"burberry" poems
Look at all these wannabe gangsters
Terrorising our streets
That one's wearing camouflage trousers
Just wait till you hear him speak
'Dems bear skills mate'
'Can you lend me fifty bar?'
He sounds like he's from Los Angeles
Doing time in the yard
But he's not
He still lives at home with his mum
And his pregnant girlfriend
And he's under the thumb
You see them outside Tesco
But they're not shopping for pesto
Let's go
They've seen the old bill
He's known around this town
For selling dodgy pills
Guns, knives and slang
That's what you need
If you wanna be in their gang
No education
Just a stolen Playstation
And don't forget the ****
Even on a school night
They're out doing speed
You'll see 'em in the park
With a bottle of cider
Then they'll start
On a poor old-timer
Tracky bottoms
And a Burberry hat
Chav fashion
Cause they think they're all that
But the funny thing is
They don't have a clue
They don't think like
Me or you
They think that they're rap stars
Dreaming of fast cars
But they're just wankers
More like 'wannabe gangsters'
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 2:38 PM UTC
Spring memes
Cuddle under iced sheets
Seduced by frigid lies
And a burberry scarf;
As snow ploughs rule the runway
Glazed rosebuds,
Thimbled thorns,
Strawberries wrapped in cashmere;
And a carrot-nosed character dressed in white,
Play the fiddle
Naked limbs creep
Into the sky,
Seeking green accessories
For fashion week in June
Amidst global miles of warmth
Grandfather's clock
Ticks wisely ahead,
Hands free of politic;
And the memes of Spring delayed
Propagate through verse
And cliched controversies...
Eclipsed by tweets from the Black Sea.
~ P
(#TheMemesOfSpringDelayed)
(3/7/2014)
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 5:22 PM UTC
Light brownish **** lip stain to match the season,
Gold eye liner to make my brown eye color lighter,
Concealer and foundation to even out the skin tone,
bronze pink blush to add a bit of color and define my cheek bones,
Medium brown eyebrow pencil to perfect my eyebrows,
A stripped black and tan shirt with a brown scarf, blue jeans and black boots;
Hair is in a delicate curly updo so that my face gets more attention,
Burberry perfume to bring a soft delicate trail of her aroma,
my make up looks natural yet it adds color and defines the beautiful features of my face.
I do this not to cover my flaws,
not because I am insecure,
not for attention,
Simply because I want to pamper myself.
simply because I deserve to look pretty.
simply because I want to be as beautiful on the outside that I am on the inside.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 12:13 PM UTC
We love to chase the wind through streaks of blinding bliss,
Tagging the glorious ideals of love, peace, friendship, even
The meaning of life, to weeping willows and pensive pebbles.
We admire the monochrome sky in all its barren blue or pregnant purple;
Hues of burple and plue are dismissed as being tedious, or just confused.
Fear not, photoshop will rectify this pigmented aberration.
We giggle at clouds that resemble kitchen utensils or mystical creatures;
“Hey look a teddy bear in a spacesuit with a flowerpot on his head wielding the Sword of Gryffindor!”
We declare sagely, with the acumen of a legendary bird watcher.
We resurrect grass angels by launching into horizontal jumping-jacks, and,
Just as a disclaimer, no flower was harmed in the process. Not that it matters,
As long as we did not soil our Lacoste and Burberry.
We spin a mixtape out of the torrential downpour, our tracks pitting
The pitter of regularity against the patter of inconstancy, synchronizing
The symphony of splashes to an undercurrent of nostalgia.
We kiss against the bark of an elm, and if a tree is not available in the vicinity,
We throw ourselves down a nearby hill, tumbling into a ball of moist romance,
Panting, as we bask in the studio lighting of the approving sun.
Every still is captured by a Lomo,
Every scene arrested in sepia motion,
Every moment ravished by the chichi Bohemian in us.
