"boutique" poems
we are monsters
from the boutique to the
embroidered throw pillows the
pen dashed around the neck
stage 5 bone cut
sawing ossification to the
hollow core
we are monsters
hooting in tunnels lined
with bats coming out to feast
creation
to scrape the streets
shimmy the walls
bust the coffin and
succckk
we are monsters
who can't enter under the
doorframe
fearful of being burned by
the sun silver stake
rat poison holy water sickle
and windmill ash
we are monsters
sewed stapled dead meat
skin hair plugs ceramic
teeth tested and tasted by
rats
we are monsters
jumping high over white
fences frenzied explosion
running through corn
angrily bled in a field shot and
hunted like embarrassing
waterfowl in the jaws of
mammalia
we are monsters
of flaming brilliance flashing
in your inbox
read us and gnaw
braised
roasted
grilled limbs
watch
as we watch you
be scared and
stab
I promise we don't die.
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 2:32 PM UTC
building purist æsthetic
proselytizing solar-powered heliolatry
commemorating historic concert
sensing dark forces
fokken lekker antwoord
pumping sensory overload
featuring high-tech dee-jay
admiring gelato micro-truck
laxing laying lazing
"doing something nasty"
continuing quality content
entering another cathedral
journeying without borders
"exactly one year
since visiting vatican"
appreciating full-time gigasphere
awaiting pyongyang performance
depicting unlikely crowdsurfer
foreseeing exponential improvements
furthering esoteric agenda
sensing profound incompatibility
data-mining people's infidelities
anticipating futuristic caffeine
perfecting invisible propaganda
researching mind-control techniques
polishing psycho-social weaponry
sensing social embargo
flourishing frantic fanfare
admiring longitudinal monument
parodying marketing slogans
cycling through österreich
eyeing dystopian disneyland
streaming crosswords extended-play
herding glass kittens
deleting idiosyncratic fragment
loremipsum-ing laconic loudmouth
receiving ultramodern telegram
eigo-ga wakarimasu ka?
guzzling duck-fat fries
encouraging panic selling
(juxtaposing past incarnations)
getting black-and-white privilege
renewing boutique account
relishing cinema poutine
re-entering hibernation mode
opening old windows
continuing zoo motif
absquatulating excessive excesses
nullifying originality claims
proliferating protean persona
disappearing sidewalk alphabet
shrugging opprobrious moments
enjoying vertical alignment
re-entering cyberpunk paradise
approaching island sun
soaring beyond monoliths
trivializing extraneous argy-bargy
decreasing character limits
dumping generic accounts
uglifying commit message
escaping into idiosyncracy
moonshining great lake
exuding idiosyncratic propaganda
living nineties' dreams
making occidental cuisine
envisioning idiocratic president
expropriating your time
ascending homely helix
singing fat lady
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
the season-change of the vagrant pole-star easily picks up a sip
from the list of ducks of the night-watchers
standing on the bye-lane of the horse-race … by the weight of the confession made
by the spelling-mistakes of a moonlit night to the lotus-leaves … the amputated
tongues of the night-bulbs gradually rolls down to the banyan-pods of the side-characters
the sharp archer of the star-apple moves away some furlongs from the usual
word-stairs and swallowed a whole grammar with fumes by spoon
thus with the number of velocity-poems that the punjabi with boutique prints
can produce… or will produce … gluttonous flower-vase of the magic-painter
can make cool the slaughter-ground … spread to the horizons of the krishnachura
that is deviated from its own track
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 5:30 PM UTC
I shot up in 70's/ 80's England
For sale, there really was only one dream
It was sold to us through Thatcher
Star wars, Magnum P.I. and The A.team.
Now that dream is old and dusty
And the world looks for something new
Will it come from India, China, Brazil
Or will it come from the shaky E.U.
