"andrea" poems
“You just need to know this is the first time I’ve ever done this without looking for an exit row.
And I’m pretty sure my seat can’t float but I’ve already fallen from the sky for you,
Already said no to the parachute,
Already told my mother you curse like a sailor and you love like the war is finally over and you have just come home and you are running down the dock in the harbor and you’re screaming my name.
You’re screaming “honey”
and I’m screaming “don’t trip”
and you’re screaming “honey honey”
and I’m screaming “baby don’t fall down”
I am running for your red lips
I am running for your red heart
With my red heart
Red as a Mississippi sunset
Honey”
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 4:24 PM UTC
10:00 A.M.
Battery: 100%
12:00 P.M.
Battery: 80%
2:00 P.M.
Battery: 67%
4:00 P.M.
Battery: 45%
6:00 P.M.
Battery: 30%
8:00 P.M.
Battery: 10%
10:00 P.M.
Battery: 0%
10:03 P.M.
Notification: You have one unread message:
from Andrea
"i love you ♥"
10:03 P.M.
...
Battery: 100%
Nov 29, 2017
Nov 29, 2017 at 9:25 AM UTC
A fashion designer has defended models who were labelled as "gaunt and unwell" on Facebook.
Andrea Moore's I AM range is sold at Farmers, and an image from its current campaign was posted on that company's Facebook page on Friday.
The picture features Chiara and Norina Gasteiger, who are twins represented by Clyne Model Management. Farmers customers did not react well to the now-deleted post.
"They so look gaunt and unwell. I'm really disappointed," Newshub says Anna Webster commented.
"You cannot look at these girls with their bones sticking out and believe that they are a good role model for a family store," Jo Austwick wrote.
"I have enough trouble with body image arguments with my daughters without these images being depicted. They do not look healthy."
Moore said the imagery had never been intended to cause offence, and that she felt for the Gasteiger twins, who have worked with the brand for three years.
"The twins are actually healthy, fun models who are busy university students... We love working with them because of their sense of self-worth and uniqueness as twins," she said.
"We have been in touch with the models and they were most upset by the whole thing. Fortunately, they have received a lot of support from their peers.
"The campaign was about preppy grunge, print with an edge. [It was not] about promoting unhealthy body types [or] anything else," Moore added.
Farmers posted the following statement on Facebook after deleting the I AM image:
"Dear valued Farmers customers! We appreciate you taking the time to send us your comments and concerns on a recent post for I AM. Please know it is not taken lightly and we in no way mean to promote an image for women in NZ to follow that could be regarded as unhealthy.
"We understand that no two bodies are the same and we always seek to show a range of body types throughout all our advertising. These images were supplied by the brand Andrea Moore as part of a wider campaign and were published by us. We will endeavour going forward to work closely with all our partners to ensure an appropriate image is portrayed.
"Thank you once again for your valued feedback."
Clyne Model Management have been approached for comment.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/cocktail-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/one-shoulder-formal-dresses
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 10:30 PM UTC
—for Mariel
She sells 2 sole paltas beside street
vendors who whistle at crop-top-clad girls,
spewing profanities complete
with broken English. She has four girls
hungry at home. They dream of science, stars,
constellations that spiral and sparr
with particles that make us what we are —
interrupted by howling dogs, the 5
AM tamale man, and stray **** crows.
Amid dust-clouds of Zona D, the sun arrives
over the peak Luis claims once exposed
his innocent eyes to an angel: one
tale of faith raised on culture come undone
presently. Poet Andrea Gibson
writes, “I said to the sun, ‘Tell me about
the Big Bang.’ And the sun said, ‘it hurts to
become.’” At dusk, Mariel takes a Combi out
sixteen stops from Quince, up 302
steps to a turquoise shack and a red rose
garden, and plants avocado seeds at her toes.