Nov 2, 2010
Nov 2, 2010 at 4:03 PM UTC
I'm not a person who collects things
I live a very minimalist's life
But I have a bag of treasures
I keep close to me day and night
I sleep on an old painted daybed
It squeaks softly as I lay down
Most of my clothes are second hand
And my shoes a little worn down
But I have some precious treasures
Hidden in bags of different names
Fendi, Burberry and Prada
Leathers and fabrics of worldly fame
My treasures are hidden deep inside
In makeup bags and zippered pockets
Shiny compacts full of velvety colors
From Paris, Milan and Rome
A black cloth bag of 8 tiny bottles
Protected from the sun and rain
Bottles of perfume oils made in an alchemist's lab
With names like Dragon's Milk, Snow White and Bliss
A Christian Dior handkerchief or two
Hangs delicately inside the bag
In case the breeze brings on a sneeze
Or I notice a tear in the eye of a friend
by Mark Lj
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 1:53 AM UTC
Started with gold-plated meals and religious heels
Felt like heaven was real
Then why I am in the mirror using conceal
Maldives By day
Belize when you say
In Madison Square
where you keep me boxed if I stray
For freedom, I have to start with “May,”
Mother stretched her hand to not get met
Countless reports stopped
after the first check
Your life can’t be in danger if you commute on private jets
Burberry shades when he’s most scary
So my trauma doesn’t connect
As soon as I finally collect from my war wounds, it’s turned into show tunes
Like, “ Where are all these hiding bathrooms, when you are out taking pics in Cancun?”
No matter how viral, there will be an audience that says,” I never a ran mile until my lifestyle went down the Nile.”
May 21, 2024
May 21, 2024 at 7:24 PM UTC
Handbags
Fetish for handbags...
The last time I counted
Almost 100 of them
Variety of brand names
LV, Gucci, Hermes, coach, Burberry, Jimmy Choo, Marc Jacobs, Fendi
Ohhh.... you just name them..
Some were bought
Some were given on special events
Proud of the collection, love them all
But closet is full..
Keeping some in the store..
Collecting dust , waiting time to rot
Why not sell them?
Donate the profit to charity, orphanages, old folks etc..
Handbags too many...
Can save lives of many...
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 1:35 AM UTC
Moon zoos zoos on the moon in white man spaceship zoos on moon,
earth chavs chavs on the earth in a burberry chav ship chavs on the earth,
sun ***** ***** on the sun in racist spaceship ***** on the sun.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 4:21 PM UTC
I was sitting on the steps of the wrong building —
two blocks over from The Vermont
awash in gold and the noble lights of the Avenue.
I was drunk,
or, there-abouts.
Isobel was coming.
I was sitting on the steps of the wrong building,
pulling the collar of my Burberry coat against my jaw and ears;
it was November and the concierge came out to ask me
if I’d like to come inside and wait —
“No, I’m good, Sir.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
What was two blocks?
I pull out my cellphone —
“Where are you?”
“My mom’s drunk.”
Code for: “I’m playing therapist.”
I’m almost out —
out of brain cells (really?”
out of patience
out of love
out of “it”
out of time — but,
the curious thing is,
I’m never almost out of money.
I notice him when he stops on the step
I sit on.
He’s a sterling silver chain,
the thin, delicate kind that breaks with a soft tug.
He looks down at me, eyes
the colour of darkened ice,
not softened by the yellow lights
raining down from under the awning.
“Do you live here?”
“Where is “here”?”
He laughs. Smiles. “The Florence.”
He’s beautiful,
the way a poppy is beautiful,
transparent,
saying so much with his flushed cheeks
and dark eyes,
so full of life and resembling something or, someone, dead —
“Lest we forget,” whispered the corpse,
ouvert,
in the slush of Alsace-Lorraine.
He sits beside me, shoulder warm,
firm — he’s a guy, but he’s so ******* beautiful —
I want to touch him,
brush his cheek as if he’s a rose protruding
from the briar, the thorny path —
not pick him, because he’s too beautiful,
too tragic, and I don’t want to **** him; —
“Where do you live?”
He’s smoking like a flower.
I want to lie. I don’t.
“The Vermont.”
His expression doesn’t change,
remains soft, his eyes stay ice.
He looks away.
I’ll uproot him and plant him in richer soil,
I won’t be looking into ice,
no more mirror,
but, the sky after rain,
the soft fragrant grey,
so much light.
“What’s that? Two blocks?”
“Yeah.”
He rubs his face.
He has sensitive skin,
red upon contact with the cuff
of his wool coat.
“I’ll walk you.”
“Please.”
I stand up slowly and breathe in cold air
and vapour.
Out comes alcohol.
“You’re drunk?”
