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Trying to find solace in the suburbs
when everything seemed superb
like that cookie-cutter,
picket fence,
faux fur mentality
they instill at the start

Just an infant with scars
He reached for her baby bump,
Then slammed it hard
onto the stairwell
She fell, wept, and held
That lil princess
and prayed she'd never have the same hell

All grown up. Alive and well
shes got different demons
different intricate cells
It's been said
she is special      she is awake
But, in many ways
She is the same

As that ANGEL who carried her 23 years ago
That's debt I'll always owe
A gift I'll never own
Carefully Constructed
and Creatively Sewn
shoved a soul into that shell
That'll one day guide her back home

Shes got her mamas tough, yet gentle heart
her smile, brevity and love for art..
she can write her *** off
like her
the wrote and the writ

Yet she's plagued by guilt
every ******* minute
GUILT for the life that she'd been given
GUILT  for each exhale emitted
She prays that God will have the sense
to go back in time and hit OMIT
(on all chapters even close to the word 'human'
there's GUILT for feeling guilty even more for despising your own )
"I must've slipped through the gate, admit it!
Or recruit another for your mission
regretfully, I must solicit
that I'm not fit for this position

I'm no hero
I'm the villain
If ya look close you'll see
I spit venom"
Mama walks in
smiles and says
"Betta recognize and
quit your *******'
as of today, you are living..
You are loved
You are safe
You are ******* winning

We are strength & We are the faith
never to be broken
but we still stay brave

The Legend wont start
or end with you
Its a fight stretched out
through  time
You will understand soon
No matter how much you ask
It wont stop circumstance
wont stop lies
wont stop suffering
and will NEVER compromise

Your in the way of the wave, child
This.....  the secret to life
When in the way of the wave...
its only a matter of time
S0 if youre searching for solace
Will you promise
To memorize this line
Written for and dedicated to my mother.. we've always been at odds. This entire scenario I wrote is hypothetical, but for some reason it comforts me to make up pep talks from her and this is my favorite one Ive come up with so far. So wherever you are mom...thank you for everything..this one is just for you.
Shawn Callahan Jan 2015
I want to be a little crazy.
I want to be crazy beautiful.
I want to be beautifully creative.
I want to be creatively inspiring.
I want to inspire those who want to be a little crazy.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
Lady Bird Mar 2017
I write because the paper listens
to the tears and laughter of my soul
like blood pumping though my vanes
seeping ink drips down the damp pages
as I write across every straight line
the messy confused bottled up thoughts
turn into questions running through my head
high above my neck it sits holding it all in
just think of what my brain is going through
my pen may scribble to fill the page
with words written from my soul
yet it transforms all my thoughts
never before told

my pen takes hold of the paper
as I hold the flow of my thoughts
floating through the lines on each page
riding the waves of concept
that takes flight
thoughts are like birds
so many in groups
bunched together
one by one loose
feathers drop
here and there
falling out of line
yet finds its place
ether speaking in flight
or written in words
the paper listens
that's why I write

my words can hit instantly as you can see
I have to jot them down as they spark..
or they just might fly away from me
I write because the paper listens
for inspiration it can vanish so quickly
sometimes my thoughts may flow fast
if I stop in the middle I lose the imagery
causing my pen to trip over words
leaving behind a big mess of typos
then the bad grammar is exposed
my pen may scribble to fill the page
with words written from my soul
yet it transforms all my thoughts
never before told

just to let you know
my words can hit instantly
that's just how I be
most of my writings
are free style poetry
my mind possess the tempo
as each poem I write grows
I the poet hum silently as
my ink of harmony flows
from my quenching desire
my mind and fingers they
think much faster than me
unleashing unspoken thoughts
silent for too long I can not be
the paper listens and gets drenched
with thoughts of my hot to the touch
written emotions curved creatively
RAJ NANDY Sep 2015
                                    By Raj Nandy
present in three installments my researched work for both the Art &
History lovers of this Site. Kindly take your time to read at leisure before commenting. Thanks, -Raj Nandy, New Delhi.

                   PART ONE: BACKGROUND
The Term Renaissance :
The word ‘Renaissance’ means ‘to be born again’ ,
Derives from French ‘renaistre’ and Latin ‘renascere’, -
both meaning the same !
Swiss historian Jacob Buckhardt by writing “The
Civilization of Renaissance in Italy”,
Helped to popularize this term during the 19th Century !
The Renaissance evolved out of ‘Christendom’ , which
was Medieval Europe ;
Ruled entirely by the Catholic Church and the Pope !
It formed a period of transition between the Medieval
and the Modern Age ,
And as a contrast to the preceding thousand years , -
Which the Latin scholar Petrarch christened as the
‘Dark Ages’ !
This era saw a revival of interest in classical learning
of Greek and Roman art and culture ;
Focused on individual’s life on earth , with a new spirit
of adventure !
Happiness was no longer shelved to an afterlife and
repentance for salvation ;
But it lay in the advancement of human beings on Earth , -
with secular contemplation !
Thus individualism , secularism , and humanism , were
chief characteristics of the Renaissance ;
With innovations in art, architecture , and a scientific
temper of thought !
Knowledge no longer remained confined within the cold
ecclesiastical walls ,
But it spread from Italy across Northern Europe , -
To distant English shores through France !
During the Renaissance era Humanism became its
dominant philosophy ;
And there begins our Renaissance Story, since knowledge
is no man’s monopoly !
Events leading up to the Renaissance were many ;
Let me now dwell upon some salient features which
shaped its History !

THE BLACK DEATH (Peaked between 1347-1352) :
It was brought by Genoese merchant ships from the Orient ,
The fatal bacillus of the bubonic plague carried in the blood
stream of rodents !
The plague from Sicily and Italy spread to Northern Europe ,
All medicines failed , and even the Church provided no hope !
After having raged for almost a decade it started to abate ;
But by then almost one-third of entire Europe’s population
lay dead !
This deadly plague which followed the Hundred Year’s War
between England and France ,
Created social , economic and political upheavals in Europe,
leaving little to chance !
People began to lose faith in the church and on sermons of
afterlife ,
Secular thoughts now prevailed in a world where only the
fittest could survive !
Shortages of labour brought an end to Medieval feudalism
and serfdom ,
And Europe gradually emerged out of those Dark Ages, -
to greet the rising Renaissance sun !
The meager labour force could now bargain for better
wages and individual rights ;
Later, merchant guilds protected specialized labour and
their human rights !
Cities got gradually built and a new social order began
to emerge ,
Historians say that Europe saw the rise of a new Middle
Class !
As Europe gradually begun to recover from the aftermath
of war , plague, and devastation ;
The City-States of Italy lit the torch of a new intellectual
emancipation !
But before moving onto the Italian city-states, I must
mention the Holy Crusades ;
Since the Crusades opened up the doors of knowledge
and trade ;
Helping this ‘New Learning’ of the Renaissance to spread !

THE HOLY CRUSADES (1095-1270) :
At the behest of Pope Urban II and his battle cry “God
Wills It! ” ;
The First Crusade was launched to recapture the Holy Land
from Muslim infidels !
Within a span of next two hundred years eight Crusades
were launched ,
The First one took Jerusalem , but the Second failed to make
Damascus fall !
The Third led by Richard the Lion Heart, made Saladin to
grant the rights , -
To Christian pilgrims to visit their Holy shrines in Palestine !
The Fourth Crusade had sacked Constantinople , - then a
commercial rival of the Italians !
Now cutting a long story short , let us see what History
has taught !
These Crusades helped in opening up the trade routes ,
For importing paper, spices, soap, silk and luxury goods !
Trade was carried out with the countries of Levant region ,
Which included the countries from Turkey to Egypt , -
Bordering the eastern seaboards of the Mediterranean !
These trade routes formed a major conduit of culture
and knowledge ,
And exchanges and interactions broadened the mental
horizon of the Italians !
From Constantinople, recently Christianized Spain , and
the Arab lands , -
The preserved ancient classical knowledge now reached
the Italian hands !
In their School of Salamanca the Arabs of  Spain ,
Had translated works of Aristotle and classical scholars
into Arabic , - thereby preserving the same !
Later scholars translated these precious works into Greek
and Italian ,
And thus the Ancient Classics saw a glorious revival !
The scientific, philosophical, and mathematical thoughts
of the Arabs had also entered Northern Italy ,
From Egypt and the Levant region , to enrich Pre-
Renaissance Italy !
And when Byzantine Empire fell to the Turks in 1453 ,
Its Greek scholars with their precious manuscripts flocked
into Italy !