Poco a poco, se anda lejos.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
although you've gotten taller,
your eyes have remained
the same shade of trusting brown
and deep down
you are still the little girl
who stayed up late
whispering secrets to her best friend
beneath flower patterned sheets
and you're still afraid of spiders
and you still cannot sit still
and as you grew up
you noticed that the world
is a lot smaller than it used to seem
and i think when you looked
into the wonder-filled eyes
of this little girl
you saw a reflection of yourself
and it reminded you that
although you’ve gotten taller,
your eyes have retained
that same glimmer of hope
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 12:08 PM UTC
I look at you
In the photograph
I keep in the corner of my room.
I kiss your eye
As I remember the way you smile
And caress your cheeks
And imagine your heavy breathing.
I look at you
In the photograph
I kept in my back pocket
Like a map a navigator should have
To find himself
Every time he’s lost at sea
Knowing that there’s a
“You” that lies ahead
Knowing that there’s a
“We” to share a bed.
But circumstances aren’t like photographs.
They change.
And they will never be the same.
This photograph
In my hand
Our memories use to fade
Forgotten and unmoved
The world walks faster than me
Fear will sooner or later
Eat me.
Gulp me.
And as I ran ahead
Just to keep in line
I just can’t stay
Where you are all the time
The photograph
May fade
But not your smile
The photograph may fade
But I’m still wearing the same smile
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 10:48 AM UTC
Maturity doesn't come with age
It comes with experiences
Age is just a number that means nothing
Experiences
either good or bad
make us stronger.
Being strong makes us mature.
-Andrea Christine
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 2:12 PM UTC
Lost notions of hope
fade into thin air,
developing with destructive growth.
Warm sunlight on an early morning
evaporates a single teardrop.
Broken waves crash
in debilitating consolation.
Moaning winds blend to create
agonizing discontent.
Darkness brings upon
growing rage and
Remorseful renegade
ends with burnt offerings
and insincere apologies.
Misty air dissipates,
dishes break.
You and I
replace foggy memories full of
grief and regret and unsaid words
with
Indifferent opinions
lacking courage or conviction or compassion
creating comforting chaos.
The slumbering void
full of encompassing individuality
somehow pulls us closer.
Freedom and peace
found.
-andrea
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
I tilted my head . I wilted and was dead -
No longer entangled in this snare called life -
none the less remembered, respected
Dejected in my illusion -
Where i wander most often, unclaimed and disillusioned -
Whatever was I hoping for-
longing in which to see -
the distorted , unreported - dismemberment of ME -
Expectations are like curses, drowning and alienating ALL who dare to dream -
The Ideals of a stranger - I am now what I seem
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 7:50 PM UTC
~
remnants of
afore night’s grieving
before her on the table lie,
echoes of her sobbing
tears from last night's cry;
boxes of his cards,
handwritten letters,
a schoolboy’s pictures,
the wadded tissues
lie in random crumples,
for his silent laughter,
his fading whispers;
the one remaining lock
of hair she used to rumple;
the invisibly present
drying tearful brine
to table salt reduced;
the how remembered,
the when recalled,
the why that's yet
to be deduced.
each a remnant of
her softened weeping,
each a minder of
a mother of a sorrow,
a son-of-a-gun,
don’t-know-if
i’ll-make-it-to tomorrow,
reminders of
a yesternight’s cry;
the remnants of
afore night’s grieving
that on her table lie;
the six-years-ago,
still-can’t-believe-it,
never-ending-long...
goodbye.
~
post script.
*"her smile...
’tis the thinnest veil o'er a razor's edge,
it can ne’er conceal her bleeding heart..."
like the spiraling whirlpool
like leaves bowing to winter
it's palpable, predictable,
a seasonal forecast...
guess it's just
that time of year.*
***for Becky,
for Tonya,
for Andrea,
for all
grieving mothers
everywhere***
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 2:03 PM UTC
My beloved friend, i miss leaning my body on yours.
I can still feel your hands caressing my hair while you kissed me affectionately. We touched when our hearts sought for vague eanderment.
Those cups of wine we shared defined how i felt toward you.
Your silhouette in the morning had awaken my passion for romance.
I miss your hands on my face.
