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King Panda Oct 2015
found
grounded bird closed in
ribboned-box and buried
underneath a willow snapped back
to finally relax
to decompose and nourish
by the lake in drooping shade
the felled leaves pile
candy wrappers gray snow in
parking lot corners
with pumpkin spice scented candles
with charred letters skirling up
the arm dropped to sizzle and puff out
white beanies
flannels
leather boots and jangly bronze-leafed wind chimes
I sit on the patio and listen to you speak
the chill of your words
perched like a squirrel barking on a fence top
hibernation preparation and breeze
the gospel of your autumn

it’s lovely.
Arcassin B Apr 2015
By Arcassin Burnham


{When i wake up will our story be told,
Himalayan rivers couldn't see a better shine,
I would give everything just smell the scent of pine,
And who could stand the test of time,
Now we're all old,}

You might hate me now but you forgot the essence of peace,
wait .. wait! you have a Complicated complex????
I swear the things you say are bat **** insane!!!
so little monsta go away,
Right Back into the closet where you came,
I hope your happy with your seven seconds of fame,
As i put on this beanie , look at the enemy and say......

{When i wake up will our story be told,
Himalayan rivers couldn't see a better shine,
I would give everything just smell the scent of pine,
And who could stand the test of time,
Now we're all old,}
Third Hat Poem.
Arcassin B Oct 2014
By Arcassin Burnham




Red ones,
Blues ones,
Green ones,
Orange ones,
Yellow ones,
Pink ones,
Black ones,
White ones,
Grey ones,
Silver ones,
Gold ones,
Camouflage,
Want all the beanies in the world,
And I want a ton.
beanies
eversoslowly Aug 2013
the one feeling that is most foreign to my life
inadequate in every way I can see
using beanies to cover up my flaws the best i can
hiding behind my words like a mask
odds stacked against me in everything i do
and everyone that I have any feelings towards
speaking only when there is no other option
approach me at your own risk and I will hide inside my notebook
cover my face and fall into my own little world
I am not fit to live inside this one
raiiindrops Nov 2013
the one feeling that is most foreign to my life
inadequate in every way I can see
using beanies to cover up my flaws the best i can
hiding behind my words like a mask
odds stacked against me in everything i do
and everyone that I have any feelings towards
speaking only when there is no other option
approach me at your own risk and I will hide inside my notebook
cover my face with my hair and fall into my own little world
I am not fit to live inside this one
conversation between day and night

DAY you’re so shadowy dangerous scary

NIGHT and you’re so bright cheerful positive it’s sickening

DAY you’re troubled conflicted disturbed concealing colluding everything in darkness

NIGHT like you don’t have your ***** secrets the difference is you’re in denial pretending everything is sweet pretty perfect

DAY i can’t believe we’re sister and brother

NIGHT not by choice

DAY i’ll never understand why you choose to suffer why you would rather be miserable than joyful

NIGHT you are so phony concerned about how things look instead of how they really feel

DAY i want success i dream of happiness i like being a winner and will fight to achieve my goals

NIGHT listen to you “fight to achieve your goals” you’re obnoxious selfish disgusting corrupt ***** all you know how to do is shine your radiant smile you’re a 1-trick-pony glaring at everything with your fiery rays

DAY and you’re so impossible mercurial moody waxing waning moon all your sick lunacy

NIGHT i love when it rains and clouds shut you out

DAY i hate you



conversation between summer and winter

SUMMER you’re gloomy bitter cold distant

WINTER i wish things were different

SUMMER different how

WINTER i know i’m difficult complicated demanding stuff dies around me freezes up goes away

SUMMER you could change

WINTER change huh (pause) what? become more like you with all your floods forest fires bugs crop failure drought scorching heat

SUMMER perhaps more like spring or autumn milder more agreeable

WINTER you don’t understand

SUMMER explain

WINTER i hurt inside hurt so bad i get numb in a fog then i don’t see feel think right do stupid stuff to upsetting to remember lose myself forget myself

SUMMER that sounds dangerous

WINTER it used to be worse

SUMMER sounds scary

WINTER i’ve been alone for many years it’s had an effect on me

SUMMER you’re more amendable now

WINTER i wish to die

SUMMER that’s not good

WINTER I have my regrets forgive me

SUMMER you’re sad

WINTER teach me help me show me love

SUMMER remember who you are take pride in yourself you’re winter hot chocolate crackling fireplace ice skating hockey snow skiing football scarves mittens beanies boots you’re fun

WINTER you really think so thank you



conversation between democrat and republican

DEMOCRAT you people got us into this mess

REPUBLICAN you people got us into this mess

DEMOCRAT what’s your hand doing in your pocket

REPUBLICAN what’s your hand doing in your pocket

DEMOCRAT who are you to point a finger

REPUBLICAN who are you to point a finger



conversation between life and death

LIFE it’s a gorgeous dawn full of potential

DEATH time is inconsequential

LIFE you’re heartless

DEATH i do what i have to

LIFE you’re a *******

DEATH some think i’m a relief

LIFE you’re a cruel son-of –a-*****

DEATH let me ask you something do you believe in reincarnation destiny fate

LIFE ******* i hate you yes i believe in possibilities i don’t know what i believe i believe in hope