“I was.”
“Your laces are undone.”
“Are they?”
I look down at him,
he’s laughing,
lowering his head at my knees
and I feel something despite myself —
warmth in my chest,
accompanied by a warmth in my abdomen,
tensing.
“I’ll fix them.”
I watch him, shoulders moving under his coat,
and I imagine him higher,
on his knees and,
a little higher,
stop myself with:
“I’m not a child.”
He stops — I stop him.
He looks up;
his lashes are like glass.
“I want to kiss you.”
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 5:08 PM UTC
James Corden’s close relationship with Burberry designer Christopher Bailey was celebrated at the 2016 Tony Awards.
On Sunday night (12Jun16) the toast of Broadway were celebrated at the annual awards show. British star James was the evening’s host, winning the crowd over with his warm sense of humour and down to earth delivery.
As well as a successful acting and presenting career, James can now also add style icon to his burgeoning resume.
“We wanted to keep the wardrobe tight and focused with a definite beginning and an end,” stylist Michael Fisher told vogue.com.
“We started with Burberry for the red carpet. James and Christopher Bailey have a long-standing relationship. I wanted a strong look that complemented the roses. The deep burgundy tux had matte black micro sequins on the lapel: very sophisticated and classic, with a technical update.”
Like any good awards show host, 37-year-old James had numerous outfit changes. Two suits from Tom Ford featured; a black three-piece design which served as a tribute to Broadway and then a teal dot dinner jacket, which James chose to wear at the after party.
A show-stopping Dolce & Gabbana look also featured, with the fashion house supplying a pair of “handmade, dark green croc shoes” to complement the green velvet and crystal jacket James wore to close the show.
Another stand out moment came thanks to a red Gucci suit adorned with a bird and butterfly motif.
“The Gucci suit was my favourite,” Michael smiled. “You can’t ignore the influence (Gucci designer) Alessandro Michele has on fashion right now. It reminded me of (musical) The Boy From Oz and in that way was very appropriate for the Tonys.”Read more at: www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses | http://www.marieaustralia.com/cocktail-dresses
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 1:40 AM UTC
My ****** mind craved
a new hearing from you
I would sit night after night
Imagining castles and angels
I would dress not in a cape
But in Burberry mufflers and a hat
learning to serenade in your voice.
The in betweens beckon once in a while
but i have known the true voice
just like you know from deep within.
I know of a woman who thought picking cherries
and dreaming of castles were for the wrong
I know of another woman,
Evolved from the Eloi Clan
And Elvish. And she sings
The rain to sleep.
She is Bella
I am learning
to breath
and I hope you still do.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 10:45 AM UTC
Neelam Gill showed off her figure in a very risqué gown with a split running from her shoulder down past her bottom.
How cheeky - Neelam Gill went all-out on Wednesday night as she flashed her *** in a rather risque dress.
The stunning model - who is rumoured to be dating former One Direction man Zayn Malik - stunned at a glitzy event in London this week.
Wearing a floor-length green gown, Neelam gave onlookers a bit of an eyeful with a split down the back of the outfit, revealing a hint of her bottom.
With layers and a front split showing off a lot of leg, the 20-year-old certainly made an impression during the party.
She stepped out at the London Evening Standard's Progress 1000 Most Influential People launch, and showed why she may have grabbed Zayn's attention .
The star - who has made her catwalk debut for Burberry - is reportedly planning on jetting to Los Angeles, where the singer is working on his debut solo album, so they can spend some time together .
According to Mail Online, Zayn and Neelam first met in London back in March, but nothing happened because he was still engaged to Little Mix star Perrie.
They bumped into each other again at the Asian Awards in London a month later, with Neelam later writing on Twitter: "Congratulations on your award tonight zaynmalik, catch up again soon!"
The pair reportedly stayed in touch as friends until Zayn and Perrie called it quits at the end of last month.
A source told the site: "Neelam doesn't know if she wants all of the drama that comes with dating someone in the public eye. She is going to LA to spend some time with Zayn and see how things go from there.
Last month, the model, who worked with Romeo Beckham in Burberry's Christmas advert last year , wrote on Twitter: "to live and die in LA, it's the place to be..."
read more:www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-adelaide
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 1:59 AM UTC
Weaving my way
Through a throng,
I spied emerald eyes
dark and somber
as a July
Thunderstorm,
her day dripped
sadness around
crimson heels
in tiny rivulets
of espresso and cream,
Staining her Burberry
skirt along its seams.