Your strong hands, my love.
Your love for me tasted like the last drop of a cup of summer wine that lingered on the tip of my tongue.
I want to share that one drop with you.
My friend, i miss your scent.
As i breathed you deep into my soul each time you put your hands on me.
When i stared at the blue sky today, i felt your eyes looking into mine heavenly.
I miss those summer days, your bed of nakedness and purity.
Your sunburnt skin of youth reflecting the touch we shared.
My beautiful friend...
My long-lost love...
You touched me as i cut my skin and let you in...
You gave me love nobody had ever given me.
Pure and passionate.
You touched my youth like my father had.
He taught me to love like he had.
He showed me the way to conquest when he kissed me.
My beautiful friend, my love, my youth...
I long for your kiss to set me free from this torturing passion.
A passion for journeys, conquests, and love.
My heart, my love, my friend...
Andrea...
Jan 10, 2012
Jan 10, 2012 at 1:38 PM UTC
Jumping up and down on the time mattress
making sure it's under my feet
and opening one vortex
while hopping to the next
the terrible robots try to follow me
screaming they will catch me soon
so I try to hide on the dark side
on the dark side of the moon
I wish the cow would stop mooing
the spoon would find it's way home
the rotten cat with it's fiddle
would go back to the moon base dome
where has my bed gone now
I could really do with a sleep
I will have to eat some cricketers
and give my poems to Pete
That planet is at risk
but that is not my problem
this temporal displacement
will send me home again
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Dedicated to my loving brother Peter Andrea Kourtis...... Love yer Bro X
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC
She is stunning.
Wavy hair, the color of sand
on a calm California beach.
With wide, naïve green eyes.
Her lips,
the color of cupid pink,
slightly parted with confusion and distress.
Where is she?
She surrounds herself
In a field
of black roses
and tainted carnations.
Her mind is blurred,
Her movements are shaky.
She looks around,
Where can she go?
She wants to go back home,
Where the hopeful daises
and the white lilies lie.
She wants to look at the world,
and see the protective, green trees as she tilts her head up.
She wants to see
the bright, yellow sun staring at her,
with welcoming eyes.
She is tired of seeing
Air filled with smoke and despair and sadness.
She hates seeing the
grass on her lawn,
that used to be so clear and vibrant,
turn to utter decay and an anguish color of
Lost hope and defeat.
She wants it back, she wants it all back.
Little does she know, that no matter how long
she spends contemplating and compensating
in that repulsive field of black roses and tainted carnations,
She will always turn back to those
lovely,
hopeful daises
and white lilies.
-andrea
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 10:26 PM UTC
I met a woman
with a trumpet tongue
who played her words on
paper, white as truces.
she told me through my stereo
"we've both had days
where the phoenix didn't rise".
we' have all had days
where the phoenix did not rise.
but thank goodness
my birthday was the first time
I heard your lips part
and saw your teeth spill oceans
of blue blankets across my jellyfish eyes.
I wish everyone understood the irony
of writing love poems to a lesbian,
but my hands never seemed to reach
the ends of my arms
like I want them to.
They always get stuck dancing somewhere
in the middle.
playing a tune only they can sway to
knowing all the steps
bouncing off every syllable
while others let their wrists go limp
as if the puppeteers needed strings
to tune their fiddle
for a happy song
somewhere far far away.
so take my breath again
keep it wherever it is that you keep
the gasps our ears give you
as your words pull the
heartstrings we forgot we had
that we forgot how to play
to wave our wet-noodle fingers and
conduct a life worth living
so full of blatant love
not afraid to make no sense
my chest was an rusty locket
the day before I heard you
and now I am so full of echoes
from it's tiny, timid click.
For Andrea,
you are a sketchbook muse,
something I have to guess at on my
worst days when there are no words
and the rain smells like a swan song
from the sky.
you kept me writing when there
was nothing left to draw
or sing or smell or see anymore.
when there was black smog
between my eardrums pounding out
the dying breath of clouds
you held me through tinny earbuds
and poems I etched in the moss
running over back roads in my mind
so I hope
you find peace
every time you find a microphone
and that someday, I'll play you a tune
which echoes through you,
with a tiny, timid
click
and a full breath
that resuscitates the open blue
until we are both whole beneath it
until, again, we are true.
