, Pokemon, MTV, music videos, glamour, models, supermodels, fashion, transparency, see-through, bra, breast, *******
The charmers are playing their game of glamour and deceit.

Every move of theirs is a blend of trickery and enchantment.

These beings of sophistication cast a dreamlike spell on the forlorn.

Charmers complete the incantation by whispering a traditional ritual.

They have held captive the minds of the forlorn.
They can either rupture the mind or can create one of their own kind.

Meanwhile, the forlorn cry out in surreal pain.

It isn't too late.
The charmers are not so perilous as they appear to be.
This hypnotic reality is creating boundaries.

The forlorn must step forward to change the game.
Change is the key in this game, or else it's just a cycle of unbearable emotions.
Tim Kitchen Feb 2020
The doctor had said she looked tired today
the tests had shown it wouldn't go away
her looks might go, her living could too
how would she cope, what could she do
she was late arriving for the photo shoot
in her tight blue jeans and high heel boots
the make up artist did her thing
and soon she was ready for anything.

She looked so good as the flash gun fired
with her make up on she no longer looked tired
the photographer told her what to do
with her long blonde hair and eyes of blue
she knew how to ****** the camera lens
each exposure was her latest friend
it was clear to see she photographed well
even though she just felt like hell.

She knew how to grace a magazine cover
knowing how to look, more than any other
often she would be the centrefold
in a magazine, that was never under sold
she still always had that look in her eye
even when she wanted to just sit down and cry
Something had to give, something had to change
it was clear to see things couldn't stay the same.

But that was then and this is now
there's always a way to survive somehow
gone are the looks that brought her fame
but she earns her living, just the same
now she works as a photographer herself
taking pictures for the magazine shelves
and she knows what to tell the girls to do
with their long blonde hair and eyes of blue.
Sabila Siddiqui Jul 2019
Can't you see the signs?
Couldn't you see I was losing myself to the darkness?
I know I didn't reach out
I know I didn't open up
But I tried to show through
one way or another.
Because no matter
how hard i tried to disguise it,
I wanted someone to see the
pain and reach out.
Some of you did care,
but no one showed enough care

But who am I to blame,
I didn't show myself enough care .
I should've cared enough for myself
to not give up on myself.

I should've relied on myself,
rather only on others.
To care enough of myself,
but now I've gone to sleep
and I see no save.
Stella Jul 2019
Clear, glimmering, white.

His hand claims the sequined waist
That he earned to hold with jewells.

Cut, polished, sewn.

The chandelier above emanates
The ones hung from her ears.

Strung, tied, boxed.

Not as much a girl's best friend
As a man's trophy wife ticket.

Bought, gifted, worn.
Hopeless Outlet Jun 2019
The definition of insanity isn't always doing the same thing and expecting different results

Sometimes, it's believing in a glamour

and at the end
when you're broken
scarred, fractured
and penniless
finally seeing the numerous curtains fall
finding that the creature you've had faith in
shattered everything
lunademiere Apr 2019
the strength and power of my charm,
will rule the lust upon the land,
my lips so cruel they shine the power,
some dis-beliefs withstand my glamour,
one day they will rue the day,
I ****** and destroy your reign,
on my throne you will not survive,
I **** and rule, now stay behind,
in quest for love I saw the man,
so strong like death, beyond God,
he stole my charm,
he made me melt,
we start to reign,
now knell before me and my man beyond God.
Poem from my book 'The Allure Of Time' now available on amazon in English, French and German.
lunademiere Mar 2019
adorn my manner with a blast,
posh, huge, cemented, ugly lust,
adorn and redefine a glamour,
it’s so hot, it’s melting in the summer,
it’s melting mountains of despair,
it’s heavy rain inside my mind,
it’s funny, ugly in the dark,
Fragment from my book 'The Allure Of Time'
Luna Jay Jan 2019
A Rose-
I opened myself to you.
Not yet deflowered,
Only… depowered.
Knocked down a few notches
To nothingness.
A prose-
Roping myself to you.
Never empowered,
Always soured.
Locked frowns drowning in
Paint swatches of ugliness.
I never liked your artwork
You create to abuse,
To use,
And to trade.
You threw me away…
And now your garbage can
Is much more glamorous
Than your gal is.
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