Or will, as I hope, there be choice
For my daughter and her 4 year old clique
Will she choose the American dream
Or will she dismiss it as a kitsch antique.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 6:28 AM UTC
mothers of
"β"-males;
and the whole world,
and all the world,
⠃⠇⠊⠝⠙
a civilised world...
without a chance
to think!
i just think of:
mothers of the beta-males...
how sooner i am
to relinquish the act of
impeding death!
i die: but also make a relief
of having had a mother!
as man...
loser loser loser
loser loser loser loser loser loser
loser loser loser loser loser loser
loser loser loser loser loser loser
loser loser loser loser loser loser
loser loser loser loser loser loser...
the one word mantra starts
bugging...
loser with that sort of
quiff?! twitter addict?!
president of the united
states of h'america?!
now you're *******
joking...
you aren't?!
no comment.
no comment.
and? no comment.
i like thinking about
β-males... in terms of feminism,
and in terms of β-males having mothers...
by beta, i mean you don't / didn't
have a mother...
o.k.?
now you know the answer
my father would give...
the d.n.a. ******** ends here!
now!
you have your little
existential tirade about:
holding a car-boot boutique
in an essex field...
you're fine... have it:
i'm happy as ego becoming
extinct...
******* snow fairies.
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 10:01 PM UTC
As excited as I am about the end of the semester and Christmas approaching, the bitter cold this week has almost frozen me. Don’t get me wrong, winter is a great time for fashion, but the cold weather is not for me. I would prefer to stay inside with a huge glass of hot chocolate. Aside from cocoa, he secret to staying warm is to dress in layers. I’ve tried to do that with this outfit but I’ve failed a bit.
The majority of this outfit comes from The Yellow Rose, which is a locally owned boutique in my home town. The blanket scarf and shirt are both from the Rose. These boots are from Maurices, but could be swapped for converse or duck boots. The coat is from Aeropostale.
It’s safe to say that I have fallen in love with the blanket scarf. Not only are they adorable, but they also provide ample warmth. They can be worn with nearly anything, including this great shirt. This shirt has a tassel tie underneath the scarf which means it could be worn on it’s own, if you aren’t as big a fan of the blanket scarf.
This jacket is a life-saver to say the least. The reason it works with this outfit so well is because the green in the scarf is the same green on the jacket. Army green goes with just about anything. The sleeves are a sweater material which makes them warmer than normal. You could dress this up a bit which a nice trench coat or long cardigan. You could also change the boots out for black booties or flats.
This outfit is perfect for Christmas parties or Christmas dinners. It has all the traditional Christmas colors and it will keep you warm.
However isn’t only for Christmas. You can easily wear this at any time during the winter.
Hopefully this has given you a bit of holiday wardrobe inspiration. I know holidays can be a stressful time for some, but the outfit you wear should be one thing you don’t have to stress about. Stay warm and stay comfortable.
I hope your break is wonderful and filled with joy. I know we all need that after those finals. I’m sure we’re all ready for present, family time, and much needed sleep. Spread Christmas cheer this year and enjoy the time off. May your Christmas be merry and bright, and don’t forget the Christ in Christmas! He is the only eternal Gift that keeps on giving.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane | www.marieaustralia.com/vintage-formal-dresses
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 4:22 AM UTC
Passing stream of neon light
A multi colored dream.
Techno night
An energy fight.
All I see is beams.
Underground
Ravers, dance
Blitzed on LSD.
To escape robotic wits, through transcendental hits, is
trading true life for a dream.
Flashing signs
Outshine the sky
But stars sparkle bright in high minded eyes.
Disco boogeymen twinkle the streets
And Metropolis glistens.
There's music in the background
From a small electronic boutique
Between a novelty store, and a smoke shop
That house a strange and rare mystique.
On a city night, I'm looking across a busy street, and I feel the most powerful of feelings. In awe, all around, I see the fantasies of generations before us. The future itself, as it slowly descends.
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 9:37 PM UTC
Time to get you ready for
another day of life.
Pick those pearls you so adore
that sparkle in the light.
Hair in curls of innocence
parted 'round your face,
a dress sewn with diligence
pocketed in lace.
A dash of blush upon your cheek,
a lovely big bouquet,
and perfume from your prized boutique
to send you on your way.
But all this trouble puzzles me, I confess.
From deep in the ground who is left to impress?
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 7:58 PM UTC
i want my life to open
i want my life to shut like a tired
ocean wave
i want to sleep and eat and
die, i want to die
and be reborn and
never have to look at any of this.
i want to drop this burden
i want to cry and cry and
i want someone
anyone
to understand this.
i want to feel a fire
i want to run outside and escape
escape escape escape
the word sounds like it wears
expensive cufflinks from a
boutique in downtown boston.
i want to ***** all over boston
i want to ***** all over myself
and then lick it back up,
lap it in, feel the chunks slide
softly down my pharynx.