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC
Hey, kid I really like your work. You could win a hundred bucks.
Oh, Andrea Button! How sweet of you to notice.
What do I do what do I do
what do I have to do.
Create an account, handsome. Accept the terms, **** Post your best work, lover.
So you’ll give me one hundred dollars for my soul, Miss Button?
"And you license to Tallmadge all patent, trademarks, trade secrets, copyrights and proprietary rights in and to such Content for publication on the Service pursuant to these Terms of Service."
I said a chance to win, sucker.
Oh Andrea! You devil.
I am a sucker...,
for fine print.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 11:36 AM UTC
I remember one of my favorite moments
Was laying in your bed listening to poetry.
You would wait until Andrea Gibson was done speaking
To announce all your favorite parts.
And I wanted to let you know,
That I would love to kiss you in the ocean
And I would love to be your lightning
As long as you promise to shake me like thunder
Because the sound of your voice makes my heart race
And you are such an naturally beautiful phenomenon
That I'm afraid of you, but you don't scare me, no,
You just make me nervous with excitement and awe
And while I pick my jaw up off of the floor,
I see you standing in the kitchen,
Pacing and wondering what I'm thinking,
And me, sitting silently, watching you,
Loving every aspect of you, and you
Never cleaning up the mess at your sink,
But just rearranging it into new chaos.
We were new chaos,
And I'm sorry if that scared you,
But isn't there something exciting in being so scared?
No one has ever been here before, they can't tell you how it will be
So let's accept the mess and brave it together.
And it's times like this where I wonder
If every time you were scared, you'd look for a safe bet,
And if I could ever live my life like that.
If I could ever treat my heart like that.
I wish you wouldn't, and I just couldn't,
Because all of my stumbles and falls and scrapes and scars
That I wear unapologetically and brave
Led me to that bed with you listening to poetry
And I was lost at sea, thunder and lightning,
And I was so scared,
And I was so excited,
Hoping we could be lost at sea forever.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 3:14 PM UTC
"That night when you kissed me,
I left a poem in your mouth,
and you can hear some of the lines
every time you breathe out."
-Yarn, Andrea Gibson
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 2:28 AM UTC
TIM: I wonder how long it takes her to get ready during the fourth of July?
ANDREA: fireworks in the sky my philosophy!
BEN: what philosophy? It takes more Andrea
ANDREA: I miss the waves
TIM: I miss you missing the waves
BEN: something solid, and rational
ANDREA: you mean goldfish?
BEN: I mean going to college. Things like that!
ANDREA: so you mean heartbreak, and things like that
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 11:14 AM UTC
Dear David, you may not know me but I know you very well. Does 1957 ring a bell.
I have been given this opportunity to contact you through some sort of portal that has opened up, which allows communication to the past. For example I know your deepest secrets. I know the first girl you had a crush on, it was Andrea, do you remember her, of coarse you do. Later on in high school you had a fondness to a girl named Lisa. You were always to shy to make any approaches to these girls, but still remember them in your youth. You will grow to be a strong man and will enjoy sport and the outdoors and maybe a little to much to drink. I should know. You will graduate from college in 1979 and move away from home to seek employment that pays you well. You will meet your wife here in this new place you will call home. You will soon be a father. David things will go wrong from here. I am sorry to say. Your house will no longer be yours, you will be like an outsider your wife will seek divorce custody of your son and maintenance on top of that. Just remember although you will feel like giving up on life all you need to do is just take it day by day, you have friends to talk to they will help. Your family understand the situation. You have your job and the strongest foundation. You will fight, and you will win. David you will also meet someone new she will care for you more than anyone else has at this point in time you will have a wealth of knowledge. This wealth will be tested time and time again by the ignorant and snake oil sellers. You will have peace again once more. I am you best friend,,,,, I am you in 2013
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 4:20 AM UTC
I love the number three
In all its numerology.