Lifting her hand to
her lips, *******
gingerly at manicured
fingertips.
She watched the
train pull away.
AD
Nov 23, 2010
Nov 23, 2010 at 5:26 PM UTC
Britain's dame of fashion Vivienne Westwood wrapped up London Fashion Week Men's on Monday with an eclectic collection showcasing edgy designs that included dresses for men.
Westwood, 75, who is known for her eccentric creations and environmental activism, presented both menswear and womenswear for her autumn/winter 2017/18 "Ecotricity" line, putting men in dresses and skirts and ties on women.
Models wore colorful knits made up of jumpers and trousers as well as long dresses and arm cuffs, at times slit on the sides. Men's suits were deconstructed or had wide, ankle length trousers and sometimes were worn with long cloaks.
Women's jackets had asymmetric cuts or exaggerated shoulders. Shirts had large collars and colorful prints and patterns, including skulls and faces, adorned most designs.
"She and he are having fun with unisex and swapping clothes," shownotes for the collection read. "'Buy less, choose well, make it last' limits the exploitation of the planet's natural resources."
Outfits were often layered and looks were accessorized with face paint, paper crowns, colorful socks, tights and boots.
Westwood, who previously showed menswear in Milan, was the biggest name at the four-day London event following the departure of brands like luxury label Burberry.
"London is my home. I regret leaving Milan because they've been so kind to me," the designer said backstage.
"It's just easier and more efficient for us to be here."
Burberry will present its menswear collection alongside its womenswear line at London's higher profile women's fashion week next month.Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses | http://www.marieaustralia.com/red-formal-dresses
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 1:46 AM UTC
There’s a swan on the line,
Taking your time,
So bow to the seagull in Jewels.
The Burberry is real this time,
But the face still spits and scathes
At those below his mental might,
It is Golden muscles this time,
Not concrete knuckles,
That deliver this slap in the face.
We all sigh,
And roll our eyes,
Cocking our heads like the red-eyed
Pheasant
That lies flattened on the next track over.
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 12:10 PM UTC
burberry smiles
don't spare the denial
you keep what is yours
and you keep it a while
but you is not yours
so don't try to be nice
a regular smile
will surely suffice
Sep 14, 2011
Sep 14, 2011 at 9:29 AM UTC
I crave the dens,
the brick caves strung
with lights where no
one is above the murmur
where girls come to leave
necklaces wrapped in lined
notebook paper (*here, take
this, take this from me, please*)
and the various spaces are lined
with a thick aroma of espresso
and the burberry perfume from
the woman at the table over whose
thighs could stretch across the atlantic
but ships could never sail across her
in the way you can't tread over hot
coals, climb mount everest in a day
or ask her out for coffee.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 11:09 AM UTC
My heart searches the airwaves for an answer...
Feeling for a pulse,
For a bead of life.
Tired and torn,
My understandings shatter like glass...
Teardrops line the cracks and gaps
That exist between the fragments
Of my scuffed and scattered mind.
Memories dance like a rogue sunbeam
Sparkling on the sequins of my blouse.
Like silver stars twinkling across a sea of Burberry carpet,
Flashes of inspiration capture my wandering eye.
A twist of thread lies on the floor before me;
Black and tangled,
Free and formless...
A stark contradiction to my carefully catalogued
Collections of thought.
I somehow awoke to this nightmare:
A kingdom of sorrow
Where fear has become the patriarch.
Enslaved by my base desires,
Steel bars of ignorance brandish the cells
Of my caged and captive potential.
Every atom of my composure
Becomes no more than a cruel trick of light,
A practiced sleight of hand...
A ruse that has become impenetrable,
Seamless and familiar;
Touching the darkest parts of the heart,
Caressing the ill begotten frills
Of our utterly underdeveloped souls.
Yet, still,
we endure.
The wheel turns,
The fire burns,
The spirit yearns,
The ashes gather
And fill the urns...
And Still,
We Endure.
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 7:59 AM UTC
I met him in the night.
A Gayborhood local
told me he was from Venezuela, but didn’t have to,
his accent, so beautiful with its deep grit and softness,
twang and lisp.