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 11:57 PM UTC
I'm sorry that you're way too good for me
You're like a New York City boutique
And I might as well be Kmart
You could have anyone
So why would you choose me?
I'm not blonde, I'm not skinny
And I'm no princess at all
Yet, you treat me like one
You are perfect for me
And I'm so wrong for you
I can't help but think
That this is all too good to be true
We are a cliche dream
A fairytale in the making
If I am Cinderella
I hope the clock stays at 11:59
Forever.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 8:49 AM UTC
~
*She is not our shrine,
she prays differently
with eyes holy open,
fingers on votive offerings,
preferring her solitude
in the Tea Garden, drinking light
Tomorrow on the tarmac
one flowered suitcase,
stamped for the city of neon people,
will travel to her song,
the pilgrimage of anemic lovers
Her hoisting from water,
(ampullae in hand),
and the unique boutique
growing out of
an alabaster chamber
bring monks out of hiding
The center line of her,
where the flower blooms forth
and learns by observation,
is still an unvisited temple
Until in season of calligraphy,
when she releases the Kogai
from her hair and sits with friendly toes
outstretched in the warm intimacy of
shared water*
~
Feb 12, 2024
Feb 12, 2024 at 9:41 AM UTC
Clouds flat as pancakes line the sky
hovering over rivers and lakes,
roaming across prairies and bluffs
Seasoned with a bitter sweetness.
Some trees less lively than others,
Some blaze with a unique aura.
Wild reeds and wild weeds ride the wind--
Brown and rusted like train track bolts.
Signs for a woodshop boutique lead
down a road prancing deer wander.
Sun rays hint shades of light through cracks
Revealing a scene to be seen.
The red, the orange, the yellow-green.
Brown, sleeping stalks of corn in rows
And the scare crow standing tall in
The middle, still in nights silence.
Lifeless leaves falling to the ground
Leave colored murals on footpaths
Soon to be covered with sheets of
Snow as nature prepares to sleep.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 2:28 PM UTC
Sunlight seeps in
glass windows all
and yet with blinds drawn,
"click'..put on
the electric light,
gives a worthy feeling,
of course
sort of false pride!
The mirror reflects
a haunted look
insomnia
on the face,
mirror, mirror tell me true
so saying
put on more lipstick
more rouge and mascara
Nina Ricci perfume!
Toothpaste
Colgate advanced formula,
or else brushing futile
breakfast cereals
latest blends
tea labelled "Twining"
I-phone pocketed,
boutique shop clothes
stilettos clicking
you get started
feeling good
racing the sports car,
race as if
borrowed happiness
will escape,
its after all
everyday happiness
on a lucky credit card
older bills
still pending,
still pending!!
and yet
these everyday happiness
keeps you going!
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 1:17 AM UTC
To many complain
On others
Writes-
How about
Instead
Complaining-
Write-
Instead of maiming
Be polite-
In
Stead of claiming
To be right,
For once take
It your wrong-
Instead of turning abhoring
Into daily trending,
Make poetry beauty
With your poems and song,
Instead of minding everyone elses
Business.
Mind yours,
Instead of back talking-
Close your door.
If your not here to write
Leave this premises-
Instead of using jealously
As anger,
Put down your acts of dennis-
The mennis- instead of making f.e,a,r
Mongering this sites boutique-
Search inside yourself,
Fix the you that is weak.
If claims dont match no names
Hush, to your sleep.