‘Italia’, once the epicenter of the mighty Roman Empire ,
Disintegrated into several small principalities breaking
up Italy entire !
Its mountainous rugged terrain was a barrier to effective
internal communication ;
And no strong unified monarchies emerged, as in other
parts of Europe !
Italy with its peninsula jutting out into the Mediterranean
Sea ,
Had begun to monopolize the trade routes, and also to
prosper economically !
During the time of the Renaissance , Italy had numerous
autonomous city-states and territories ;
Where a powerful leader called the Signore , ruled for
a fixed tenure initially ;
But later this post was declared as hereditary !
Kingdom of Naples controlled the south ;
Republic of Florence and the Papal States the center ;
Genoese and the Milanese the north and west respectively ;
And the Venetians the eastern part of Italy .
These Italian city-states prospered greatly from its growing
trade during the 14th century ;
Its cargo ships visiting Byzantine , and the cities bordering
the Mediterranean Sea !
It became a status symbol for rich families to patronize
art and culture ;
They vied with one another commissioning paintings
and architecture !
But the Italian city-state that had prospered the most ,
Was the city-state of Florence which became the host ;
And the ‘Cradle of European Renaissance’ !
(My Part -II will contain the Story of Florence , - " Cradle of the
Italian Renaissance". Thanks for reading, do recommend this Verse to
your other poet friends!
Comments from Gita Ashok, an Educator, from ‘’:- A thoroughly researched erudite collection of historical facts presented in a very lucid and interesting manner. This write made me reminisce all those history lessons that I learnt in school many years ago - many of which I found boring as it was taught in an intimidating way. I feel like going back in time, becoming a student once again and learning history through such creatively written works of art. But I realize that we are all yet students of life and can still continue to learn and grow. I feel fortunate to have read this great piece of literary work and I look forward to reading the second part.-  by Gita Ashok | Reply
Edit poem

Shadow Paradox Aug 2015
Creatively I died inside a butterfly’s wing
Buried in the womb of a bird’s song


Planted deep in a spiders imagination
Twisted, converted
Underneath a pyramid
Midriff monsoon
Against the red noon of the Moon’s
Lunar tunes

Nightmares growing from daydreams
Like weeds
Reflecting the soul as darkness gleams
Broken seeds

The eyes of the Owl see
As wisdom he reads
Turn green with greed
No longer wise as pride
Glides and rides
Across the deceit of his landslide

Crashing like a crystal avalanche
Crushing lives and habitats
See one choice can lead back to the beginning
Of the first inning of a sliver lining
That has become dull

Losing its shine and luster
Like a haunted hall
In a old mansion cobwebbed with fluster
Skeletons and ghost threaded in walls
Shredded inside papery calls
Peeling from the owners fall

I’ve died inside the butterfly’s wing
The wing carved on a wedding ring
Its circle symbolizes my cycle
A tilted infinity inside the curve of clarity

Of my fall
That became a papery call
While threaded in a skeleton wall
Cobwebbed with fluster
Like a haunted hall
That has lost its shine and luster
Which became dull

Like the first inning of the silver lining
This choice has led back to the beginning
Crushing lives and habitats
Like a crystal avalanche
Crashing across the deceit of this landslide

Which glides and rides
No longer wise as pride
Turns green with greed
As wisdom he reads
The eyes of the Owl see
Broken seeds
Reflecting the soul as darkness gleams
Like nightmare and weeds
Growing from daydreams

Lunar tunes of the Moon
Glowing against red noon midriff monsoon
Underneath a pyramid
Twisted, converted
Planted deep in a spiders imagination
Buried in the womb of a bird’s song


For I’ve creatively died inside the ink of a butterfly’s wing
Dripping from an alien’s pen-well
Melting like clear gel
Faded and blurred
Secretly grew in between each verb
Hid myself in sentences
Like parables in genesis

With glee…

I impregnated the meaning inside me
Then birthed surrealism
In a chaotic schism
Between the fifth and second chord
Of a poetic discord
lloyd britton Feb 2015
What words to choose for a sudden inebriation?
A cacophony of lyrical opiates,
Amorous with the linguistic calculation,
Submerged in the mind, uttered copious.
Drunk on an emotion in the twilight,
Singing to all the crepuscular creatures,
Language lulling yet never refrains its delight,
Understood like words of the preachers.
That’s how but why?
Because beauty builds on aesthetics,
Through sounds spoken on high,
And rhyming reveal those familiar tricks.
By virtue of allurement construction,
At the hand of resonance raised,
And verse venture until destruction,
Into the silence which shall be praised.
If it is to be said then should it be plainly?
Then what of poets creatively conjuring?
I know why we offer words humanely,
Too create images that are conquering.
Epic Monkey Nov 2013
(To my sisters and brother)

I will always miss …

Our sunset ending quarrels

Our never-ending teases

Christmas’ shared carols

Warm hugs

Through sweet gazes

The sarcastic smiling faces

The growing-up races

Revenge taking chases

Greed over goodies to be hidden

In unpredictable places

And I will always miss …

Competitions and crazy bets

Singing hilarious duets

Of made-up songs in the shower

This innocence

Of our childish humor

Screamed from a room to another

That art of tricking eachother

To cleverly stay in control

Or wrestling over the remote control

And I will always miss …

Decades of shared history

Amplified joy and divided misery

Bursts of laughter on old tapes

Creatively imagined games

Of whirlpools in drapes

And goalkeeper leaps

Random costume parties

Daily role-play stories

Sega sagas from dusk to dawn

Alliances and conspiracies

Sisters, my lovely sisters

Wise, you have become

Loving wives, caring mothers

Soon, you will become

Make sure your kids relive

What we used to live

Their uncle will make you proud

Just like you fill him with pride

Brother, dear brother

I secretly looked up to you

As I grew older

I kept resembling you

It doesn’t matter

If you’re a little far

Brotherhood’s a matter

Of unbreakable bond

And I will always admire, respect, love and cherish …
Every single one of you
Written last month.
My brother lives in another country and my sisters will both get married next year
judy smith Apr 2015
With designers like Iman Ahmed, HSY and Sania Maskatiya all showing, it was standing-room only at the venue. Many of the crowd of fashion insiders and socialites ended up sharing seats, with the chivalrous Zaheer Abbas giving his seat to Iman Ahmed after her show and sitting on the floor himself. So much for designer egos!

It was an evening that lived up to its billing.

Iman Ahmed may not be a designer who makes her clothing easily available, but in fashion terms she reaches heights that few other designers can reach. Her “Sartorial Philology and the New Nomad collection” was breathtaking.

The best fashion shows have a narrative — the clothes, styling, music and progression of the outfits blend seamlessly into a whole that portrays the designer’s artistic vision.

It’s hard not to gush about Iman Ahmed’s show last night because it was exactly what a fashion show should be.

Starting with a series of outfits in white and gradually adding tribal colours, Iman used fringing, embroidery and a range of fabrics to great effect. From the inspired detailing to the juxtaposition of texture and silhouette, this was a class act. The tribal white-dotted makeup and beaten silver accessories added further depth to Iman’s stunning layered ensembles.

Levi’s uninspired showing of their new 501 jeans and other stock provided the audience with a pause to process the previous collection. It’s difficult to make a interesting fashion week presentation out of high street wear and something that Levis struggles with.

They used better music than they did at their autumn show but the styling was still painfully lacking. They did manage to make everyone sit up and take notice at the end of their show though — Wasim Akram walked the ramp as their showstopper amid cheers from the admiring audience.