DEATH i apologize

LIFE this existence is difficult from learning how to talk walk to making smart decisions enduring the loss of loved ones suffering one’s own losses but going through all these changes is a valiant challenge attempting to achieve my goals is better than nothing at all

DEATH you honestly believe your mortal existence isn’t a futile pursuit and terrible waste of resources

LIFE yes (pause) nature is miraculous the creatures skies oceans mountains anthropology science love possibilities

DEATH you’re rather funny in a preposterous way not that it matters yet you’re entertaining

LIFE i don’t know i get these feelings like i was chosen like i am living in something much greater than myself words cannot explain

DEATH i wouldn’t know i’m a service i conclude (pause) that’s all (pause) you’re speaking about stuff beyond me

LIFE you mean you know nothing about god or the soul or spirituality nothing about dreams visions longings

DEATH i have no answers just terminal endings
MaSHTONdison May 2014
Liam Payne,
or should I say Pain
because thats all you cause me.

You make my heart flutter,
When you sing,
its heart to believe,
your not butter.

I know, your not Daddy Direction anymore,
but sometimes, I still wish,
that while on tour, you would still do more,
of your childish  punishments.

I miss the old you,
yes I do.
But i like the new you,
too.

Beanies, that read Hype
that makes this hard to type,
and even that **** Stuble
I might as well stop now,
you know,
I might get my self in trouble.
WickedHope Dec 2014
I wore "too much black" today
I wish I was allowed to look like me
I was a "****** on the corner"
I wish I was allowed to wear tight clothes
I wore "goth make up"
I wish I was allowed to wear eyeliner
I was a "no good ***"
I wish I could wear my beanies and caps
Conservative family problems.
I just want to wear what I want.
Almost 18... so close, so far.
JR Rhine Mar 2016
Flip flip slide slide
grind grind pop pop
concentration.

hours and hours
sweat pours
bruised ankles bruised kneecaps
scraped shinbones scraped elbows
scabs and scars.

shirts and jeans torn, worn;
shoes a tattered mess--
laces shredded to bits tied desperately
clinging on to lapping tongues.

hair matted to skull sweating within damp skullcaps,
whether be it helmets (by choice or restriction),
or fitted baseball hats turned backwards,
or cuffed beanies in the dead of winter.
(father says the latter choices work well to soak all the blood up, I always roll my eyes in naivete.)

The paved driveway, where on my eighth birthday
a shining basketball goal sat at its full height
towering in the mountain sky--

stood forlorn in place as wide eyes glued to the pavement--

where shoes stood atop the gritty surface of a wooden board
with wheels attached to gleaming metal axles
rolled smoothly excitedly across the pavement in perpetuity.

destiny.
JR Rhine Jun 2016
Twentysomething Emo
looks at teenage Emo
and laughs.

It was something purely aesthetic,
with brain chemicals churning
and wiry bodies yearning

under the guise of straightened bangs
and perched beanies,

skin tight black outfits
parading the dusty grounds of Warped Tour.

Twentysomething Emo is the real deal--
lamenting over high school salad days
because real life is so unsure,

college degrees and full-time jobs,
watching friends and lovers come and go in our lives.

After a long day of responsibility and groveling,
we drive home (or somewhere just as distant)
with our emo anthems blaring through the speakers.

We scream the songs back at them,
truly feeling the words for the first time.

I'm the same age as William Beckett, Adam Lazzara, and Pete Wentz
when they wrote these songs--
and though the bangs have receded
and the jeans have slackened,

I am perpetually Emo.

The unrequited love and the nearing distant future--
it's come too soon.

I hope thirtysomething Emo looks back
on my meandering twentysomething Emo
and laughs--

as he plays the melancholy tunes pouring out of the speakers
with some more of life fading away in his rearview mirror.

This town gets smaller every day.
"I got a bad feeling about this."
Sam Knaus Dec 2014
A rainy day,
an acoustic guitar,
a notebook,
a studio apartment overlooking the city.
"I want to measure my mornings
in spoonfuls of coffee
and my nights in empty cigarette boxes."
I don't remember the name of the poet who wrote that
but it couldn't describe my life
any more accurately.
I want to measure my mornings
in spoonfuls of coffee
and my nights in empty cigarette boxes.
I want to measure my happiness
in rainy days and soft kisses,
poetry,
I want to measure my recovery
in full meals and trash bags full of razors,
in tears shed by my eyes
instead of my skin.
I want to measure my free time
in independent movies
and 4 different kinds of music-
indie,
hard rock,
classic rock,
and pop-punk.
I want to measure my infinities
in starry night skies,
galaxies, constellations,
physics books I got in middle school
and his eyes,
his smile.
I want to measure my victories
in minutes without smoking
and my losses
in blaring headphones
and labyrinths of white smoke.
I want to measure my work ethic
in sick days
and missed bills.
I want to measure my heart
in belly dancing
and ***** converse,
in beanies
and minutes spend holding him.
I want to measure my life
in written chapters
and highlighted smiles
in blue Christmas lights
and TV show references,
in my favourite movies and novels and songs
and my dependence on myself,
in cans of Peace Tea
and Pringles
and not regretting eating,
in pens that help the words flow
and laughs,
smiles,
hugs,
kisses,
and hope that in the future
things will be alright...
More alright than they are now.
Marie L Feb 2015
So you know that strange feeling you get, the one where it feels like you're different from them.
You're a green tulip in a field of yellows, but they all see in black and white.
You decide to go with it, because Different is bad. Same is good.
Same, they say, is what gets you somewhere.
Same, I think, isn't fun at all.
It's gray, dull, a ticking clock in an empty room. Time wastes away, and nothing is done.
Same stands over you with a bat, and 'plonk' when Different tries to talk to you. Same wears the same suit and tie every day, never changing.
Different likes colors and scarves and sandals and beanies and fur coats and tattoos.
Same likes to talk about the weather, while Different doesn't talk; she was interrupted too much.
Different likes to sit down and think, and think, and dream. She sits longing for more Different's, the ones with fur coats and tattoos. Same chases them down with his bat and 'plonk' they become like Same, with suits and bats.
Invocation Apr 2014
Ray LaMontagne - Hold You In My Arms
"I could hold you in my arms, I could hold you forever."

