"bardot" poems
Her scarf a la Bardot,
In suede flats for the walk,
She came with me one evening
For air and friendly talk.
We crossed the quiet river,
Took the embankment walk.
Traffic holding its breath,
Sky a tense diaphragm:
Dusk hung like a backcloth
That shook where a swan swam,
Tremulous as a hawk
Hanging deadly, calm.
A vacuum of need
Collapsed each hunting heart
But tremulously we held
As hawk and prey apart,
Preserved classic decorum,
Deployed our talk with art.
Our Juvenilia
Had taught us both to wait,
Not to publish feeling
And regret it all too late -
Mushroom loves already
Had puffed and burst in hate.
So, chary and excited,
As a thrush linked on a hawk,
We thrilled to the March twilight
With nervous childish talk:
Still waters running deep
Along the embankment walk.
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Her scarf a la Bardot,
In suede flats for the walk,
She came with me one evening
For air and friendly talk.
We crossed the quiet river,
Took the embankment walk.
Traffic holding its breath,
Sky a tense diaphragm:
Dusk hung like a backcloth
That shook where a swan swam,
Tremulous as a hawk
Hanging deadly, calm.
A vacuum of need
Collapsed each hunting heart
But tremulously we held
As hawk and prey apart,
Preserved classic decorum,
Deployed our talk with art.
Our Juvenilia
Had taught us both to wait,
Not to publish feeling
And regret it all too late -
Mushroom loves already
Had puffed and burst in hate.
So, chary and excited,
As a thrush linked on a hawk,
We thrilled to the March twilight
With nervous childish talk:
Still waters running deep
Along the embankment walk.
Dec 9, 2009
Dec 9, 2009 at 7:29 AM UTC
Today I cried because my arms are fat
And my eyes aren't pretty unless lined like a cat
I don't want to be the mousy brunette
Of average height and intellect
I want to be that edgy girl who rocks vintage clothes
And collects records, and reads, and looks like Bridget Bardot
Not good enough for you, but how can I forget
When my mind constantly replays the moment we met?
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 5:37 PM UTC
Even as a child
Bramshaw was obsessed
With brassieres;
He liked the shape
And bright colours;
He liked to imagine
Them filled with firm flesh,
Warm and motherly.
When he got older
He’d steal them
From neighbouring
Washing lines, stuff them
Beneath his coat
And put them
In the top drawer
Of his dresser along
With **** magazines,
French cigarettes
And photographs
Of Bridgett Bardot.
He liked to imagine
The women who filled them;
Liked to rub them
Against his cheek;
Liked to sniff them
For scent or sweat,
But all he got
Was detergent
And the smell of soap
And warm fresh air.
Later he got
To put them on,
Sizing them up,
Feeling them
Against his chest,
Fixing them from behind
With his fingers
Almost breaking his arms
In the process, he’d walk
Around his apartment
With just the brassiere,
Swaying his hips
And sticking out his
Imaginary breast,
Pretending he got
Wolf whistles
From loud guys
On building sites;
Imagined he got the stare
From the guy downstairs
With the blonde hair
And large blue eyes.
Once he bought a pair in blue,
The correct size saying
They were for his wife Lou,
And the girl was all helpful,
All information; pointing out
The this and that of brassieres;
And all the time he was gazing
At her ******* wondering
What colour she had, what size;
And only after that was done
Did he gaze into her eyes,
Into the window of her soul,
And saw small demons
Laughing at him
From each dark hole.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 12:08 PM UTC
Brigitte Bardot, walking her dogs
& cheers go up as the dogs stroll:
Medusa glances at her dusty hand mirror;
on the set, ****** checks his stage gun:
don't want any mistakes, he smirks;
oh, please just shoot me, she sighs:
days later, the Riviera is blue as ever,
cool surf lapping at her green feet; ****** gone
back to the States to promote some
traveling exhibition or other | w/ his action
paintings displayed
on television | for first time:|
[she knew the blonde strand was not his]
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 12:51 AM UTC
Please give me a woman with at least the *** of Brigitte Bardot
or a man with a silver tongue, in speech, amongst other things,
who will kiss well, be as dark as a sunless cave, clever as a fox,
and let us be infatuated and watch French movies in the dark,
until we **** each other into oblivion and become enamored,
and set each other on fire with the incinerating aspects of love.
Yours Truly,
Glasser
aka Kay
aka Glasser
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 4:15 AM UTC
Coming out
of Mr Dubbin’s room
you saw Sophia
standing there
with mop and bucket
and that Bardot smile
I thought you’ be
up here somewhere
she said
putting down
the mop and bucket
I’m busy Sophia
I need to get baths done
before lunchtime
she placed a hand
across the doorway
to block you in
surely you don’t want
to rush off
without being with me
a few moments?
she said
moving in closer
her perfume hitting you
her eyes focusing
on each feature
and muscle move
not just now
you said
maybe later
she stood nearer to you
her thigh blocking
any further movement
without you touching her
what would people think
if I said you tried to kiss me?
she said softly
but I haven’t
you said
we know that
but others don’t
she said
but that would be a lie
you said
sure
she said
but all is fair
in love and war
they say
you felt the door handle
behind you
and pushed it down
and the door opened
and you walked back
in the room
and she followed
and closed the door
behind her
and stood there
the Bardot smile
in place once more
I’ve got work to do
you said
baths to do
she pushed you back
on Mr Dubbin’s bed
and moved on top of you
and lay there
gazing down at you
isn’t this nice?
she asked
isn’t this better
than bathing
old men?
or wiping
old men’s arses?