I already knew, he didn’t have to tell me.
He bought me drinks, and watched
me and only me,
as I bit from the fruit of his garden.
He invited me to an afterparty, I didn’t know
him, but we went through alleys,
dampened by the heat of bodies
melding to the brick walls, glistening
in the streetlights and nightlife. Unknown lips
pressed and held, to stay, not to
part. It was
beautiful.
Within the alley was
our destination: underground. It was
a luscious venue, crowded, exuberant and whimsy.
Velvet covered the walls, and he brought me more drinks.
I finished them all.
I remember
locking lips with a stranger, and how
it hurt.
He was warm and sweaty, and
smelled of Burberry and whiskey,
his stubble left
my face burning.
He grabbed my hand, and led me to
the bathroom, then I woke up
in his bed.
I remembered
his husband’s name, and that
he lived in Caracas, that
we had *** and took
a shower together, that
his mother, dying from leukemia,
slept upstairs, unknowing.
I wept
in a stranger’s arms,
cradled by their tiny physique.
I wept
for our beloveds.
Oct 16, 2020
Oct 16, 2020 at 1:27 AM UTC
There he lay, snuggled only by a puddle of discomfort.
Held in impropriety, drowned in drink, not really drunk.
Chap without even a comely smile.
His lights are on, but there's nobody home.
Watching seconds, as they drift, finding meaning in minutes as they zoom past.
Wondering if his next breath is his last.
Struggling a last **** on his stale cigarette.
Gap between fingers two and three wrapped in toxic nicotine.
Burberry flat cap, left open at his right hand, fishing for coins as they pass.
Night falls again.
Tugs himself up, discarding his ****
Brushes self off.
Third time this week he weren't moved on.
Nodded acknowledgement to passing old bill, as he wanders, towards home at the top of the hill.
(C) Livvi x 2014
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
Our straw boss, now, she hyphenates her name
And there is something frightening about
Those faux dashes stapled between the nouns
Her proper nouns, as if they might slip loose
And fall onto the pages of Debrett’s
As isolated bits of DNA
Dropping their aitches and their gees, oh, please!
So tack that Burberry hyphen back again
Let no proletarian taint be seen -
Made in China becomes Fabrique en Chine*
Apr 24, 2019
Apr 24, 2019 at 3:53 PM UTC
A weav . ing
An intermingling
of signatures
Some faint
Certainly resonant
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 3:38 AM UTC
I don't do ******* ****** m cat or blue smarties
I don't watch X Factor East enders reality dinner dates or pointless speeches from any pointless political parties
You might think I'm boring
But I'd rather watch a dead snail snoring then suffer with wasteless wannabes' in the jungle, in a house, or in my local ice rink
Building houses , building hopes, and living a day with some sorrowful person with a ********** for all that is pink
Take your Versace your Burberry and stick it where the fake tan don't reach
Do I really need to watch some abstract earthy programme about the newly discovered south America parasitic leech
I don't dye my hair, put on male mascara, carry a man bag or listen to downloads on ridiculous sized headphones
Who won the cup , who slept with who and what royal has now been abducted by aliens who might be the enemy living at number 43
I am saddened and sickened, forced into a life of subjugation, reality tv has gripped our nation, if its not cooking and baking, marriages and undertaking, babies crying, benefit cheats lying, footballers wives, footballers cars, their haircuts and late night shenanigans in expensive bars
A world without a box and images that flash, a world without this disease and it's nasty rash,
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 5:59 PM UTC
You gave me a tango, and watched me dance
Till I collapse on the ground.
No, I won't be good enough.
But you gave me fale hope and watched me jump
towards a bed of lies.
You paid the bill. You laughed.
You despised it all yet you smiled and watched on.
I was a clown and you put me on
the way your put on your Burberry
then toss me aside once my heat gets too hot
You were tough. You climbed out of that ********
and made your way to the top. My
admiration and lust turned to a bitter
cloud of ash and dust when you tossed me
down from your cloud.
You loved my skin colour more than me.
So tell me when did french kisses
and biting my lips became a sign of
"I don't think this will ever work"
And when will you ever learn, that only
scumbags and *********
Fluently lead a girl on?
May 19, 2018
May 19, 2018 at 6:39 PM UTC