"beading" poems
Lithe, pharmaceutical muscles regulating microfiber hairs
Draw from the primitive neglect and sin
A clarinet changes the chemistry of champagne
Inside Humanity again
A stock infection of planets and galaxies
and their debris
Small enough to be e coli
and atomic dreams
Beading with the warmth of breath, persisting,
Naming dragons and archers in the infinity,
The cocktails brew people at the seams
Their sentences clapping the breeze
Into a day, or a season,
or her hand leading
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 9:50 AM UTC
I take pride in my roots
I take pride in my melanin
And my ancestors
All those who have persevered
To get me to where I am today.
I take pride en mi pelo rizo
Gracias a Dios..
I carry my culture in my curls to
The poetry that runs through my
Veins
rushing
pulsing
sweat on the furrow of thy lip
beading
ache of the toil in their fieldwork
sweet
azucar negra
my ancestors blood was sweeter
they still don’t want us here
but some things never change
but we are able
and no beautiful ignorant person
Will ever take that away.
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 5:19 PM UTC
WHEN Grace Gray uncovered her wedding dress from the back of the wardrobe, she knew exactly what to do with her something old – turn it into something new.
The doting gran gifted her much-loved satin gown to her daughter Michelle, so she could have it made into a christening robe for her baby Pippa.
And the beautiful wee girl was all smiles on her special day in her hand-me-down, upcycled gown.
Michelle, 32, said: “I always loved my mum’s wedding dress and never imagined it would become my daughter’s christening dress, but I’m so glad it did.
“For Pippa to be christened in such a special family dress made the day all the more amazing.”
Grace, 54, wore the pearl-encrusted ivory dress when she married husband William, 73, in Clydebank 18 years ago.
Michelle helped her mum to pick the dress and was a bridesmaid at the wedding.
She said: “I was quite young when my mum married my stepdad and I remember going shopping with her when she picked the dress.
“It had lots of pearls and diamantes and I just loved all the sparkle. She looked so beautiful.”
After her wedding, Grace packed away her dress in a box and kept it at the back of her wardrobe.
Michelle, who is looking forward to her own wedding to partner Frazer Ward, 29, next year, said: “It has been there ever since but she came across it when she was clearing out.
“It was her idea to have it turned into a christening dress for Pippa.”
The family took the dress to Fabricated Bridal Alterations in Glasgow, where the seamstresses made not only the christening dress but a head band for Pippa and a matching hair clip for her sister Tilly, four.
Michelle, who also lives in Clydebank, added: “I did feel a little bit anxious at the thought of mum’s
dress being cut up but the end result was so beautiful.
“Mum had a tear in her eye when she saw it.”
Grace said: “I can’t think of any better use of my wedding dress than seeing it given to my
granddaughter for her christening.
“I felt really honoured to share in her big day in such a special way. I was overwhelmed by how beautiful she looked.”
Andrina Greig, of Fabricated Bridal Alterations, said there was a rising trend for women to put their wedding dresses to good use.
She added: “We’ve had more and more women getting their wedding dresses made into a christening gown for their children – but this is the first time we have had a grandmother’s dress brought in to be made into a christening gown.
“Michelle’s mum’s dress was perfect for the transformation.
“It was in great condition and the beading, bow and button details were ideal for scaling down and keeping as a feature on the christening dress. We were thrilled with how beautiful Pippa’s gown looked.”
read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-adelaide
www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 9:33 PM UTC
Fast food
Fast cars
Fast girls
Fast world
Fast paced
Shoes laced
Heightened heart rate
Don't be late
Sweat beading your being
Aren't you tired?
Your soul's taking a beating
Tweeting instead of reading
Face booking instead of looking up
Have you forgotten how to breathe?
Involuntary actions* now include refreshing your news feed
The best years of our lives wasted on the internet
Reblogging pictures that reflect our interests
Hoping the next follower is our next best friend
What happened to human interaction?