Somal Halepoto was next, with collection that looked distinctly amateur. She seemed to be aiming for a bright kitschy collection but ended up looking merely tacky. The shiny, synthetic-looking fabrics and gaudy embroidery were particularly woeful. Somal’s digital neon animal prints and some of the harem pants were funky but the rest of the collection had little to recommended it.

YBQ’s LalShah collection, meanwhile, was in a different league. An ode to 3 Sufi Sindhi saints, the collection was as much about the artistic impression it made on the ramp as it was about the clothes. The distinctly theatrical presentation relied on the slow beat of sufi music and plentiful accessories for much of its impact.

YBQ sent his models down the ramp in huge pagris, holding flags on poles and garlanded with prayer beads. He used only three colours - red depicting rage, white for peace and black for mourning. Most of the outfits were draped red jersey tunics or gowns with white lowers, braided belts and black turbans.

Rubya Chaudry wore a black gown with red roses but otherwise the outfits were all about subtle plays with drapery and cut. From jodhpur style chooridarsto asymmetrical draping, the outfits had interesting touches but needed all that heavy styling to make an impact. HSY was YBQ’s showstopper and added glamour to the theatrical presentation that he had choreographed.

Wardha Saleem was first up after the break and her Lotus Song collection showed how this talented young designer has been upping her game over recent years.

She used digital flamingo prints, 3D embroidery, gota embroidery and lasercutting in a pretty formal fusion collection. The detailing on the collection was simply stunning. Wardha used gota in delicate patterns that gave her outfits shimmer and paired this with three dimensional embroidery. The outfits featured flowers, fish, elephants and birds picked out in silk thread and beads.

She showed a variety of shift dresses, jackets, saris, capes and draped dresses. The styling was also great fun – the models wore shoes featuring spikes and 3D flowers while the multi-talented Tapu Javeri provided some gorgeous jewellery and music for the show. While there was nothing groundbreaking about her silhouettes, this was a beautiful collection that showed skill and artistry.

Sania Maskatiya, who presented her luxury pret on Day 1, now showed her lawn collection for AlKaram. As far as designer lawn goes, this is something of a dream collaboration.

Textile and print are Sania’s forte and she uses print extensively in her luxury pret. In this collection for Al-Karam she has taken print elements from her pret collections throughout the year including the Sakura, Lokum and Khutoot collections.

The prints are different from those used in her Luxe pret but are based on the same principals. She’s even used the paint splash embroidery from this season’s Khayaat collection in one of the outfits. Designer lawn should be affordable way to wear a designer’s aesthetic and this Sania Maskatiya Al Karam collaboration certainly is.

As for the show itself, showing lawn is always tricky on the ramp. Sania pulled it off with an upbeat presentation using fast music and trendy cuts, throwing a few conventional shalwar kameez in the mix. She fashioned the lawn into jackets, kaftans and draped tunic, using the sort of cuts that are a hallmark of her pret. It’s not how most people wear lawn but it was a great way to show off the prints on the ramp.

Naushaba Brohi’s Inaaya burst onto the fashion scene last year with a spectacular collection. Following up on a dramatic debut is difficult but Naushaba proved that she is not a one hit wonder with this collection. Inaaya’s SS15 collection continued with the theme of using traditional Sindhi crafts in contemporary wear. Naushaba used both touches of Rilli and some stunning mirror work in her collection.

What makes Inaaya noteworthy is the way that she takes unsung traditional crafts that we’ve seen badly used and gives them a high fashion twist. Standout pieces included a bolero with unusual mirror work and a rilli sari that glittered with tiny flashes of mirrors.

Although the collection included many beautiful outfits, there was a lack of focus. The simple tunic with a rilli dupatta didn’t work with knotted purple evening wear jacket. The inability to make a definitive statement let down an otherwise accomplished collection.

Naushaba added a characteristic touch at the end of her show. She’s committed to social responsibility and supports local craftswomen with her brand. Accordingly, Inaaya’s showstopper was Mashal Chaudri of the Reading Room Project along with Naushaba’s daughter Inaaya. She held up a plaque saying “I teach therefore I can” while Inaaya wore a T-Shirt with the slogan “super role model”.

HSY brought the evening to a close with a high-speed presentation of his Hi-Octance menswear collection. The unusual choreography featured the models zipping along the catwalk, pausing briefly on their second round. The energetic presentation complemented a collection of sharp suits and jackets, leavened with quirky polka dot shirts and bold stripy ties.

There was the requisite shirtless model in distressed jeans and an ice-blue jacket but also some appealing suiting fabrics. HSY used only Pakistani fabrics and included solid colours as well as self-checked and striped suits. This was wearable, classy menswear presented creatively.

Day 3 was undoubtedly the best day of TFPW so far. Iman Ahmed undoubted takes the laurels but she was ably supported by HSY, Wardha Saleem, Inaaya, Sania Maskatiya and YBQ.Read more |
judy smith Nov 2016
Shortly after 3pm on September 29, 31-year-old Olivier Rousteing strode through the shimmering, fleshy backstage area at Balmain's Spring 2017 Paris Fashion Week show. Along the marble hallway of a hôtel particulier in the 8th arrondissement, long-limbed clusters of supermodels were gamely tolerating final applications of leg-moisturiser, make-up touch-ups and minutely precise hair interventions from squads of specialists as fast and accurate as any Formula 1 pit-stop team. The crowd parted as Rousteing swept through.

Wearing a belted, black silk tuxedo and a focused expression that accentuated his razor-sharp cheekbones, Rousteing resembled a sensuous hit man. Target identified, he led us to the board upon which photographs of every outfit were tacked.

We asked him to tell us about the collection (for that's what fashion editors always ask). "There is no theme," said Rou­steing in his fast, French-accented lilt. "No inspiration from travel or time. The inspiration is what I feel, and what I feel now is peace, light and serenity. I feel like in my six years here before this, I have tried to fight so many battles. Because there is no point anymore in fighting about boundaries and limits in fashion. Balmain has its place in fashion."

And the clothes? "There is a lot of fluidity. A lot of knitwear, lightness, ponchos. No body-con dresses. But whatever I do, even if I cover up my girls, it is like people can say I am ******. So this is what it is. I think there is nothing ******. I think it is really chic. I think it is really French. It is how I see Paris. And I have had too many haters during the last three years to defend myself again. So, this is Balmain." And then the show began.

Star endorsements

Under Rousteing, Balmain has become the most controversial fashion house in Paris. Rousteing has attracted (but not bought, as other, far bigger houses do) patronage from contemporary culture's most significant influencers. Rihanna, all the Kardashians, Kanye West, Taylor Swift, Miley Cyrus, Beyoncé, Justin Bieber – a royal flush of modern celebrity aristocracy – all champion him.

Immediately after this show, in that backstage hubbub, Kim Kardashian told me: "I thought it was very powerful…I loved the sequins, and I loved all the big chain mail belts – that was probably my favourite."

Yet for every famous fan there is a member of the fashion establishment who will sniff over coffee in Le Castiglione that Rousteing's crowd is declassé and his aesthetic best described by that V-word. The New York Times' fashion critic Vanessa Friedman reckoned this collection appropriate for "dressing for the captain's dinners on a cruise ship to Fantasy Island". At least she did not use the V-word. When I once deployed it – as a compliment – in a 2015 Vogue menswear review that declared "Rousteing is confidently negotiating a fine line between extravagance and vulgarity", I was told that Rous­teing was aggrieved.

The fashion world's ambivalence towards Rousteing is a measure of its conflicted feelings towards much in contemporary culture. Last year Robin Givhan of the Washington Post wrote of Balmain: "The French fashion house is always ostentatious and sometimes ******. It feeds a voracious appetite for attention. It is anti-intellectual. Antagonistic. Emotional. It is shocking. It is perfect for this era of social media, which means it is powerfully, undeniably relevant."