In this hidden corner of my world
Anything
could happen

woven Guatemalan Frisbee
with a lonely older man
talking about dank and his ex-wife
sweet vanilla coffee with a shot of something fruity
smoking in the wind

bot support Ashe
I use a trackpad
fingerless mittens and fuzzy knit earmuffs
they double as headphones
metal and country and sappy romantic pop ballads
gauges piercings tattoos flannels beanies band tees and scene girlfriends

gossip about the bar next door
bashing the outer world
this is utter peace

catching the eye of an attractive stranger
in the mirrors behind the bar

My stomach feels tender from too much coffee
my head buzzes with nicotine
caffeine
My purging week of healthy choices ended
with hash browns, french toast
too much ketchup and 6 packets of sugar in my coffee
Denny's
skeleton string lights and chalkboard walls
abstract photography and everyone plugged in

this is my escape
Today is my brother's 18th birthday.
I want him to feel loved.
Megan H Jul 2014
"You don't look like you write poetry.."
Well, why not?
Is it because I am an athlete?
Is it because you misinterpret my personality?
Is it so hard to believe,
I can put my thoughts down
In a way I feel better?
Tell me,
Tell me please.
What does a poet look like?
Do all of them look the same?
Act the same?
Messy hair and beanies.
Scarves and hot tea.
Hipsters.
Suicidal or lovestruck.
Black or white.
The "artsy" types.
Typical stereotypical ideas of poets.
But we are not the same.
We are all different,
Except for one thing,
We all understand each other.
So please never judge me again,
Just because you don't understand
Our world.
Don't assume things about others. You may be surprised.
Arcassin B Oct 2014
By Arcassin Burnham



I wear this one,
As a symbol of depression,
He was there before but now he's gone,
Hoping one day to arrive,
He never came back
I'm glad she's alive,
To care for me,
And hold me,
As if like she was him and herself,
Not much in my memories,
Past future of needing help.
yeah
Butch Decatoria Aug 2016
[This piece is a grower, one of my lengthier poems, but don't worry - just enjoy the journey on my ride.]


Craigs Schindler's
the Personals, VIP - Invite
Lists
Of "A" Listers on the DL
Haters D-Listing us...

So yeah, I got on
Craig's Intersection on Chrome,
and this what I read...

[MEN Seeking Men]
"Amen and good luck on finding the One in here"

Cyber-ly here,
We Seekers seeking Sick seas
to feel pleased,

Should of made a quick sticky
Note - "It's like looking through a filth mag."
with a mouse to turn the page
No need to feel shame.

Let's give us a chance,
Cyber here be
like - click - pics - clack
opens where we view
at that - a close up of a Mr.'s

**** Slong Johnson Peter Pecker Wood
(Don't ****)

Mushroom tops / Low sagging sacs...
The next pic - *click click
is also Member only.
Who's ads dare say
self-description / Promo / Sales' Pitch
A one-liner catch phrase

Hook  Line  And  Sinker.

**** Pleasures.  All your needs.
Age : 26 / Location : Strip.
His pic is also ****.

Where's my Cub? Top seeks Bttm
Bottom of the list
but still - It's Equal Opportunity Miss.

Late Night ******* looking for a Regular
(You know like how dogs keep going back
   to the same spot he ******)

Want a *******--22

Nips and JO (You know J for Jack and then Off)

Busco Chavito Activo M4M
Muchacho's Quatro Mi'cha-chos

All-American for encounters with the Same - discreet

Pages on pages of this place
Cyber Ether Web
And the address for such sites
     No longer a conversation chat room to connect
its business of exchanges
no one likes wasting time
getting nothing
     No one cares for a walk in quick-sand sludge
drowning in mud

In excess we numb our selves
from the heavy absence of Life
but I dare say :
     "Self-Respect is Love -Self - Love"
I stop flipping through the pages
of **** upon **** pics
a few body and **** shots
not one of a face
     without shade, beanies, hoods, photo-shopped
"disguise" - is the same as "hide"
so not to be recognized
so ridiculed with embarrassed shame
where they respect you at work

Must not end up like **** on Craig's list.
And without a pic, I place my own post

Yearning for Mr.'s **** Slong Johnson / Peter Pecker Wood
(Just for kicks--curiosity--what kind responds replies)
It's a gamble on here
Cyber-ly in there - with lists raining
*** and **** and misters (its hot in Sin city).