I’m paid to do that
not this
you said
feeling her taut ****
pressing into your chest
her hands each side
of your head
on the bed
kiss me
she whispered
not now
you said
I have only to scream
and people will come running
and see you
on the bed with me
she said
her blonde hair caught
sunlight from the window
across the room
her eyes studied you
reflecting your image
in both pupils
you kissed her lips
sensed the skin
the waxy lipstick
the parting of her mouth
the red lips
ah
she said softly
that was good
was it not good?
she asked
you nodded
wanting her
to get up and go
and yet
as she moved off
and stood
by the door
and smiled
her Bardot smile
you wanted
(much against
your better judgment)
for her to stay
and kiss some more
awhile.
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 2:13 PM UTC
Eating Cadbury's chocolate handed
to you by sultry Amazons as you
float gently down the river Seine
in Paris while accompanying Frenchmen
in berets gently play their harmonium
thingy as the younger Brigitte Bardot
lets her blond hair tumble gently over
your face as she softly hums in your
ear songs by Smokey Robinson,
& meanwhile Hendrix's long sweet jam
Voodoo Chile blasts from enormous
banks of speakers being towed alongside
by Viking longboats crewed by Republican
politicians & overseen by the ladies of
***** riot now free from the prison cells
of Siberia,
as Tommy Cooper performs magic tricks
& near extinct animals, birds & insects
mate freely among floating clouds of
vapoury spring dew,
while deliciously gorgeous Thai ladyboys
slowly peel grapes for me before setting
off in a fluttering cloud to use their wiles
& charms on Republican conventioneers,
as you relax & smoke ***** & share a
hot-tub with God.
Joy.
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 8:05 PM UTC
Modernism did away with Enlightenment
thinking duality and all, Hegel and all
in case no one noticed the way kpop replaced
american pop---thank god---
the way Plato replaced Jesus---
Christians are teaching Socratic philosophy
& don’t know it---wtf---Postmodernism did away
with all that and AI does away w/ nothing---
The mass media is a collective prophet
Symbols shine like the sun
Every time I try to kiss her
Fourteen-year-old doppelganger---
And who knows what will replace the future,
Schopenhauer knew, Nietzsche knew---
Emerson knew, Brigitte Bardot knew---
Kerouac knew, Dylan knows but he’s not telling---
No one will listen to him,
They’re all waiting for Plato thinking it’s Jesus---
I’m a Neoplatonist myself, therefore not deluded
by the cereal-like pablum
that passes for the mundane ********
of late-night television in your brain---
Pimping their little Asian *****
is not politically correct and may be a crime---
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 2:07 PM UTC
My mother is always crashing in the latest plastic.
Or one of the teeth. There is no Movement
on Monday. What is that blood in the corner? However young
the educators; they are the Bridge to the Christian
world. although advertisers are Warm, not yellow
in the morning. Megaball Between women and snow.
Japanese love Muscles due to changes. screen.
We can see it, They want to open the red skin.
Another summary of hidden Help the movements
of Bardot who are in paradise and gave him.
To Kavanaugh went the glorious crown.
The ghost flames of ***** is as the Magistrate ordered
the maintenance of a line called The dawn of the burial
Sexually, winning voice in the museum.
Monster of the patterns,
something must change
your fingers to M. Hot **** experience
pretty crazy genius winds knees; The version of lower income
basketball's daughter. Mary Hairy Beat Skinny teenager
to leave this side of the planet.
to the common idea of living for a few kisses,
Hands without form of eating.
it is reasonable under the dew
A big shot, let me pay attention to no man
To guide you to a yacht show playing
in a foreign country. strolling by an old lover
So that nobody listens, I should say, the body
is quite big on each side, when standing
in the entrance, socks.
the skin. All the old voices of desire.
We will always try to demolish it. From the plastic box
to not smoke. One of his teeth for that.
The dog died Monday killed by shooting stars.
This is actually a lady.
Barbie is a teacher and blonde and hot.
Powerful. From the developers. Call the air.
[1 power of the soft muscular female world]
1, it will end.
Japan has changed the car. Then open your life.
Do not pay attention to the fall of the skin or the horn
assembly. On the right hand and a walk. Eat the skin,
your mother I like white football in it. However shelf.
Help the dog soul of the museum. First barbie
is back in the laboratory. Christians must be yellow.
One address, then 1 woman is good news
with courage It is not limited to Japan. however
the effort to change the towels But this is not possible,
stay cool. And tanned skin. In fact, there is a sound
that you do not hear, 1 is to find the child's favor.
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 2:42 AM UTC
Lizbeth put her hands
over my eyes
from behind
in the corridor.
Guess who?
she said.
Bridgitte Bardot
I said.
No it's me
she said
taking away
her hands
and turning me
around.
It was her
red haired
not blonde
and those
piercing eyes.
Miss me?
she said.
Yeah very much
I said
although I hadn't
in either sense.
I was worried
in case Jane
came along
and thought
I was seeing Lizbeth
behind her back.
What are you doing
this weekend?
She said.
Don't know
I said
help out
on the farm maybe.
And when you are
not on the farm?
Don't know
maybe see Jane
I said.
O the ****** Jane
of course
don't you get bored
seeing her
and her nature study
and birdsong
and what have you
Lizbeth said.
No I like birdsong
and what have you
I replied.
You will get bored
with her and when
you do maybe
we could spend
some time together
and you know
get down to it
she said.
Got to go
I said.
Ok Benny
but maybe
I will cycle
over Saturday
and see you
she said
and walked off
along the corridor
just as the bell rang
for after recess lessons.
I walked on
and hoped
she wouldn't
turn up Saturday
and spoil things
but have to see
I mused
and see what
fate brings.
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 4:46 AM UTC