I'm here to write-
Were here to write-
Not fight about your
Bad week.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 2:00 PM UTC
Unchained day beneath dumpling clouds in a baby boy broth
I tumble from the snake's mouth into the belly of the bullfrog
kicking across the river in fits and starts of sloshing and falling
great mirror arms reach imploring
asking the sky to see their brilliance
as steel-grey bracelets encircle one wrist and
then another
and skyward we turn
and vomited unceremoniously from the bullfrog's mouth
I slog easterly through the setting concrete of the new-fettered day
kicking across the avenues in fits and starts of staring and falling
shiny electronic arms reach imploring and
ask the stars to hear the cries
as invisible chokers encircle one's throat and
then nothing
and skyward we turn
and jostled and sweating as fresh popcorn into the gluttonous hall
I ride the current past the kiosks and shuttered kitchens of boutique cafes
kicking down the rapids in fits and starts of surfacing and falling
a majestic and world-weary arm reaches defiantly and
shakes a fist forever at one moment and
then knows
and northward we turn
and
the girl shared my Luna bar
and
the phones were passed around
and
the woman had no shoes
and
the conductor took no tickets
and
the women shared their seat
and
the man gave her cab fare
and
the woman went home with no purse, no keys, no shoes
and
the girl went back to Buffalo
and
still we turn
and
still we turn
and
our shackled arms raised against the sword reaches
necessarily and
blocks the blow as if we were one arm and
then holds
and
still we turn
Sep 7, 2011
Sep 7, 2011 at 8:08 PM UTC
I've won a day at the races
For me and my friend Doreen Maguire
Posh frocks and new hats
That's what we require.
So off we go shopping
Hair and nails done on the way
Well we girls want to lookj our best
For the big race day.
Now Doreen's buxom and curvy
Me I'm thin as a latt
Or you could say slim and slender
And Doreen's just fat.
We went in loads of shops
Nothing seemed to fit the bill
Everything was kind of frumpish
And we're definitly not over the hill.
Then we came accross this shop
In a side street in the town
It's called Reds Closet Boutique
And we both came out with a gown.
We got fascinators to match
Shoes, accessories and bags too
Doreen got something in pink
I got something in blue.
It was the day of the races
We were up with the lark
Had our lunch at Tom and Jerry's
Then off to Haydock Park.
The horses are under starters orders
And I'd backed the grey
Well it came home last
But it was winning all the way.
Now we came to the last race
And we're digging deep in our pocket
Doreen said put it on this
It's called Super Rocket.
Well it romped hom at 50/1
This horse called Super Rocket
And me and Doreen Maguire
Went home with brass in our pocket.
© Hazel
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 2:27 PM UTC
my husband, my lover
the man i hold dear...
you know the one
the sports zombie
who dress's so fine.
sauntered out to the back
deck and asked
"beer or wine"
as he is the chef of,
this evenings decline.
now, here is the conundrum
that often,plagues my mind.
wine, tonight, is not really, my palates delight
but beer, tho tasty and thirst quenching,
expands my quarters hind
and leads to wrenching and
writhing in midweek training or at least coniving
of how to be released from
exercise captivity
which way to go,
a cheeky pinot griggio
or a robust boutique beer.
which way, crisp chardonay
or mango ,belgium wheat,
micro-brewed pilsner.
oh, for the days
of the cask or the
slab of vic bitter.
when the biggest
problem was how
to drink fast enough,
to gather a blast.
the man mountain,
has become impatient.
....now i need to
make a decision.
so,with a women's precision,
i state with a smile,
wide and then wider.
"i'll have one of those
apple-pear ciders"
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 4:59 AM UTC
She, living in Baltimore,
had not spoken to her Mississippi
sun-burnt father in seven years.
He was a farmer,
she wanted a boutique.
There were the phone-calls,
at least in the beginning,
but then they too dried up
like clay pots cracking under a solar flare.
Her scars were still there at least,
she reckoned,
and those were enough to
disconnect any phone line.
But there is still a gnawing
at her insides, an impregnation
of her nose hairs,
a waltzing of her taste buds.
She picks up the pay-phone,
breathing heavier now,
sobbing as if the dial tone could touch her.
She knows that some fields
just can't stay fallow
forever.
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 3:46 PM UTC
I have fallen for the concept that is beauty.
I see it in the vintage light that masks photos.
Photos that I force myself to look at, overwhelming my delicate senses.
I don’t know what it is about beauty. It extends its long tendrils
Thorny, loving tendrils that capture you in a hug
And beckon you closer, closer.
And I stare at her ever-changing face;
Shifting from my talented senior to my classmate
To my older sister and my worst enemy.
They are beautiful.
And I am not. And will never be.
But Beauty releases me
Clutching, in her hand, an elixir of envy
And I begin to stir, and see
Why our – why my – perception of beauty has skewed so much.