We're all connected by a single thread
Let's take a stand and realize this now instead of on our death beds
Look up
Look out
Look in
Lose doubts
Lose sin
Lose shame
Open your eyes
Forget the game
autonomic functions
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 1:35 PM UTC
The saga in her eyes converts into a
Constant downpour soon after
She realizes her freedom from the spell of the dark witch,
The curse had turned her a prisoner in the evil witch's body.
What land – what sea – what wind...
All my life now seems her story.
"Kind sailor thank thee for freeing me."
Her words reverberate throughout,
What wind - what land - what sea,
Everywhere is her presence as I can see,
The wind whispers her name in my ear,
Since a long long time now all I wear,
Is her scent in my immortalized memory.
***"Will you stay with me forever, or,
Will you go back to the heavens?"***
Though I really wanted her to stay,
I love her and realize what she felt,
I offered her freedom and a choice,
I was not binding her to me in turn,
Everything was instinctive from me.
She seemed in a serious dilemma,
Struggling hard she was in herself,
I again offered & insisted this time,
"It's better to go back to your world,"
But I knew that she loved me a lot,
She tried hard controlling but said,
"I am in love with you since long."
So I am quite right that she loves me,
I am sure even she can forget me not,
Beading all our memories together,
I now know how I can gain salvation,
Not being another self-centric tantric,
***"But you don't belong here, dear,
You shouldn't torture yourself for a mortal."***
After this, she now looks comfortable & composed,
Ready for making a choice she wore a heart of stone,
Her lips slowly parted revealing a perfect smile,
Pearly smile again ensured me of permanent happiness,
Bright eyes and shiny eyelids of hers seemed so good,
***"You can't make me stay away because you love me too,
I will keep coming in your dreams and entice your nights."***
But I wanted her in my real-world now,
I prevented her from vanishing again,
I said, ***"Please stay, now do not go away,
Because I really can not bear that pain,"***
She had almost vanished by then,
Listening to my words she chose to wait,
She said, "Even I want forever to stay."
Continuing with her divine dialogue she said,
"Say those golden words to make me stay,"
I immediately confessed, "I love you, Angel,"
"Say you love me too, oh my divine Angel,"
She didn't wait for anything more to say it,
"I love you too, oh my kind & loving sailor,"
Her powers soon left her in a flash of light.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 5:27 AM UTC
Sacagawea's Capture
As I strolled the Knife River trail
a dust cloud swirled and fell
and earth lodges appeared by the score
extending from the path to the river banks.
Hidatsa women sang at their chores,
husking corn -
beading moccasins -
scraping a buffalo hide.
A band of hunters dismounted
and released their ropes -
dropping two deer and an elk
by the hanging rack.
Triumphal shouts from the river
turned all heads to the shore
where warriors, returned
from Shoshone fields,
lashed up canoes and dragged
their human spoils up the rise.
Several squaws reached out
from the gathering crowd
seizing two of the squirming children.
A Shoshone girl with terror in her eyes
cringed as a warrior raised his arm.
"No, tell your Hidatsa name!"
Sobbing she choked through broken tears,
"My name is Sacagawea."
I bolted to breach the walls of time
to face death in her defense
but a new whirling cloud intervened.
When the dust fell away
all the lodges had vanished
with all the Hidatsa villagers.
Kneeling down to the Dakota grass,
I caressed a circular hollow
etched deeply in the silent earth.
August 6, 2010
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 5:28 AM UTC
The root suggests multiples,
a pair of shoes, yours and mine.
The prefix is a verb in motion, a
positive direction; a triumph of gravity
in defiance of its equal and opposite reaction.
He stands by the car in the grey light
with drizzle beading up on his shoulders.
Our life upset, torn at the seam into his and mine.
Turn around,
the coward whispers from my mouth.
I see my face reflected in the glass window
staring back at myself, the coward,
half of a set now rendered unusable, sold as scrap.
Turn around.
Multiples reduced to singular nouns.
My shoes are kicked and left by the door.
Everywhere his shapes are cut out of the dust.
The coward in me grins wide as a sickle
In the bathroom mirror. Our set of ghosts are
making too much noise, all night they keep me
up.