Since joining Instagram four years ago Rousteing has posted 4000 images and won 4 million followers. The combined reach of his audience members and models at this Balmain show was greater than the population of Britain and France combined. Balmain was the first French fashion house to gain more than 1 million followers, and currently has 5.5 million of them.

Loving his haters

As digital technology disrupts fashion, Balmain's seemingly effortless mastery of the medium galls some. Last year, the designer posted an image of a comment from a ****** follower to his feed. It read: "Olivier Rousteing spends more times taking selfies for Instagram than designing clothes for Balmain." Underneath, in block capitals, he commented "i love my haters".

Rousteing can be funny and flip – doing a video interview after the show, I opened by asking, tritely, how he felt. He replied: "Now I feel like some Chicken McNuggets with barbecue sauce, and then some M&M;'s ice cream."

When at work, however, that flipness flips to entirely unflip. The previous evening, at a final fitting for the collection, Rousteing had paced his studio, his face a scowl of concentration, applying final edits to the outfits to be worn by models Doutzen Kroes and Alessandra Ambrosio. The 30-strong team of couturiers working in the adjoining atelier delivered a steady stream of altered dresses.

"We are ready," he said from behind a glass desk in a rare moment of downtime. "This a big show – 80 looks – and I want a collection that is full of both the commercial and couture. But it's smooth too. All of the girls are excited about the after-party and interested in the music. And eating pizza." In the corridor outside Gigi Hadid – this season's apex supermodel – was indeed eating pizza, with gusto.

The fitting went on until far beyond midnight; Rousteing, fiercely focused, demonstrated the work ethic for which he is famous. When he was studio manager for Christophe Decarnin, his predecessor at Balmain, the young then-unknown was always the first in and last out of the studio. Emmanuel Diemoz, who joined Balmain as finance controller in 2001 and became chief executive in 2011, says that his hard graft was one of the reasons he was chosen to succeed Decarnin.

"For sure it was quite a gamble," says Diemoz. "But we could see the talent of Olivier. Plus he understood the work of Christophe – who had helped the brand recover – so he represented continuity. He was a hard worker, clearly a leader, with a lot of creativity. Plus the size of the turnover at that time was not so huge. So we were able to take the risk."

Clear leader

Which is why, aged 24, Rousteing became the creative director of one of Paris's best known – but indubitably faded – fashion houses. In 2004 it had been close to bankruptcy. In 2012, Rousteing's first full year in charge, Balmain's sales were €30.4 million and its profit €3.1 million. In 2015, sales were €121.5 million and its profit €33 million. Vulgarity is subjective; numbers are not.

Rousteing, who is of mixed race, was adopted at five months by white parents and enjoyed an affluent and loving upbringing in Bordeaux. "My mum is an optician and my dad was running the port. They are both really scientific – not artistic. So I had that kind of life. Bordeaux is really bourgeois and really conservative, I have to say."

After an ill-starred three-month stint at law school – "I was doing international law. And I was like, 'oh my God, that is so boring'" – he did a fashion course that he managed to tolerate for five months.

"I found that really boring as well. I just don't like actually people who are trying to **** your dream. And I felt that is what my teachers were trying to do."

Obsessed with Gucci

Following a three-month internship in Rome – "also boring" – Rousteing became fascinated with Tom Ford's work at Gucci. "I was obsessed, obsessed, obsessed. Sometimes the press did not get it but I thought 'this is like genius, the new **** chic'. Obsessed, full stop."

He wanted to work there – "that was my dream" – but applied to every fashion house he could, and found an opportunity to intern at Roberto Cavalli. "They took me in from the beginning. I met Peter Dundas [then womenswear designer at the brand] and he said you are going to be my right hand – and start in four days."

Rousteing counts his five years in Italy as formative both creatively and commercially, but when the opportunity came to return to France in 2009 he leapt at it. "Christophe said he liked my work and that he needed someone to manage the studio. So two weeks later I was here. I loved Balmain at the time, when Christophe was in charge. It was all about rock 'n' roll chic, ****, Parisian. And he was appealing to a younger generation. You can see when brands become old but Balmain was touching this new audience. I always say Christophe's Balmain was Kate Moss but mine is Rihanna."

When Decarnin left and Rousteing replaced him, the response was a resounding "who?". His youth prompted some to anticipate failure.

"It was not easy at all. Every season I had the same questions." Furthermore, Rousteing (who has said he thinks of himself as neither black nor white) was the only non-white chief designer at a Parisian couture house. In a nation in which very few people of colour hold senior positions, his race may have contributed both to the establishment's suspicion of him and to his powerful sense of being an outsider.

'Beautiful spirit'

As he began to build a personal vernacular of close-fitted, heavily jewelled, gleefully grandiose menswear – fantastical uniform for a Rousteing-imagined gilded age – for both women and men, that V-word loomed.

"They asked, 'But is it luxury? Is it chic? Is it modern?' All those kinds of words. But you know there is no one definition [of fashion] even if people in Paris think there is. And, I'm sorry, but I think the crowd in fashion are those who understand the least what is avant-garde today."

In 2013 Rihanna visited the studio, met Rousteing, and reported all with multiple Instagram posts. "You are the most beautiful spirit, so down to earth and kind! @olivier_rousteing I think I'm in love!!! #Balmain." :')"

Rousteing met Kim Kardashian at a party in New York – they were drawn together, he recalls, because they were both shy – and was promptly invited to lunch with her family in Los Angeles.

An outsider in the firmament of old-guard Paris fashion, Rousteing was earning insider status within a new, and much more influential, supranational elite. He points out that Valentino, Saint Laurent and Pierre Balmain himself "were close to the jet set of their time. What I have on my front row is the people who inspire my generation".

From them, he learned a new way of doing business. "I think it was Rihanna and the music industry that first understood how Instagram can be part of the business world as well as the personal. But in fashion? When we started it was 'why do you post selfies? Why do we need to know your life, see you waking up, see you working? Why don't you keep it private'. And I was like 'you will see'."

Rousteing cheerfully declares his love for Facetune – "I don't have Botox but I do have digital Botox!" – an app that helps him airbrush his selfies and tweak those ski-***** cheekbones.

Reaching new population

From his office around the corner from Rousteing's, Diemoz adds: "When Olivier first proposed Balmain use social media, our investment in traditional media was costing a lot. Here was an alternative costing less but bringing huge visibility. It has been successful, quite rapidly…we decided to be less Parisian in a way but to speak to a new population. A brand has to be built around its heritage but we are proposing a new form of communication dedicated to a wider group of customers."

The impact of that strategy became apparent in 2015, when Rousteing and Balmain were invited to design a collection for the Swedish fast-fashion retailer H&M.; Within minutes of going on sale – and this is not hyperbole – the collection, available at vastly cheaper prices than Balmain-proper, had completely sold out. In London, customers fought on the pavement outside H&M;'s Regent Street branch. "Balmainia!" blared the headlines.

You have to move fast to get backstage after a Balmain show. I was out of my seat and trotting with purpose even before the string-heavy orchestra at the end of the catwalk had quite stopped playing Adele.

Rousteing had taken his bow merely seconds before. Still, too slow: I ended up in a clot of Rousteing well-wishers stuck in a corridor blocked by security guards. A Middle Eastern woman against whom I was indelicately jammed looked at me, laughed, shook her head, then said: "We pay millions for a fashion house – and then this happens!"

In June, Balmain was bought for a reported €485 million by Mayhoola, a Qatar-based wealth fund said to be controlled by the nation's ruling family. As so often with Rousteing-related revelations, some declared themselves nonplussed. "Why Would Mayhoola Pay Such a High Price for Balmain?", one headline asked. Yet Mayhoola, which acquired Valentino four years previously for $US858 million, might have scored a bargain.

Clothes key to revenue

Despite its huge, Instagram-enhanc­ed footprint, Balmain is a small, lean and relatively undeveloped business. Most luxury fashion houses today – Chanel, Burberry, Dior, et al – will emphasise their catwalk collections for marketing purposes but make most of their money from the sale of accessories, fragrances and small leather goods like handbags and shoes. One of the big fashion companies makes a mere 5 per cent from its catwalk clothes.