Who sees the blemishes the photos hide?
Who sees the clothes that have been locked away in a drawer in the corner of the room?
Who sees the menace of the words the smiling lips have spat?
Who sees the ugliness masked by beauty?
Who wants to see the ugliness?
Beauty is a concept of age and tradition
And unspoken desire of human nature
Hushed on the lips of mothers preparing their daughters to be presented
Hushed on the lips of tightened corsets
Hushed on the lips of wistful glances through transparent boutique windows
History has shown how greedy, selfish, deceitful us beings can be
And beauty is not a topic that will change that.
I have fallen for the concept that is beauty,
And to me she extends that elixir.
Without thinking, I gratefully swallow.
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 2:24 AM UTC
Dear Heart, I can hear your silence, I feel it screaming,
without any defense, poisoned by wounds and smoke,
dressed up only with pain and numbness, as a stroke,
without an umbrella, in the summer rain weeping.
You are chained into the rough cage of fear,
on your shoulders, I can feel the pressure,
after all this time, the betrayal still hurts, it's still so clear,
in your boutique are not just delights and pleasure.
There are also fiery words, thrown into the wind,
causing a devastating drought in the soul, begging
the malicious smiles that spread ruthlessly thinned
flames on their nostrils, like a bleeding dragon.
Promise yourself that the drought will not dry your will
to feel once more the sweet scent of love given by a golden fish,
with your heart in your palm you will light endlessly, as you wish,
without the eternal dilemma. That is my only thrill!
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 4:39 PM UTC
Feels like...
I'm the black dot
Amongst the white
Feels like...
I'm the only dull star
Shining at night
Feels like...
People can't see me
When their get into contact with my presence
They just lose sight
It also feels like...
I'm in a glass at the museum
And people are watching me
They say I'm unique
They say I'm exclusive
Like the clothes at a boutique
But I
Don't have that kind of mindset
I'm different
And all I think about
Is how am I going to stand out
Its like my mind
Is a magnet that attracts critics
Then it passes it to the heart
From the hert to the body
Making me numb
As a whole
Acting like I don't care
But my ears are wide open
Er drum taking all those vocal vibrations
Sending them to the mind,body and soul
Exactly in that order
But hey
This is life
Lord knows why he made me like this
Mybe I'll be something big
But at the moment
I need to dig
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 3:02 AM UTC
Is the way I think weird
Should I hide it from the world
Or should I be open and
Let it unfurl
Should I say what I think
And think about what I say
Because everything that comes out my mouth
There is a price to pay
These prices are called consequences
They can be good or bad
They can make me or break me
Change my mood from happy to sad
These things I say
The choices I make
Every single road I take
There is a consequence to pay
The way I think is unique
For my mind is beautiful
Like roses fresh
From a flower boutique
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 4:27 PM UTC
I passed the new york in your eyes notriously
before ever really speaking the language that they shrieked
the rigourus dimensions
the pale fingers speak
Im crisp
as the apple giving birth to her death
send your signals to me
fly seas
dance in breeze
remember the ****** when in her blackened tongue she speaks
fragility giving birth to her gritty skeletons
came to me one night and begged me to breathe
poetically told me it was me the universe seeks
not who they said I was
but to shed the hiding technique
the ill and sly words in my tongue raging to leak
the ordained freak and the memories
laying in the back of my mind somewhere,
those
those real antiques
Im a princess in the world of words itself
and the universe is my boutique
I brush the pink smile upon my cheek
and I grab what I want with the strength of ease
to my side I kick those ordinary bullies
and now Im watching them burn in the lowest average of these cities
I let my hair grow
wear bright colors
and dance the dance of the gipsies
I take life back further than the fifties
then further then the thirties
I run to the cemetary and mingle with that one zombie
the one who I let go of
and let him explain to me the details of my hidden worries
he tells me to let them go
I shoot the fatigued oldness in the heart with the spine of my arrow
I make loves to all my shadows
I hallow in my very mellow
state of mind
my intrinsic phsyco
my cronic rainbow
I dont need your superfiality
because as human I have won the mental lotto
Oct 30, 2010
Oct 30, 2010 at 10:31 PM UTC