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 10:24 AM UTC
Why do poets and photographers love fleeting things?
Angled shafts of sunlight piercing a mass
of clouds. A rainbow flashing from dragonfly wings.
Water drops beading like shards of glass.
The fluttering shape of a sycamore’s shade.
The sun sinking into its reflection
In a purple bay. Smoke’s shadow. The rayed
Curve of a finger reaching for perfection.
Whatever churns, bursts, rocks, flies,
Foams, flickers, roils, evades
In pigments of impermanent dyes
We try to fix before it fades
Once I mourned the endless dying
Of here and now, the present always past
Elegized each moment, sighing
Beauty is loss and can never last.
But now I think I had it wrong. In fact
(I learned this from an artist’s eye)
Fleeting beauty reappears faster than we react,
At the speed of a daydream flashing by.
All around, light coalesces into form,
Form explodes into light,
And we live lavishly inside this storm
If we can learn to see it right.
Beauty multiplies, tapering, swelling:
Reshaping, reforming, now familiar, now strange.
This gaudy blur in which we’re dwelling
Is the permanence of change.
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 8:32 AM UTC
I know about lying on broken bones, beading into my back.
She was missing something.
She was lying on hands searching through the trench coat of a bathroom romance, watching butterflies melt,
She was becoming herself
At four thirty am I write her account, embroidered in a diary of lullabies,
“this is what death must feel like, being left alone in a street screaming of footsteps and blacked out whispering.”
She threw deliverance, caked over old vengeance, out of the car window with daybreak’s kisses. She writes,
“I sit in the heavy sleet of the delta drowning in resurrection, grime from age wipes over me once,
twice,
The broken blood pools out of ‘I love you’s’ and islets.”
She slept with the darkness.
“Prayers don’t come for me anymore.”
She glitters, shivers, tactless as a teacup in an earthquake,
She is awake.
”I am awake.”
She documents God- "I feel God,"
- in herself. "In myself.”
There is a silence.
A burning, left, cold to dry alone,
This is for her.
Call it, my face, swathed in the impenetrable darkness when it is no longer my own, call it an aunt’s love when a mother’s doesn’t suffice any longer. Call it,
cigarette buds and elevator rides to death’s door. Call it power bubbling up from the violation.
This is for you; call it Cuban cigars, show tunes, and Marylyn Monroe;
call it misery. Missing, call it hues and paint, my life prostrated on a disgruntled canvas. Call it fate.
This is for you.
Call it liquor stains and tarot cards in a fit of ecstasy. Epilepsy, call it the most intricate balancing act of existence.
An unseen performance, a lyric with no voice,
“a cry in the night”
”a scream of supplication”
The hunters’ march to death, the Holy Grail’s melting between your fingers, civilization pouring through veins,
“death, destruction, life, happiness, Azrael, Abbadon, blood, Rome!”
“I don’t want to feel this!”
Call it whispers of unspoken meetings and witches in the night, threatening,
“I know you!”
“No you don’t! Leave me alone.” Recognition. “I don’t want to listen…”
She writes,
“I loved you…
On purpose and…you left me,
with,
myself.”
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 8:57 PM UTC
Waiting on Haight, ********* the gold beading of a thrifted 80s shirt inside my purse,
I listen for the 71.
He tells me, from under a nose cherry-red and with a cantaloupe and a spoon resting in his lap,
of how when he was 25, he holed up with an 18 year-old girl.
One night she leaves for an ex-boyfriend's, saying she felt compelled to him, like there was a magnet between them. And he said he went to the closet, he smelled her sweater and knew what he wanted.
He got some cardboard and fashioned a fake magnet, the classic horseshoe shaped and silver-tipped kind, out of cardboard. He turned it into a necklace and waited for a day with some red roses for her to get back.
She came back and said she couldn't remember the last time someone got her flowers. And then she called her mother, and her mother asked him sternly if he was planning to marry her.
He was bewildered a little, but he said yes (this was the sixties).
And he finished the call to her mother and she was standing with her hands on her hips, "Well?"