What's cookin'--who's lookin' -- Sookies
****** and Chance
perchance ...

To dream and in that dream, Feel...
when all I feel is blue
**** Slong Johnson Peter Pecker Wood
wit deez ... nuts
Family Jewels
Nothing but wanting for nutting

Don't be a ****
and go look for some kind of kindness
some kind of beautiful
life of a Love Life
back then when in the back of an '80's
pink station wagon...

Howling at the moon as all dogs do,
And no sign of a ******

Thank goodness thanks to She
All
Mothers love
my Juliet's
with sincerest respect


Don't forget to look for Love
now
**"I bow to the Divine in You"
pandemonium Oct 2013
(i)
There's that girl again
soft pink lips,
light blush on her cheeks
when their eyes met
and her heart beat
all kinds of red.

(ii)
As he smiled
one stranger to another
a weird pulse in his chest
matted blood rose to his ears
but thank god
for beanies.

(iii)
Her voice, her laughter,
a euphoric symphony
like roses singing in the wind
and in this metaphor
he is the glorious wind
she should let him know that.

(iv)
"Should I?"
he held that letter
close to his body
contemplating to slip into
her vibrant red mailbox
he did; and ran away.

(v)
Who knew, the ends of
the red thread of destiny
were tied on their
little fingers
now they're no longer
tangled in someone else's.
bekha l kershaw Sep 2013
Candles smell best when the day is nearing its end and you feel the weariness in your bones. Favourites flicker like moods and the way the fire dances upon the wick; fresh scents mostly. Zingy citrus and sweet melon and cucumber, and sometimes sweet spice and serenity which smells like old memories.

2. As a sister, I do no know what kind of attributes I wish for a sister. Even though I adore and get annoyed in equal parts by the girl who calls me big sissie, I could not name what it is that I exactly would want. Perhaps, I would enjoy some one such as Nana Visitor as my sister, although one wonders if having actors for a family member is the best.

Kelly Rowland comes to mind, and perhaps I would adore her as a sister the most.

3. I have longed for a brother for a long time, wished I had one just to experience it, mostly. I’d want someone fierce, but someone understanding too. Someone who would not treat me like I could look after myself, and under much consideration, I do not believe there is someone I’d truly want as a celebrity as my brother. Perhaps Olly Murs, if I had to really answer this.

4. Marriage is not something I would wear well, I do not think. It’s not a comfy pair of sweats or a too big sweater. It’s a very pretty dress, or a dapper suit and it doesn’t fit like colourful beanies or a rather fluffy scarf.

5. Books lay in piles about the space entitled my room, old bottles from years before I was born live in their own special cupboards. Piles of intricately made teaspoons and bone-handled knives tuck into boxes upon boxes upon boxes. Old text books barely squeeze into my shelves. I hoard like I breathe.

6.When young and flexible I managed to tie myself in knots; I’d fit in spaces I only dream about now and stretch like I was reaching for the light. Doing such things like the splits doesn’t occur to me anymore, I’ve got a book to read, an emotion to write and a song to hum under my breath.
they answer questions. of what, i can't remember.
racing across the train platform,
one hand on our heads keeping our beanies in place,
the other clenching each other's

we slid in through the doors,
catching our breath in between laughter
we make it above ground just as the sun is setting over astoria
and i swear your eyes turn golden

my favourite you comes out at night
we lose track of time, put away our cell phones,
and vandalize this whole **** place with our love

carve your name into my rickety old heart like you did the trees
near bethesda
kiss me long and hard, like the winters
just as refreshing when i open the door and seeing you,
my own wonderland

melt this ice pick inside of me
set me on fire, for all i care
everything is dying right now,
but for once, for once, it doesn't feel like it
Jane Doe Sep 2016
To the author of the Huffington post “article” We Are The Generation Who Doesn’t Want a Relationship you’re wrong.
We Are The Generation Who Doesn’t Want to Be Straight, but you won’t let us.
I want domesticity like a fish wants a bicycle, which is to say that it would be nice but not useful.
I want the next boy I date to be able to flirt with the bar tender and to be tender and kinder than the last one. You keep putting us in jars with labels and naming us after stars and hurricanes but when we want to tear down your system you just say “shush now, just listen.”
I don’t want to hear your voice anymore – I don’t want to be told that I can’t love who I always have.
I don’t want any more halves, I want whole people to love me and make me more than the person who got called ***** all through high school because they couldn’t keep just one partner I don’t want to be an outsider anymore.
My darling says she wants someone to hold her hands when the world ends. You’ve put the fear of God in her and it makes her cry so much louder. My dearest says he wants to bring smiles to the people on the street and when he sees someone he thinks is cute his whole body goes mute I want to help him speak.
We keep swiping right like gamblers hoping for a chance at more than a second glance, we don’t want divorces or anymore court cases we don’t want second or third bases we just want patience while we pick up the pieces you dropped in front of us.
We want to keep believing in what you lost. We want pumpkin spice lattes and lately I want ladies, but not always because his smile drives me crazy and we don’t want babies.
We don’t want “consent is ****” we want control over our own bodies. We don’t want binaries we want multicolored beanies and maybe, just maybe, we want nothing but to be gay.
I read this trash article about how millennials don't want relationships and it made me a little mad.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/we-are-the-generation-who-doesnt-want-reltionships_us_572131a5e4b03b93e7e435d8
Tru Baker Dec 2012
inside my chest is a coalmine. you have the raddest eyes I’ve ever seen & you hair smells like rain. I want to call you on the telephone & tell you a secret about your freckles. I wanna call you shakedown. I wanna call you shotgun. do you want to make a movie? I got this camera, see, & a backyard like forever, & when it snows it’s like the whole world is one giant pickup line. my body in a wooden box & you just like holes for breathing. if I’m lying my neck is a bird. free. the truth is skin & skin. your red and grey beanies. a stick of dynamite between my teeth.
stéphane noir Nov 2018
when i think of you
it's always christmas in my heart.
it's always icy cold and brisk -
not the kind of cold that you bristle at,
but the cold that makes you gasp for a breath,
like you've just realized you're alive.