At Balmain, by contrast, clothes bring in almost all the revenues. If Balmain had the same clothes-to-accessories ratio as its competitors, its overall annual income could be more than €1 billion ($1.4 billion).

The company is moving in that direction. New accessory lines are in the pipeline. "Now we have to transform that desire into business activity," said Diemoz. "Sunglasses, belts, fragrances, the kind of products that can be more affordable."

The first bags should be available in January, as will a wider range of shoes, and then more, more, more.

Six days after his show, on the last day of Paris Fashion Week, I returned to the Balmain atelier. Apart from two assistants, Rousteing was the only person there – everybody else had gone on holiday to recover from the frenzy of preparing the show, or was busy selling the collection at the showroom around the corner.

Rousteing sat behind his desk in the empty room, wearing slingback leopard-print slippers, sweatpants and shades. "I am not even tired! I am excited. Because there are so many things happening – and I can't wait."Read more |
Feel Mar 2013
Her skin looks pale,

White shedding brown,

like a golden brown velvet

strewn across a skeleton

made from Cleopatra’s frame.

There is nothing to it,

her sway is flawless

in her stilettos,

O’ God those stilettos.

She pave the roads with

blossoms of Primrose

and Calla Lilies, as the tip

of her heels stab the earth.

Her body melts cotton candies

in winter,

her curve bakes pastries

in snowy mountains,

It was an unbelievable sight,

like a sunrise, she climbs the edges

of the highest of peaks,

like the wind, she enters a heart by

the creaks; like a creep.

Perhaps nothing shall stop her,

Her footsteps continue to pierce

the soil, making a sound close to the

cracking of my knuckles.

She made people snivel and weep

when she enters the room

with her slender black dress.

She makes heads turn almost

to their full circle,

it would be death to steal a

peek, or glance, a peep.

She is the sun on earth:

hot and highly radiated

but too tempting to be left alone.

She is like the still waters:

calm, clean and serene

but too quiet to know the depth;

and still willingly jump in.

It is like believing again.

She is like believing again.

She is tiny as is her name,

It shall rhyme as the bell shines,

Her hair, her coiled twisted hair,

is much like herself: curled, twisted


Yet she is, perhaps, the twist in life,

the curl of wind on her bosoms, or

the bend of spines when eyes turn

to gaze at her splendor.

It is uncertain what she is,

but I know, vaguely.

She, like a Zinnia, shall be the

decoration of this planet.

She shall be, though exaggerated,

the reason for our existence.

She, corrupted and dangerous,

shall reclaim her spot in divinity

and shall forever more be

my source of inspiration.

Like a stream of clear water,

gushing down the torrent





She shall see herself,

breathe herself and know that

only she is the one she could

deliberately fall…

…or fail.

The black sand shall be her dress,

the grey rocks shall be her stilettos,

that clear water be her conscience

as she takes on the world.

With her cursive eye shadows

she will see the funny side of

life; she will see it thoroughly.

She, regardless, will persist

and resist the failure

of herself, with the moist

creek on her seductive lips.

She is seduction.

She is temptation.
Kaitlin Collide Nov 2013
My mind is expanding,
But these grades are demanding.
Though my ways stand out
My GPA is not outstanding.

What good is knowledge,
If you can’t prove it on paper?
But getting good grades is safer.

So I must be productive,
My right to dream has been abducted,
I once considered reflective struggles constructive,
But marginal quotas interrupt it

I’m feeling inspired,
My drive is now fired!
Oh but I can’t attend to that now..
Because I can’t study when I’m tired.

So I put it off,
Dreams are lost,
Robot mode on,
in a society of full of
scholarly knock-offs.

"Serendipity does not exist,"
"You’re choosing to fail if you’re choosing to live,"
"Why live creatively if you can puff, click or sip?"
I’m in an abusive relationship with my To-Do list

Don’t lose track,
Don’t look back,
Because time is money
And honey,
society will tell you how you spend it.
If you just let it.
I know it's not perfect but I needed to purge some thoughts for a sec while I was studying.
JM Feb 2013
I put the boy to bed
and sat reflecting
for a few minutes
about my blessed
His face lit up
when I told him
that he was Grammas's favorite.
He is everybody's favorite.
My gift.

My salvation.

I looked up the story of Abraham
and much like grade school,
I thought
**** That.

I listened to the new Trent Reznor project,
not bad.
I think of my
little brother whenever I see Trent's name.
I took him
to his first concert ever,
Nine Inch Nails.
Kicked ***.
I thought about my ******, ******* little bro.
I'm going to have to beat his ***, just ***.

I fired up a joint
as I put my
music collection
on shuffle.

Genre: Electronic.

Shuffle: Puscifer.

I sifted through Craigslist
and saw an ad
for being a radio dj
for a grassroots
community based
where you play whatever music you want
as long as it is not top 40 *******.
I could do that.
I could do lots.
Lots more than this, anyway.

Shuffle: Mike and Rich.


I thought of my mother
and how
neither her nor I
are realizing our full potential creatively.
I called Mom
and we are
going to start going
to poetry readings.
She's gonna read my poems
and I'm gonna read hers.  
It's a start.
We are cool like that.
We laugh lots.

Shuffle: Awolnation.

I'm pretty high by now.
Then I read another article on NPR about mix tapes.
I thought about you.


I thought about you
the mix tapes we
used to give each other.

Shuffle: Massive attack.



I put this song on at least five of your mixes.
Even the cover by Sepultura.

The great nothing sighs deep and cold within me.

I started to write a poem.
This poem.
This poem for you.

They are all for you.

I know when I write I purge,
and you just keep coming,
like a
lie covered
being endlessly pulled
from my gaping broken skull.
Will I ever reach the end of you in me?

Shuffle: Lords of Acid.
I rolled another joint.
You used to hate it when I
would pick you up
and have
Show Me Your *****
But then again, you didn't like anything I used to listen to.
You didn't like much about me, did you?
Just that one thing.
It's no wonder though, you ******* hipster.

Shuffle: Moby.

Jesus man how many songs does this guy have?
He's like the ******* Bob Ross of geeked out techno.
That must make aphex twin the evil mad genius.

I made it through shuffling without crying
but I can't listen to the mixtapes.
Cd's, really but who's counting?
You would.
I cannot
wait until
you becomes
and then
becomes a breeze of a memory,
wisping across my cheek
almost indiscernible
only the faintest whispers
of amber and earth.
Soil and Ancient root.  
I can't listen to any of the great CD's baby.
My dearest.
My darkest.
My sickness.
My Love.
O, Fortuna, why?

 Shuffle: Dragonette,Take it like a man.

Ha! Well played, shuffle. Good timing.
I will eventually.
Until then
I will continue to pull your oily tendrils from my open throat.
I will continue to try and forgive both of us.
Myself most of all.

I will continue to write.
I will pull you
out of me
flog my canvas
with your shadows.

*They are all for you, Dearest.
Dear PrttyBrd

I read your poetry specifically your poem " I saw the words" and I thought it was so amazing. I have spent days analyzing and reveling in your words when I have had free time. All of the contrasting ideas flowed so perfectly and created such an amazing image. Personally I love how you used such different emotions and ideas and brought them together in each stanza with " I saw the words on a page". Your words have inspired me to feature your poetry on the dear blank challenge and I sincerely hope more people will read your poems.

I saw the words on a page
And read their joy
Their hope
Their heart

I saw the words on a page
And it ripped my world apart

These two stanza are incredibly well written. To me they show the power that words can have and how simitaniously a few words can give both hope and joy and yet destroy your world. These stanzas give amazing description in their few words and are very powerful representations of the power poetry or words have over people.

I saw the words on a page
Penned before my heart was yours

I saw the words on a page
Of how your love for her endures

These two short lines portray more than a paragraph could! They leave the meaning and exact emotions secret to you ( PrttyBrd) and allow a sense of mystery for the reader and yet at the same time I felt a sense of imagery reading this as if I were there reading these words. To me it portrayed longing and unrequited love and yet the beauty is that it may be different for everyone.