"Well what?"
"Aren't you going to ask me to marry you?"
(I laughed at this point)
"Oh..."
. . .
"Will you marry me?"
"Yes!"
I asked what happened and he said they were together for three years. But it was a blissful three years.
He asked me if it was a good idea for a movie.
I said yes. But I probably wouldn't see that movie. I left that second part out.
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 3:54 AM UTC
Unicorn Moments
It was Maundy Thursday, an afternoon so lazy
the words of the passion could sink hardly
for my eyes were on the beading tray
the unfinished bracelet was now awry
off and on, i kept stringing
the garnet rounds and pearls kept falling
no more tiny brass rings to string in between
i had to think of other ways...something
also had to wash away the gray feeling.
Searched inside my bedroom drawers
and found silver flower spacers!
i gloried at the thought of finishing two bracelets
three, more, maybe even an anklet!
Three, four hours had passed, i was so exhausted
i had already showered
the whole bathroom was spotless,
smelling of ^Pandan leaves^ and flowers,
i was so delighted!
Outside the bathroom door, i stopped
spotted the shiny silver spacers! on the bed, i almost dropped
the silence was too loud, i couldn't stand the spacers' glare,
nothing to say, nothing to offer... just a stare...
"No! no way!
i'm fine, i'm okay!"
was that my voice that gave me away?
moment of truth could never be held at bay...
I held the cable wire to start beading
but body and mind were one...refusing
my fingers were limp...a bit trembling
tired, from too much scrubbing.
My finger traces the head of my unicorn figurine
God knows, i have loved this magical creature ever since
but, i'm not sure i even like these new visitors, these
unicorn moments,
they don't come often,
yet, they're bound to happen.
oh, well....i guess i have to be a bit bolder
accept these changes that come with growing older...
when this happens, i try to joke and laugh,
and then people say......."you're tough!"
i answer them with a smile...and a gruff!
Sally
Copyright April 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 7:02 AM UTC
There's beauty in the little things.
I lay next to you.
And see the hair on your arm.
I see how it lightens in the summer.
I see how it stands when you get goosebumps.
And how it gets matted down when you sweat.
Sweat.
I see it beading on your face.
I can feel it.
wet on your back.
It comes when you are hot.
And it comes slowly beneath your heavy winter coat.
As you laugh with the snowflakes.
Laugh.
Your laugh is big and bright.
You laugh when something is funny.
You laugh at silly things.
It's your own language,
That comes from your heart.
Heart.
Your heart beats.
As if it were your own song.
It tells me you're living.
It beats fast.
I can feel it when you're pressed against me.
I could fall asleep to its thump every night.
Perfectly in tune with your breath.
Breath.
I can feel your breath on my skin.
It tickles my neck.
And gives me a safe feeling.
Your breath looks like a dragons.
As you step out into the wide wintery world.
And your breath is hot as you laugh in the summertime sun.
And it is beautiful.
Just like you.
Just like us.
And as I notice all these little things
I notice something else.
I notice you are all I want.
All I want forever.
I want your
Thin arm hair
I want your
Sweat
I want your
Laugh
I want your
Heart
And I want your
Breath
I want all of you.
Now and forever.
And we will grow to be even more beautiful than the little things that keep me holding on.
You are my world. You are my sweat and my laugh and my heart and my breath. You are someone who makes me.
Makes me complete.
And you make me more and more complete with every breath, laugh, and heartbeat.
Someday it will stop.
Your heartbeat.
Your breath.
Your laugh.
Your sweat and arm hair.
And I pray
That I will be
Long gone
Before that day.
So I won't have to indulge
In the great pain I will feel
When losing you.
When losing my heart.
My laugh.
My sweat and breath.
When losing My little thing, that means everything.