the feeling swells from my heart,
up the sides of my neck,
warming everything it touches,
enflaming muscles it has no business brushing,
until i can barely get any air down my windpipe.
my lungs seize up, just as they are,
and i can't remember ever taking a deep breath in my life.
are you buried down there in my solar plexus still?

i know i've gotta be out of my mind -
that's one thing i'm sure of these days.
but i can't shake that excitement from my heart,
like i might see you this time,
you might be around just for a few days
and we might sneak off together to talk,
dreaming dreams bigger than each of us,
bigger than both of us,
or just sit somewhere and be silent.
i'll make up and excuse about seeing an old friend,
not a lie, really. no, not a lie at all. simply understated.

god i'm thankful for these memories.
i'm so grateful, through and through,
for the blaze that flames on in my heart,
a feeling i could never forget, never replace.
God bless the freezing air, the frost on the windows,
the leafless trees, stiff and cold on the side streets,
the brick buildings and all their contained heat,
a hot tea, and you forgetting all the words to all the songs,
the fireplace in the downstairs den that I'll never see again.

God bless the early mornings and late nights,
the trading of songs back and forth,
the wrapping of emotional gifts and
the excitement of opening them in front of each other,
the beanies and layers of coats and sweaters,
the dressing up, doing of hair, & sweet smelling perfume.
God bless the light beers and sweet wines,
antique shopping and long cash-wrap lines,
lattes and americanos, hot in your little hand,
the smell of coffee beans wafting through my nostrils
early in the morning when mom is the only one awake.

but most of all god bless the music.
the sound of church bells drawing out
a year's worth of love and hope from my heart,
eternal, transcendent and completely dissociated from personality,
the electric guitars playing "o holy night",
my mom on the piano, a text from you on the screen.

i'd be nothing without that music, different without you.
i don't miss the arguments and the fights, the awkwardness,
but i miss the rosy edges of everything,
all of my experiences at Christmas are tainted by you -
i miss focusing on what i'm doing,
while always half-focusing on you.
"sure, i'm helping cook dinner - but did my phone just buzz?!"
it did. it always did. whenever i checked, it was buzzing.

my brain can't understand this
or plan what needs to be done,
so i will leave the matter to my heart,
the ***** of deepening, infiltrating
penetrating and incorporating all of the love it feels
into every moment of every day of my life.

out here, a glass is raised,  always waiting for your cheers.
Why is “god” censored?
Shannon McGovern Oct 2011
When I realized I had fallen in love with you
I slit my wrists to stop the bleeding.

I used threads of your hair I had stolen,
from a voodoo doll to sew them up.

But it seeped through my sleeves so I tye dyed
my shirt with phlegm, feces, and ****.

After it was dry it looked like your face,
like finding Jesus or Mary on a pancake or in coffee.

You're my messiah and I would wash your feet
with my hair but I haven't any, cause I shaved it off
when you left.

I wear hats all day now, my head gets cold, and the beanies
smell like hair oil, shampoo, and follicles.

And sometimes I wonder what you would think,
of the way my hair matts down from the pressure and heat.

Kind of like the way you bedded me down with the same,
weight and warmth of blankets and body hair.

What do you do when you haven't eaten all day
and you're scared of being fatter than your significant other?

Paint your nails **** red and hope your heels are high enough on Saturday.
judy smith Mar 2017
The streets of Paris were clogged by rallies and demonstrations on the Sunday of fashion week. At the Trocadero, a pro-rally for embattled French conservative presidential candidate Francois Fillon, blocking the route between the Valentino and Akris shows; at Bastille, an anti-Fillon demonstration.

The French elections — and ever-increasing security — were providing a tense backdrop to the autumn-winter collections, much like Donald Trump, Brexit and Matteo Renzi did on the fashion circuit of New York, London and Milan this season. Politics and the changing of the guard, women’s rights and diversity may make fashion seem irrelevant until you add up the value of the industry to the world economy. In Britain it is £28 billion ($45bn) — and that is small fry next to France and Italy.

Perhaps politics and social change have influenced the French designers for there was much less street style this season and a lot more tailored, working clothes on the catwalk. They used mostly masculine fabrics but worked in such a graceful way. You need only look at Haider ­Ackermann, Chanel, Alexander McQueen, Christian Dior, Lanvin, Akris and Ellery to see this — lots of great wearable clothes.