The universe,
Yes, every atom
Builds paragons,
With protons and
ons and ons...
Three illustrates our progression
As the sum of all before.
Our music finds accord
When three notes
Blend to chord.
Love and all we deem
Of worth,
Is here,
Third planet,
Earth,
Where life gives birth
To you and I and us,
Dependant on
Animal, ore and vegetation
To ensure regeneration.
We grew, grow and nurture
In past, present and future.
Our words, thoughts and deeds
Are civilization's seeds
For a wholesome, safe and peaceful life
With Faith, Hope and Charity.
My favourite three priorities:
Andrea, Maggie and Kathleen.
Now,
With the birth of Aine,
I'm in love with four.
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
I keep Holding onto you
When i know your gone
My tears cant fill in the hole in my heart that you left
I need you here more than anything
I can still hear the shot
The bullet that pierced your heart
I wish i could apologize
when i know im already to late
I"m afraid... afraid to move forward
To fall in love all over again
everyday i dream of you
I can still feel your hands on mine
I loved you when no one would
I was always by your side
I"d Give up everything just to touch you again
My tears won't bring you back
My world ended when you killed yourself.
This Rose that was beautiful now wilted and grey.
By. Andrea L.
Jan 24, 2012
Jan 24, 2012 at 2:17 PM UTC
<p><p> Avvio di settimana con un bellissimo matrimonio in Spagna suona come un'idea possente bene.non sei d'accordo ?Questa bellezza catturata da Jimena roquero Fotografia sicuramente iniziare la vostra settimana fuori sul più bello di piedini .E ' romantico e rustico e tutto intorno incantevole.e c'è ancora di più vi aspetta qui .<p>Condividi questa splendida galleria ColorsSeasonsSummerSettingsHomeStylesCasual EleganceRustic <p> Dal Jimena roquero Photography.Ruth \u0026Javi <p><a href="http://www.belloabito.com/goods.php?id=880" target="_blank"><img width="240" height="320" src="http://188.138.88.219/images_ld/td//t35/product_thumb/2/4165335353535_397008.jpg"></a></p> sapeva che tipo di matrimonio che volevano avere .Erano sicuri che vogliono che i loro ospiti di godere di una serata memorabile e un partito che non dimenticheranno mai .Dal momento che entrambi sono tecnici professionisti super affollato .hanno assunto la sorprendente squadra di Bodas de Cuento per progettare e coordinare il loro matrimonio .Quando Wendy da Bodas de Cuento mostrò loro il luogo che hanno trovato per loro erano in lacrime .che era proprio quello che avevano sognato : Monte de Cutamilla .un rustico di famiglia circondata da montagne .dove si può facilmente trovare cavalli e mucche al pascoloselvaggiamente !<p> Hanno celebrato una bella cerimonia all'aperto e hanno risparmiato alcuni limonate fresche alla fine di esso .Hanno consegnato i fan e cappelli per gli ospiti per combattere l' impostazione tavolo heat.The e tutto l'arredamento è stato scelto con grande cura e gusto .e per l'ora di danza .hanno dato anche loro donne ospiti alcuni flip- flop per riposare i piedi daltacchi <b>abiti da sposa on line</b> alti !Ottima idea !Hanno anche dato loro un cd con una compilation di musica con le canzoni preferite della coppia <p> Fotografia : Jimena roquero Fotografia | videografo : . Amarcord | Event Design : Bodas De Cuento | Pianificazione : Bodas De <a href="http://www.belloabito.com/abiti-da-sposa-c-1"><b>abiti da sposa on line</b></a> Cuento | Scarpe da sposa : Magrit Couture| Scarpe sposo : Andrea Chenier | Muta dello sposo : Dolce e Gabbana | Profumo : Verde Pimienta | Sposa Abito : Jose Manuel Peiro | Hair \u0026 Make- up Artist : Xiquena Peluqueros | Musica : Dosaune Audiovisuales | Wedding Venue : Monte De CutamillaJimena roquero Fotografia e Bodas de Cuento sono membri del nostro Little Black Book .Scopri come i <a href="http://www.belloabito.com/abiti-da-sposa-corti-c-49"><b>abiti da sposa corti</b></a> membri sono scelti visitando la nostra pagina delle FAQ .JIMENA roquero FOTOGRAFIA vedi portfolio Bodas de Cuento The Wedding De ... vedi</p>
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 9:52 PM UTC
dear boy,
i am broken right now and I think it might be your fault. I am so enlightened by everything you say and to be honest I don't know how to respond to so much you say because what you say is breath taking.