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 11:56 PM UTC
blood
blood patter and splash
leads us concrete toward
tracing back til the scene
i’ve flashing thoughts of the brutality
the violence that must of cussed
between persons
in fear fray and inebriation
down the steps
my four year old child and I go
the greasing bleed in bronze putters
growing and leadening
on stone labours
glowing citrus the refrigeration
of the underpass
‘flips the bird' at the summer blaze
grey dead coral bricks of urination
seasoned in deep beading now cold
the broke up weapon
candy slates of brittle teeth
glass / bottle / beer /brown
the neck its' hilt
and the main mud of the bleeding
the flies are the thing
that bothers my ‘little nipper’
usually a flapper of queries on repetition
no other queries are raised
just eager for the vibration
of train carriages gatling over our heads
i stopper any words i may have on the matter
he holds my hand with his hot hand
we progress under a port arms
procession of caged floodlights
and walled in by fresh graffiti
fingers dripping retching for the guttering
Dec 22, 2023
Dec 22, 2023 at 3:05 PM UTC
"Why? Why do you love me so much? Why won't you just let me go?" She stared at me while wiping away her tears. I couldn't tell if she was frustrated because she was crying or if she was frustrated at me. It seemed silly to get mad at someone for loving you, but there was a fifty-fifty chance that it was happening right now.
I reached out my hand lead by the extended tip of my index, driving away the tears beading around her eyes so she could see me clearly when I said, "one day I'm going to die, and I'm going to hate myself for that because I'll no longer be able to love you. So I love you with the unrelenting fervor I bring because if I had it my way, I would never have to stop."
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 12:26 AM UTC
million tiny ants
crawling up and down my spine
hummingbird in chest
cold sweat is beading
on my burning body red
eyes dry from crying so
im not going to ******* sleep tonight
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 5:28 PM UTC
i'm a yellow chill
a daffodil in the rain
thought i found my place
kinda heard to explain
sip each glass of wine
your palette needs a rest
taste his cracker's brine
along your lips
signing documents
you can't help hide your grin
sweat beading down your brow
my nervous penmanship
is this what they call peace
four hundred dollars an hour
the clock says nine past three
rounding up minutes they devour
caught you dead to rights
my son's new step father
when he sees your blight
harvest grapes turn sour
i feel constant dread
our son can't cope the truth
so far above his head
your soulless attribute
i'm a daffodil, more like a coward in the rain.
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 11:22 PM UTC
A simple stroke stemming from a heart-planted seed
Ice white and sky blue freezing every generated thought to one with its chills
Intertwining shades of brown fuchsia splattered to a black space - manifesting into dreams
Blue, yellow, and purple churning with hydrochloric acid forming butterflies
Pulse shooting through into the darkened mesosphere darkening fuchsia's mark
Darkened fuchsia turned deep red lustful passion
An unfathomable crescendo beading sweat with final strikes
Reaching the thermosphere - revealing an exclusive sight of our aurora
It hangs in the gallery "Of Our True Selves"
The finish product is almost disappointing
+ crowned saint
circa 2015
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 4:20 PM UTC
Balzac is beading,
Robespierre is reading,
Introversion I am needing,
Reflections I am heeding,
In old bat cave central,
Like an ancient Sybil, hypothetical,
Wisdom is supposed to come with age,
As Balzac turns his own page,
Why am I more religious than the Pope?
Can any faith give Earthlings hope?
Better than folk smoking dope!
If you have a problems embarrassing,
Bring them here for my listening,
Sage advice I am providing,
Reflections I am heeding,
Yes, boys, beer understands,
How did dinosaurs make it in Pleistocene lands?
Answer: they didn't, for beer, no hands,
Yes, reflections I am heeding,
Humans are minute cosmic specks, spinning,
On a pebble in Outer Space, clinging,
If gravity didn't **** we'd all be floating,
Reflections I am heeding,
As Robespierre shall keep reading,
Then Balzac shall be beading......
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 1:37 AM UTC
A couple wuz beading up
for a chi chi day
She drunkenly laughed
**** stained her dress
A olive skin woman
in golden glitter pasties
Offered neon *** shots
near 10 in the morning
A chubby girl dressed
in a black fishnet body suit
selling face paintings
while her supple *******
Jiggled in your face
A black man occupied
A most different plain
Sat behind two chess boards
wasn't gettin paid
Two SAP cars parked
At Royal Sonesta curb
idling to taxi exec sappers
back to the friendly skies
****** whippin glitter girl
Shakin her money maker
Lookin hard at her wares
What the hell she sellin?