Karl Lagerfeld wanted to fly us to other worlds (to abandon the mess here perhaps) in his Chanel space rocket. There were checks, cream, silvery white and grey tweeds, for suits and shorts and dark side of the moon print dresses that cleverly avoided the 60s’ ­futuristic cliches. Silver moon boots, space blanket stoles and rocket-shaped handbags were as space-age-y as it got. There was quiet, seductive tailoring at Haider Ackermann — tapered silhouettes in black wool and leather softened with a knit or the fluff of Mongolian lamb for a blouson or skirt. At McQueen the asymmetric lines of a black coat or pantsuit were ­inspired by the fluid lines of ­Barbara Hepworth’s sculptures, whereas David Koma reclaimed the soaring shoulderline of Mugler’s 80s silhouette for pantsuits and mini-dresses for the brand.

Christian Dior’s uniform-inspired daywear was produced in tones of navy blue with 50s-style navy belted skirts suits, long pleated skirts and some denim workwear. “I wanted my collection to express a woman’s personality, but with all the protection of a ­uniform,” explained Maria Grazia Chiuri before the show.

There was more suiting at ­Martin Grant with voluminous trousers, cummerbunds and men’s shirting. The cut was more mannish at Ellery and Celine with ­Ellery balancing her masculine oversized jacket looks with feminine bustier tops with giant puff sleeves. The mannish look at ­Celine was styled with sharp ­lapels, slim-cut trousers under crushed textured raincoats, whereas ­double-breasted jackets (a trend) and peacoats over loose-cut trousers appeared at John Galliano.

Checks jazzed up the tailoring at Akris where there were more sophisticated double-breasted jackets and swing coats, and at ­Giambattista Valli from among the flirty embroidered dresses a dogtooth coat emerged with a waspie belt and a suit with a peplum skirt.

Stella McCartney displayed her Savile Row skills in heritage checks for her equestrian-themed show. Of course, she is crazy about riding and her prints featured a famous painting by George Stubbs, Horse Frightened by a Lion. It turns out Stubbs was another Liverpudlian, like her dad Sir Paul.

Of course Hermes’s vocabulary started with the horse and there were leather-trimmed capes and coats that fitted an equestrian, or at least country theme worn with woollen beanies and big sweaters, offering a different way of tailoring, in an easier silhouette with a soft colour palette.

The highlight of the week for Natalie Kingham, buying director at MatchesFashion.com was ­Balenciaga. “Great accessories, great coats and great execution of ideas,” she says of Demna Gvasalia’s off-kilter buttoned coats, stocking boot and finale of nine spectacular Balenciaga couture gowns reinterpreted in a contemporary way. “It was wearable, modern and the must-see show of the week.” It was also, she pointed out “the must-have label off the runway with every other person on the front row decked out in the spring collection”.

Although tailoring worked its subtle charms on the catwalk, there were flashes of brightness, graceful beauty and singularity. Particularly bright were Miu Miu’s psychedelic prints, feathered and jewelled lingerie dresses and colourful fun fur coats with furry baker boy hats. Then there was the singular look evoked by Austrian-born Andreas Kronthaler in his homage to his roots, with alpine flowers, Klimt-style artist smocks and bourgeois chintz florals worked in asymmetric and padded silhouettes for Vivienne Westwood — some of it modelled by the Dame herself.

Pagan beauty, the wilds of Cornwall, ancient traditions such as the mystical “Cloutie” wishing tree led to Sarah Burton’s enchanting Alexander McQueen show, which was another of Kingham’s favourites with its unfinished embroideries inspired by old church kneelers and spiritual motifs. “I loved the artisanal threadwork and the spiritual message that was woven throughout,” she says. The artisanal and spiritual she considers an emerging trend around the shows. “It had a slight winter boho vibe but much more elevated.”

Chitose Abe shared that mood for undone beauty with her Sacai collection of hybrid combinations of tweed and nylon for an anorak, and deconstructed lace for a parka, and puffers with denim re-worked with floral lace for evening.

There was more seductiveness at Valentino and Issey Miyake. The latter’s collection shown in the magnificent interiors of Paris’s Hotel de Ville, shimmered with the colours of the aurora borealis and used extraordinary fabric technology to create rippling movement as the models walked.

Valentino was a high point. On a rainswept Sunday Pierpaolo Piccioli cheered us with high-neck Victoriana silhouettes and long swingy dresses in potentially (but not actually) clashing combinations of pink and red in jazzy patterns of mystical motifs and numerology inspired by the Memphis Group of Pop Art. The sheer loveliness of the collection was enough to drown out the world of politics only a few blocks away.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/blue-formal-dresses
Harshita Dec 2010
Chilly gusts of wind they blow,
Through my shuddering window.
As I lay enveloped in a red embrace,
Cotton, wool and linen,
lie together in a clump.
My grey blanket lies awake,
Keeping off the cold, all night.
And while i yawn and stretch my cold arms,
Wear those fluffy whites on my wrinkly toes,
Good old grey goes to sleep.