dear boy,
can you see right through my wretched disguise with your thick spectacles? everything I feel is portrayed in your eyes. you know how to read me so well. you know when I'm sad and when I'm actually "just tired." You lift my mood everyday.
dear boy,
if you asked me to stop smoking cigarettes, I would for you. because I am more addicted to you than anything.
dear boy,
you pick up my cold hands and hold them in yours for as long as you can in attempt to keep them warm. you put my hands on your face hoping that I'll feel better. I always do.
dear boy,
I want to read you beautiful poetry. I want to read you poems by andrea gibson and robert frost just to pass the time.
dear boy,
be mine.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 3:10 AM UTC
This is a poem about being uncomfortable in your own skin.
Think small spaces,
Too warm,
Too soon.
A car crash.
Being trapped in an elevator.
Shifty eyes,
pure white lies.
Unclear shadows on a foggy night,
salty wounds left open for much too long.
Think about demolishing something,
that is perfectly fine as is.
Think about finally making love to the boy
with the softest lips you have ever tasted
And has those eyes,
Those eyes,
that remind you of home.
Think about the buzz in the middle of your stomach
And your eyes that oh so dramatically
roll to the back of your head
When your closest ones
Pick apart and analyze every aspect of your decision,
Critique
By
Critique.
One
Immoral
Choice
To
The
Next.
This is a poem about mistakes that aren’t truly mistakes
And lust and blood and bruises
And passionate kisses and risky decisions
And sleepless nights and dour girls.
And broken mirrors and ripped pages.
This is a poem about what has become your life.
-andrea
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 11:27 PM UTC
I’m all for pretty girls getting drunk and making bad decisions at 2 am on a Saturday night
Tongue kissing, bodies pinned against the door, hot ***
To last no more than the night does.
The sun came up in the morning, yellow and bright
And me in her bathroom taking a ****
Thinking
And her still on her bed, awake, both hands on her forehead, eyes closed
Sinking.
What in the name of all that is holy had she done?
This was that same girl: the one who's always hated my guts,
Is repulsed by so much as someone mentioning my name
This was that same girl: buttoned up blouse and pressed trousers
Impeccable manners
Reserved demeanour
Innocent, sweet
What the hell had she just done?
I never liked her attitude
Never liked her friends
Never liked the way she looked at me,
Everything about her made me angry
Until the alcohol.
To me it was different girl
Different hair
Different lips, eyes
Different hips, stomach
Thighs,
Different everything.
To her it was simply a mistake.
In her bedroom I look around
A few pictures of some people I don’t know cut out from magazines and stuck on her walls
A couple of romance novels
A porcelain vase on her desk
With no flowers in it.
God knows I don’t belong here,
I really don’t.
The night before she'd told me she was bisexual
It just sort of slipped off her tongue,
I realised this when we got naked
Because she appeared gauche in front of my ****
Kind of awkward but I didn’t mind,
All I wanted was to **** her
Hate **** her
All I wanted was for her to get on her knees
Me to hold her by her hair and ********* her
Into a coma.
Andrea Dworkin is turning in her grave right now,
She has ****** me to hell a thousand times
But I could care less,
I never felt such strong anger and deep pleasure at the same time,
It was glorious.
Just glorious.
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 1:02 AM UTC