Across the street
miked up bible thumper
Doin his groove thing
Raged against the ***** show
Ca ching ca ching ca ching
I ducked a bity bee
Flying at my face
I'm walkin Bourbon
Full of mighty grace
Hard Rock Guys
selling cannabis lollis
crowded corners bumpin
Ain't no trollies
boom box blastin
back beat samples
Who Dat Jazz?
muskrat rambles
Three card monte
Obstructive beggers
Kids banging on
5 gallon drums
Gimme a dime mister
Louie Armstrong Park
Congo Square
Where it at?
Gotta get there
***** Glitter still barking
Mardi ****** Gras tees
Snapchat Me Your *****
Ducked another bee
Kid put his two pails
In mid of the rue
Gotta pay the toll
Whatcha gunna do?
Music:
Mardi Gras Music
From NOLA Notes
2/18/17
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 1:58 PM UTC
lets be two naked
self conscience individuals
and sit in a half full
half empty bathtub
we'll fill it with freezing water
that evaporates when our skin makes contact
we are magnetic
and static
and our clothless skin transfers
heat through osmosis
our necks are sweating
and beading
and drips down the stunted hour glass
love handles filled with sand
and that sweat is freezing
but evaporates down my body
ripples in the water
we have not moved in hours
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 7:16 AM UTC
Take the plow back.
give me irrigation, cuts
through the stubborn dirt
another hope to scar
our earthy night
blisters roll like sunrise
polished stone skins
beading my palm
the ice has grown
downward, like bridges
never finished,
wet from the sweat
of construction
we toiled for so long.
*nothing has grown
but the days.*
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 3:58 PM UTC
the thin filmsy material;
steel, copper, metal,
it doesn't matter.
push it into my flesh;
for that instance, it becomes titanium,
i am titanium.
the soft tugging temptation,
an acute pain filled sharpness;
the constant flow, an electric like current
willing me to plunge the blade
into my skin
once again.
my conscience begin to blur,
everything turns hazy;
but not my heart,
the heart burns like a flame,
bright and strong.
the slow beading of the wounds,
pairing with the rythm of my heart.
now protecting it,
a layer of amethyst pearls;
it's so beautiful, the most elegant moves,
the most gorgeous pattern ever formed.
and i do it,
once again.
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 1:19 AM UTC
Her voice would cleanse me, but
Her voice-mail popped every last
Bubble in the bath water.
Her phone rang and rang.
Wringing me out.
Leaving each ring
In the bathtub.
-
I thought you were still in the shower
but I found you in the sunlight that the patio keeps.
I missed the tightening of your skin as it dried.
Then it loosened you in its warmth just to
Show me the sweat beading. Growing wherever
Like seeds let go from the wind; held no longer
Than they should have been.
-
It was a careless orchard.
Rowed haphazardly.
The organics of now
Fruitful and ripe
But only for that moment.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 5:28 AM UTC
Deep within the pit
Front and centre to the stage
Music blasting around you
Your mind starts to engage
Time slows around you
Forgetting your in a crowd
You feel your heart pumping in your chest
The surroundings no longer loud
Feeling like your soul is being lifted
higher up and up into the sky
The colours flooding your atmosphere
You feel as if you can fly
Sweat beading in your hands
Temperature on your skin is rising
hands wrapped around your waist
Spirits are energizing
You tune into the music there
Surrounding you with its soul
I never realized it before
How the rhythm can make you feel so whole
The exhilarating feeling
the rush that it entails
Hooked on this version of me
That is free to go off the rails
Run Free, Be Free
Everything in my soul is Free.
The taste of being this new untamed version,
The Freedom of being truly me
Euphoric
Dec 4, 2023
Dec 4, 2023 at 3:49 AM UTC