I saw the words on a page
Kept with all your special things

As a poet words are so incredibly special to me, they mean hate, love, longing or sorrow. And so words are one of my most special things. Even if words are not as important to someone reading this this stanza is incredibly unique. You hold the image together by stating it is about words yet you never mention what these words are allowing the reader to form their own interpretation which makes this poems every sentence that much more special and personal to all of us.

I saw the words on a page
Read dreams of wedding rings

I saw the words on a page
Of a dream you never spoke

I saw the words on a page
They made my own begin to choke

I tried and tried to think up something to write for these stanzas. Of the incredible emotions, the metaphors and illusions, the personification and language and nothing I wrote could give it justice and so all I can say is that it is absolutely fantastic!

I saw the words on a page
Of a time when love was true

This stanza adds even further to the exquisite mystery of what these words might me, who they talk about ect. To you Prtty Brd they may be a character of imagination, or a memory re-lived, but the fact that you keep that keep this rather than frustrate me, made it that much more perfect. Of a time when love was true is also such a powerful line as it adds to memory and has the reader think back or imagine a time of true love, a simpler time that we all yearn for.

I saw the words on a page
And read what she means to you

I saw the words on a page
You claim love never dies

I saw the words on a page
Now I see it in your eyes

This is an absolutely stunning few stanzas and I could go on for hours about what this means to me and how I interpret it but I would hate to have others read it with my views in mind and I would much rather prefer they learn the meaning for themselves. What I will talk about is the last stanza I see it in your eyes" to me this is such a perfect representation of when you suddenly learn something and you realize it was their all along. For example if you learn someone loves someone, after you learn this you can remember all the times they looked with longing and you wonder how you never saw it before. Maybe that's just me though. Either way I found this revaltion in your poems and the fact that it connected what to me are so common emotions to things not as common such as. "And read what she means to you" a wonderful contrast

I saw the words on a page
You know my hearts allure

It can be scary and terrifying to open your heart to another and to open your darkest secrets and allures to someone because I matter what there is always the fear that they might tell, or hate, or judge, or fear you. Therefore I commend your bravery dear PrttyBrd if this is a true memory.

I saw the words on a page
I know that she holds yours

I saw the words on a page
I see what you can't deny

I saw the words on a page
Your love for me belied

It can be hard when someone loves another and refuses to love you despite your emotions towards them which is what I feel this is about. But you managed to create these intricate emotions in but a few words, and I find it hard to explain but somehow you managed to create this while at the same time not outright stating it, leaving it open to opinion. So perfect!

I saw the words on a page
And read their joy
Their hope
Their heart

I saw the words on a page
And it ripped my world apart

These are the same two stanzas at the beginning, (though since you wrote this clearly you knew that) anyway I thought that it was perfect way to wrap up the poem. It tied everything back together into your original view and brought back our original interpretations. Though these words are the same they are at the same time shockingly different. Now that we have seen all the words and emotions. We are changed by your poem and our original impressions are changed as we attempt to figure out what the "words" were.

I saw the words

Perfect! This simple line was such a plain, yet creatively unique way to end a fanspectierfectical poem. That's right, it's not a spelling mistake, I loved your poem so much it needed its own word to explain how outstounding it was. Thank you PrttyBrd.
Check out the dear blank challange by ember evanescent
Creatively enticing,
   profoundly sensual
  boundlessly experienced,
cryptically presumptive
inordinately exclusive
 effusively lavished,
anesthetized or blatant
allusive beyond ethereal,
metaphorically inferred
criminal insanity

disquiet midst agitation,
peaceably surrendered
illustriously polished
or indubitably raw
    fruitful to a fault - -
in reciprocity's glory be

   quenches thirst,
     satiates a hunger
flourished midst ink's
designed grandeur,
poetry never fails to thrive,
   tripping the light fantastic  
    in its exuberant offering*

Seize the power
Ayeshah Mar 2010
(Readers I been going crazy to write  like this for a long time so if it suxs  too bad lol please read its a bit long also 4 those who do ty for reading & commenting)
She seen his stares since earlier in the ball room & during most of their acquaintance's growing up also when he'd visited her family at her home in Hampshire... She bluntly ignored his many advances while
at the Queen's Ball and she also publicly shunned him in front of  many aristocrats, He asked her even then to be his wife, She flat out said NO! with out going through the proper channels it  "*******" just wasn't done,  Her chaperon Lady Gideon was no where to be found so she did what she thought was best and walked away from him as fast as her small frame would allow.  

She did indeed find Lady Gideon in the kitchens with  the cook in the "Blimey!" broom closet. NOW on this night she'd truly become his and pay for her misdeeds & mistreatment's of him at The Queen's Ball...Duke Lincoln Pierre held his new bride Virgina Abagael Pierre  
tightly as he assaulted her mouth thrusting his tongue in her mouth- parting her lips in a seductive dance, as his hands moved lavishly up & down her buttocks, betwixt her bodice caressing her breast.

Lincoln tried hard to control his need for his new bride,  He was supposed  to be with his "mates" for another hour or so whilst his-  " well now" his wife's maids readied her for their marriage bed.
Lincoln couldn't wait & as he rushed his guest out the door not even
waiting for Jefferey his Butler to do so, He ran taking the steps two at a time, His need for Virgina was more then lust.  He wanted her ever since she shunned him at the Queens ball & as he visited her home--  watching her bloom into womanhood, Tonight she'd pay for his humiliations of that night at the Ball. He burst open the door and bellowed  for the maids to Get OUT!

At once they went running like rats. All except Beatrix stood her
ground and told him in not to kind-of words that  "She" had to prepare Virgina properly and He was acting reckless.
Beatrix  was his nanny & nursery maid, she was  also there when he first open his sparkling  hazel round eyes, God rest "Duckies" soul, His mum, she died in this same bed whilst she gave her last breath for this handsome devil.  His Da,  poor man was getting on in age and this was a wish he left in his will to be fulfilled before he died. "Lin" as she'd called him must fulfill but without scaring the poor chit off.

She unfasten Virgina's stays & hooks as fast as her old hands would allow, before she could help her out of her bodice  "Lin" ushered her out....Well she'd said her peace and exit Lincoln's rooms praying as she left.....
Lincoln kept  up his assault  while Virgina had a look of fear & misunderstanding in her mahogany sapphire eyes, Her small frame was shaking to her very core,  Poor chit but it couldn't be helped he was in a rush to be done with virgins and their silly concepts of love ex specially this "his" new prudent bride,  Yet he wanted to make her come alive, bring out the "bleed'in devil" of lust he knew was trapped deep within Virgina's un tapped core.
Lincoln teased and licked as he removed her clothing, ripping a bit of fabric in is haste, she kissed him back! Shocking his own sense of sensibility.

He picked her up splayed her on the bed and stared at her dark luscious Honey chocolate  creamy coco skin, it shined like a lovely indigo ocean on a summers night.
With carious longing and dread,
it was still an interesting moment Virgina didn't know what to do and as he capture her waist she felt  even more unsure, sensing a thrilling sensation wash over her,  Her new husband Duke Lincoln Pierre kissed her with un-abandon lust Virgina instinctively crawled up to the head board on the bed, as she did so her new husband reached for her in a blink of an eye she was caught in his steel grip, she cried out not for pain but because she had no ideal what he meant to do with her,

Lincoln laughed and made a tsk tsk sound as he pulled himself atop of Virgina.  "My Lady I beseech you please leave off I mean you no harm''
Lincoln proclaimed yet his meek smile said he was lying,
Virgina only stared with her mouth gaped in a perfect lush O shape.  
Her husband undone he own clothes  in a heated rush.  
Once done he stalked towards her kneeling on the bed.  
With Virgina's gaze fixed tranquilly on his stiff shaft, she looked at it apprehensively  she wanted to move away yet her limbs wouldn't allow her to and with banned tears threatening to over flow
she ****** in her breath as her capture Duke Pierre her husband climb a top of her.  