The air heavy like lead,
And time seems to crawl,
My snores wear winter clothes,
mittens and socks, jumpers and beanies,
Leaving little to expose
anony Sep 2013
beanies, boots, furs, and scarves, paired with soothing sounds of passing cars.
warm mugs of tea on the days dark and dreary- enough to forget the years' scars.
cool mountain air isn't really far, but the journey there's bound to make me weary.
oh how i long for it
Timothy Brown Jan 2013
The following are three random poems I made up today

                                                                My Shirt

Red, black and grey
are the colors of my shirt today
It matches my shoes vans
A pair of blue jeans
in between
to represent my blues


                                                         ­                Comp Book

I started with 100 sheets
now there are 78
free from the mesh of madness
hidden beneath the grates

                                            
                                                                ­            Hats
I don't like to wear hats
well, I do like beanies
but this nonsense over fitted caps
is just an excuse for people to be meanies
© January 17th, 2013 by Timothy R Brown. All rights reserved.
You sag your pants
I prefer mine tight
You wear beanies on your head
I wear my hair spiked high
You wear shoes bigger than my face
I prefer my small converse
You like to go out everyday
I like to stay home underneath the covers
You like to get things done quick
I procrastinate
You're impatient when waiting to take showers
while I can wait for hours
You like naked women on your bedroom walls
I prefer song lyrics
You like to talk about your day
I love hearing about it
You like to think about things
I like to jump to conclusions
you know why you do the things you do
whereas I never have a reason
You like things neat
I like a little mess here or there
You worry about what others think
I simply just don't care
We are total opposites
people like us normally fight
Instead we get along so well
we can stand to sleep together at night
We can spend hours together
and spend our time wonderfully
It's amazing to me how two different people
can mesh together so perfectly
WRITTEN BY: Mandie Michelle Sanders
WRITTEN ON: November. 2, 2011 Wednesday 7:51 A.M.
Cambrie Nov 2018
This is about a beanie that is not a beanie
It’s about a blue and black beanie that is not blue and black
This beanie belongs to a handsome Prince
The Prince of beanies  if you will

This particular Prince is perfect yet not perfect at all
He is tall but not as tall as the rest of them
Even though he is not as tall
He is even more handsome
And kind
And gentle

This Prince doesn’t have a name
In fact his name is Prince of Beanies
He would also be known as the Queen’s mistress
I know none of this makes sense
I suppose it’s not supposed to

You are a stranger
You do not understand my heart
You won’t
I don’t
I don’t understand how my heart only beats for him
I don’t quite understand why his hugs feel like a vacation
Like my salvation

Thank you for taking your time to read this
It’s a bunch of nonsense that I don’t understand
You are very kind to care
I thank you and bid you a goodnight
my sweet fellow
writer
Sorry if this isn't amazing. I just got back into poetry and couldn't believe I missed it so much. I hope you like it <3
Chaos Oct 2015
I love lazy, at home days
With sweatpants and ice cream
Cuddling and watching movies
Doing nothing but being silly
Dancing in the kitchen
Board games in the lounge
Hot chocolate in bed
I love the timeless feeling
With that little bit of sun
But enough chill in the air
To bundle up warm
The fuzzy socks and beanies
Blankets strewn everywhere
I just love lazy, at home days
AllAtOnce Sep 2015
black heart
beanies
green shirt
screaming
"he has a girlfriend"
broken heart
torn between
a new start
deep breaths
hold on
it will be over soon
move on
fixing strings
new ties
looking for love
falling apart
Harley Oliver Mar 2014
half a cup of
perfectly sculpted hair
yeilds a quarter
of a suburban style
& a tragic obsession
with the american flag
stirred in with a dash of
unquestionably good shoes-
a hint of stripes
adorned with a
a scruffy flannel armor-
blended of color palettes
mixed in with
your matching blacks,
& a quarter dozen
ankle boots with
banded legwarmers to match.
toss in a pair of leggings
a couple of two cent beanies
and plaid button downs
thoroughly wrapped around
your nether bottom &
a fanciful coffee
in hand prettified
with a binding bracelet
telling me
to creatively and
elusively
*******
For Cari
mip Sep 2014
step one.
you drink. you drink like alcohol is your life source and each gulp is necessary for breath. you make a game. when you say his name? three shots. when you think about him? three bottles. you drink until you forget his name — but really, you’re only going to forget your own.

step two.
you write his name on a messy sheet of paper, your handwriting about as slurred as your speech. you fill each gap with his name, every empty space filled with the curve of j’s and the dots of i’s, the lines of t’s. you step back, look at your masterpiece. crumple it. toss it. then repeat. repeat until you’ve memorized the way your pen curls when writing his name - as if you haven’t already.

step three.
you burn his clothing. all the boxers, the band shirts, the beanies, toss them into the flame. retrieve them after five seconds; burn your hands in the process. wash them. sleep in them.

step four.
fall in love with someone else. but their eyes will not be his eyes. their smile will not be his, his that lights up his entire face, his that did not mend your scars but held your heart in hands and did not break it. they will try, try so hard, but they will never embrace like he did, so

step five*.
you don’t.
you don't get over him. because you will never meet anyone who will pierce you like he did, who could melt you with a look and freeze you with another. you were cracked and flawed and broken and he saw you and he loved you, he took you and cradled you and your scars can never be taken away, there will always be pain; love is not an easy ride. but where there is pain there is joy, in an amount *overwhelming
, and in all things bad and good they are wonderful. as he is, as you are, as both of you are  together.

you never get over him. you never stop loving him.
i sure didn’t.
Timmy Johnston Jul 2013
It’s the sound of old, pop-punk blaring through my car speakers at two in the morning.
It’s the way my breath becomes visible late at night.
It’s the sound of our shoes on the woodchips in the park.
It’s the smell of grape Swisher Sweets in our hair and the taste of ****** tobacco on our tongues.
It’s the oversized hoodies.
It’s the neon beanies.
It’s the energy drinks.
It’s the last minute bonfires.
It’s the deep talks on the swings.
It’s the way your hand felt in mine.
It’s the way you felt in my arms.
It’s the sound of our laughter, dripping with the inevitability of the future.
It’s the feeling of growing up.
It’s the feeling of not wanting to grow up.
It’s the changing leaves.
It’s the morning frost.
It’s the end of summer.
It’s the start of tomorrow.
It’s over.