Little did her husband know she'd wanted  him all her life she longed to become his bride but she had no ideal it entailed this rough treatment of her person to gain access.
She'd sit with her own nanny "Liv" short for Olivia  
at Hyde Park watching as his carriage made it's rounds.  She dreamed even then to marry him, his eyes always laughing and He was forever teasing her when He'd visited  her "now" deceased parents lord Duke&Duchess; Harrisburg. She'd dream he were always saving her from dragons and evil villains.

But tonight he seemed the Villain.
As he touched creatively over her she felt flushed, his hands trailed down to her hairline where her tulip was hidden as he proceeded to caress her he felt for her budded rosebud playing teasing  rubbing his fingers with gentleness over her.
He continued until Virgina's head was thrashing wildly left & right on the pillow she was scared and shocked not knowing what was coming over her,  she wanted something--   this need that was growing  building within her, she didn't understand and it made her feel weak with a longing she couldn't comprehend, as he removed his finger & hand a light yet cool breeze cam through the cracked window causing the sensation to slowly subside Lincoln moved down trailing kisses as he went his mouth hovered mere inches above her tight yearning rosebud he bet down and tasted honey as he licked in an out of his new bride, sliding his index finger within her tight silt wile wrapping his mouth around her budding rose, he ******, gently  causing Virgina automatically to lift her legs wrapping her hands in his golden brown hair.

He felt her throbbing shaking and he wanted to laugh because of him she now new what it meant to be pleasured,  Virgina began trembling with a urgency not knowing what her body wanted just that she liked this feeling that washed over her from her toes up to her Honey dark coco head.  Her long brown auburn hair fell in waves of curls around her as she melted to her husbands ministrations.

Lincoln could barely contain his want and in his eyes His new bride was a wanton ready for plucking like a ripe strawberry, His little filly was bucking beneath his demonstration's.
He'd played with the God's wile tempting the devil & now there was Hell to pay...  Sadly for his new ****** bride he could no longer hold back, he wanted to consume her, his control was failing, wreaking havoc on his now intoxicating senses.  

Virgina bucked up towards his mouth letting out a seductive cry breaking Lincoln's last restraints  
He spread her wide held her fast
both his hand on either side of her hips as he lead his shaft within her lustrous wet inviting opening, moving in her swiftly as to not cause any more unnecessary pain,
He felt her maiden-head give way but it was to late t pause, he try not to move slow,
which with half in sympathy he wanted to stop his penetrating ****** yet his need for release in his new ****** brides velvet tight silt kept him urging forward deeper&deeper; within her tight walls.

Virgina let out a piercing scream as she also called out Lincoln's name twas an interesting moment when a fierce jolt consumed both occupants of this lovers den, she cried out as he ******'ed deeper still within his new bride....

No longer did he want to  punish her he felt something chip away at his heart releasing a need to want more then her body as they coiled becoming meshed together in legs & limbs traveling on waves of ******* bliss.
Duke & Duchess Pierre

Always Me Ayeshah
Copyright ©
Ayeshah K.C.L.N 1977-Present YEAR(s)
All right reserved
Big Virge Dec 2019
Is it Such A Crime To Speak Your Mind … ?    
Because ….      
It Seems To Be If You're NOT WHITE ... !!!    
I Hear This Said So MANY Times … !!!      
"Virge, you scare folks with words you rhyme !"      
And That's NO JOKE But Words I Quote ...      
Are NOT  The Type To Start A Fight … !!!      
But May UNSETTLE Those Who … " Settle " ...      
To Hide Behind A … "LIE FILLED Life" … !!!      
Can Someone DEFINE Why It's …. " Such A Crime " …. ?      
To Criticise ... Political Types …. !?!      
In Times Like THESE FREEDOM of SPEECH ...      
Is NEEDED …  Just Like Poetry … !!!      
If We're To Ease Pain And Misery … !!!      
And Crimes of More FATAL DESIGNS … !!!!!      
MURDERS ... RAPES Crimes Based On Race …      
And Crimes Inclined To Keep The Masses ... "Blind" ... !!!      
Like Those In Folds Who Make Mistakes …      
Do THEY Pay A Toll For CASH THEY TAKE … ?!?      
MISTAKES … THEY SAY That Pay For Homes … ?!?      
"It was merely a loan, from a chap I know !      
No more questions now, i've got to go !"      
"A chap you know, can't we know his name ?"      
"Are you insane, is it such a crime      
for you to find, that friends of mine,      
help out in times of financial strain ?"    
"Of course not sir, but don't divert, what is his name,      
and did he donate to your friends campaign ?      
Need I ask you again, the question is what is his name ?      
Let me make it plain, are you quite sure he hasn't bought,      
A Peerage, and is now a lord ?"      
"I will not answer any more !      
What do you take, politicians for ?      
Anyone would think, our dealings stink !"      
"Well, no more than a poor street ***** !    
Is it such a crime to want to know more ?"    
Could This Be Why Government Guidelines ...      
Are Trying To Stem ... Peoples' Questions ... !?!      
If Free Speech ENDS What'll Happen To THEM … ???      
And ALL THEIR Pre-Planned Arguments … ?!?      
It Seems That THEY Will Carry On …      
Airing Views Even If They're WRONG … !?!      
Isn't That A Crime It Would Seem NOT … !?!      
So How Can It Be A CRIME To Speak Your Mind ... ?!?      
ESPECIALLY When You're PROVEN RIGHT … !!!      
I Find This ATTITUDE At …. " Poetry Nights " …. ?!?      
if You Speak About Your Life That Seems To Be FINE …    
Or Express FRUSTRATION At The State of The NATION … !!!      
Through Words You Write ….      
If You Are WHITE And They Make Folks SMILE ... !!!      
But If You're BLACK And Make ATTACKS …      
On RACISTS ... Or On Western Plans …      
You're Treated Like An ….. ALIEN …… !!!!!      
It MUST BE A Crime To Be A BLACK MAN ... !???!      
ESPECIALLY When You Have A MIND …      
Inclined To WRITE Poetic Rhymes That Spread Insight … !!!    
"But, SOME BLACKS DO !"      
"Well, if that's true, let me ask you who ?      
Mr. Zephaniah, okay, that's one !      
But, he's spent time inside prison !"      
I'm talking about a black without,      
a history of dodgy deeds !"      
I Think You'll Find THAT MAN Is ME … !!!      
NO Prison Time Has Big Virge SEEN … !!!      
But May Well Do For Words I Speak …      
Even When My Record's … CLEAN … !!?!!      
Well …. Clean ENOUGH … !!!      
I HAVE BEEN Cuffed ... !!!!!      
For Slapping A Girl For DISRESPECTING MY MUM … !!!!!      
And ….. " Driving Drunk " ……      
But Both Misdemeanours Were Just The ONCE … !!!!!      
And Like Benjamin ... Were When I Was YOUNG … !!!!!      
But The Point I'm Trying To Make …      
Is … Black Americans Are Deemed To Be GREAT … !!!!!      
For Taking A STANCE AGAINST Racial HATE … !!!!!      
WHICH English Black Can Make The Claim THAT …      
They've Gained RESPECT For … Taking THAT STANCE … !?!      
What Does That Say About Those Who CLAIM … !!!      
THAT …….      
"Blacks are treated just the same,      
as every other race on, English Shores !"      
"Are THEY QUITE SURE ?!!!? "      
I'm NO Malcolm X But DO HAVE A Cause … !!!      
My Cause DEPLORES These Government Laws … !!!      
Cos' If You're Black And POOR …      
You're Gonna ... SUFFER For SURE … !!!!!      
Even If You're NOT …      
Police Now Plot To Shoot You Down … !!!!!      
Or Question You ... Even If They Doubt … ?      
THAT You ARE THAT Drug Dealer … !?!      
OR The ONE Who STOLE That Car … !!!!!      
Laws They PASS Are Now PURE FARCE … !!!!      
It Seems They've Moved But …. NOT TOO FAR …. !!!!!!!      
AWAY From Keeping Us ……….. Apart ……….      
Ask Yourself WHY Are They Inclined ... ?      
To RESTRICT Those Who EXPOSE LIES … ?!?      
Creatively ...  Or Otherwise …      
Through Simply Saying What's IN Their Mind … !?!      
PLEASE Ask Yourself WHY … ?      
..... " Is It Such A Crime ? " ......
A poem bred from the recognition of the fact that, Britain maintains some, truly amazing double standards !
Tramaine Powell Jul 2013
Creatively wit, artistically gifted -
politically inclined to design any archetype of freedom and how a woman should hold her head up high, like the almighty God she is.
Able to disfigure the illusions and misconception that the media and other forms of capitalistic control, teach her fellow sisters and Queen.
Prove to them that not only are they more than this '*** symbol',
And being blind to this facts, just helps perpetuate the conditioning of self-hate,
that you're not light enough or too dark - you're just something that helps the sun shine on their fare skin.
And you're ****** is worth nothing more than it was compensated fo' 450 years ago,
to birth being that yet again go through the cycle of supremacy.
But you say,
**** ALL THAT -
I'm a Queen, GOD IS SHE.
So kiss my fat *** and my appletree.
Because me and my sisters sill no longer accept your misogynistic disrespect and immoral, emotional neglect.
Your referendums for ****** favors in exchange what is due me, ****** freedom and freedom to do whatever the **** I please.
And ever since I saw those defining characteristics in thee,
Since, I've always respected you as my Queen.
Kina May 2014
My horoscope told me that I should think creatively today. It told me that I should write and so here I am, attempting to write a poem.