-trj
Ally Sep 2018
When I met you, I was unaware of what I was getting myself into.
You had always been just a point on a map,
eyes I have seen in the past.
Now, you are so much more.

You are chain-smoking menthols at midnight.
You are gripping of fingers and name calling.
You are lists of movies to watch and songs to listen to.
You are stolen sweaters and beanies,
beach trips to see your parents,
shots of ***** and Halloween Sweetarts.

As my breath rose in my chest,
you held me close and told me you weren’t going anywhere.
I can only hope you meant it because when I look at you,
I feel a whole new panic attack rising and it is
not because I am scared but
because all I want to do is kiss you
and remember what it is like to be alive.

My shower feels empty
without you pressing me up against the tiles.
I can’t kneel with the water dripping down my face
without thinking of the chance I got to look up at you
with droplets gathering on my eyelashes.
My bed is an insincere hug from a stranger
when you aren’t holding me to your chest and
tangling your legs in the sheets.

We are sitting next to each other
in a room full of people we call our friends
and you see all of them.
and even though our bodies are pressed together
you don’t see me.
I can only think you are trying to forget my features
in  hopes that I won’t be stuck in your mind.

And now you say we need to slow down
like these past two weeks of
gasping breaths and shaking hands resting on sweaty faces
never meant a thing to you.
Like sharing cigarettes and secrets
past midnight on my balcony
was just something you did with all the others.

Slowing down feels more like an excuse
for not being able to understand
where this began and how it will end.
I don’t care to know.
I only want to do this until it kills me
because your eyes save my life
every single time
so I know I will live forever.

I keep hoping you’ll walk through those doors
and hold onto me the way you did when I mattered more
than just a time waster and one worded text messages.
Than calling off dates and pretending like there isn’t something between us.

Tell all your friends
that you don’t look at me as if I grabbed the moon
and handed her to you.
That you didn’t feel something much bigger than both of us
when I leaned against you
and smiled as if nothing could hurt me.

Maybe, I am just another Icarus,
flying too close to the sun but
I’ll let it destroy my wings
if that means I can get a chance to feel
the warmth on my skin
for just a second more.
Robert Guerrero Nov 2015
19 years old
4 car wrecks
All I should have died
People say it was gods will
I don't care what it was
I should have died
I wanted to die
My life a shambled mess
Of questions and fears
Will I succeed
Who will give me a chance
Do I get opportunities
Or am I stereotyped into immaturity
I've whispered only truths
Screamed nothing but respect
Played ***** to the man
*** bent towards the sky
Solicited my dignity
Abandoned my pride
Murdered my ego
Just to ask for a job
But still got rejected
This life isn't mine for long
I can feel it slipping away
Death whispers on the wind
It's scent calling on the waves
In this world I'm only another victim
Another corpse to be lain to rest
A weakling that couldn't survive
Another fool buried beside them all
A soldier trying to protect his own
A stereotyped scraggly pothead ***
Based only on my looks
I wear plaid jackets and beanies
Boots with a mustache and beard
I ask for shelter
Leave before the night is over
Im a worthless ******* in the homes
Of strangers unknowing what I go through
Life was perfect in the beginning
With family to love you
Give you reasons to smile
Give you the comfort
Knowing you were safe by their side
But in a world hungry
For souls of the innocent
Thirsty for the hearts of the hopeful
We find only death our true friend
The only truth to this life
You'll say I'm only complaining
But look around
Tell me what part isn't true
These are the rantings
This 19 year old scraggly pothead
*** in your eyes has left
A last resort
To save himself and the world
He grew up in
Watching it devour itself
With us as collateral damage
Us the reason we forced its hands
Savages wanting death
Tormenting till its suicide
A quicker answer than saying
There truly is hope
But I'm a blinded kid
Staring at the hallucinations
Of a light at the end of a tunnel
That never existed to begin with
This is just the darkness
We all contributed to create
Too scared to face music we wrote
Leo-chan Feb 2015
She was little when it started,
The constant remarks made behind her back.
They never seemed to stop and one day she listened.

They pinched at her arms and called them fat,
So she started wearing sleeves,
even though her arms were perfect.

They pulled at her hair and called it *****,
So she started wearing beanies/ hats,
Even though her hair was gorgeous.

They called her conceited,
So she believed she was ugly,
even though She was a masterpiece.

They called her teeth yellow,
So she stopped smiling,
even though it was beautiful.

They called her annoying,
So she stopped talking,
even though her voice was lovely.


They told her she was useless,
So she stopped trying,
even though she meant the world to some people..

— The End —