Little does my horoscope know that my mind is unable to function.

"Write something clever! You will create something great!" My horoscope instructs me but unfortunately that task is easier said than done, but I try because I want to fit in. All the cool kids are doing it.

However, nothing but loud noises come out and the writing police come to get things under control.

My brain has been arrested for causing a public disturbance.

Writers block has taken over. It is a cell block in my mind where all of my creative ideas have been cuffed, thrown into a corner, and forced to *** with rusted metal bars offering no privacy.

It's humiliating.

As I sit in my little jail cell I think about what I've done and how I could never come back here again.

"Next time," my brain tells me, "Don't listen to your horoscope."
Emily Nov 2018
Apollo Hayden Jan 2017
Mother Earth

May this skin I'm in always remind me of the air and what's underneath my feet. I am one with the soil and wind that blows the blades of grass on the ground and branches on the trees.
Keep me planted, with wisdom and understanding I pray that I can always speak creatively of my experiences in life, from the he(art) of poetry.
Always learning from the trials of what my actions in this universe brings, and never ever forgetting to express my love organically.  

Father sky

Renew my heart,
cleanse my spirit and keep open my eyes.
Lead me more to thee, as I fall at your feet I pray that you free me from all lies.
Break these chains of doubt so that I may gain my wings and fly,
rising to a higher vibration, continuing to expand my mind.
I hate her. I hate her more than hell
But why did I let her in? I could not tell
She is never home. She is never there when I call
Gone and I’m just bombing my head against the wall
A wall I need to get over, or else I will never see
I need her, for without her my mind will never be free
She comes and goes, like the rain and the sun
I try and try, but without her noting can be done

She laughs in my face when I beg her for help
And tickles my when I try to rest my wiry head
I cannot she or smell her but I know her touch
Usually she’s there when I’m useless sick in my bed
For a reason I need her more than the air I breath
Fore without her i would just be another drop in the sea
She is my god and my devil at the same, resting in my mind
She is in front of me all the time, but her I cannot see

To open the door to life, She is the only key
I have met her and you too, her name is creativity
Ramin Ara Dec 2016
Life is not about
Finding  yourself
Life is about
Creatively yourself
Michael Ryan Jun 2013
Yesterday was the day you were born,
some 30 years ago, right?
And today was the day we celebrated!
I am tightly wound into my own life;
that I even had to mention it in YOUR poem.
That aside I'm sorry to say I didn't know yesterday was your day.
Maybe this would of made it your way one day earlier,
or maybe I would of shrugged it off like my older self.
But to be honest that's not what I want to do.
I want to let you know that I know that you deserved to be noticed.
That the day and you did not go by like the wind.
That when the words floated by my ear that yesterday was your day.
I decided I must do something!
And I'm sorry to say, but like a homeless man all I have is a little sign and some words to display.
I'll creatively explain and show that you are an important part in the world, my world.
Doing this will hopefully let you know the significance of yourself to me.
I may be the person you have always fought with.
I may be the person you have screamed the most at.
I may be the person you are the most upset with.
You may be the person that I feel awkward around.
You may be the person I don't know what to say to.
You may be the person that I under-appreciate.
but mom I love you.
I'm just using this as a storage place for thought.  Will be deleted soon most likely.   The people have voted and the poem stays.
Genevieve Apr 2014
What is originality anymore?
The pop songs we listen to day in day out,
That are only updated remixes of
Songs that our parents
Already know every lyric to.

Is it the pranks we play on each other at school,
Poking holes in the top of water bottles,
So we don’t get caught when we try to catch our class mates.
Drowning them
In carbonated energy drinks.

Don’t think you’ll get away with it.
The teachers already know,
About flicking elastic bands at the backs of girls knees,
So they scream a little louder
And turn around to see
Boys smirking faces,
Because they have been there before.

Define originality.

. /əˌrɪdʒɪˈnalɪti/
1. the ability to think independently and creatively.

•the quality of being novel or unusual

synonyms: inventiveness, creativeness, creativity, innovativeness, innovation, novelty, freshness, newness, imagination, break with tradition, resourcefulness, cleverness, daring, individuality, unusualness, unprecedentedness, uniqueness, distinctiveness

Is it smuggling ***** in water bottles,
Or sneaking down to the back garden
To have one last cigarette with your friends,
At 1am
On New Years
When you have had more to drink than your parents
Yet you are only 15.
Watering down whiskey from your parents liqueur cabinet
With apple juice.

Getting caught drunk
After being out with friends, Stumbling in at 2am
On Sunday morning.

Storming up to your room
After having a row with your parents.
Slamming the door,
Screaming at the floor,
Calling a friend,
And ******* about the people who brought you into this world.

I’m not as good with words
Than I thought I was

O r i g i n a l i t y I s D e a d

Your parents Grandparents
Aunties and uncles
Have seen it all before
It’s a fact of growing up
And one day
You will too know
Exactly how it is
Idk I was just thinking too much
Edited because I didn't like itt
Grez Aug 2014
Taken a hiatus
              Unhappy with the latest              
                   Put onto pages
         They've not been the greatest
                   Need a vacation
                  Find that part that

   Make them look
   Hide they're not
Ignore they're not

                         Hello Poetry
           When you hold a committee
                         To judge me
                           Take pity
                         Before you
          Remember I'm only running at
                          ­  Percent

  I think I'm due an upgrade
      To iron out these kinks.




Appreciate feedback
Izzy Dec 2018
I’m creatively uninspired
and I’m socially deprived
I barely exist beyond my thoughts
and if I don’t exist within society
It is as if I’m already dead
Ian Beckett Nov 2012
She gazes down on a daily sea,
Of expectant lesson hungry faces,
The teacher uses a carrot not a stick,
To prove these cast-off kids stomachs,
Will love them when they cook creatively.

Vogue-like poet on the catwalk of life,
She sees life in little things each day.
Weekend dates in the big smoke,
Will blue suit and red shoes work,
With him again, again tonight?
Liam Dec 2013
blood stains her canvas
   congealed crusts, fresh streaks
frayed corners and edges
   the tattered toll of pain, loss

how best to depict my love on her
   overlay her with beauty
to develop a patina of care over time
   reduce her suffering to pentimento

her landscape shifts constantly
   with the quality of her light
I must blend to the shade of her mood
   her want...her need

work from the palette of my heart
   in the spectrum of my love
paint her in courted color
   every tone of every hue

brush her being with my caress
   creatively styled to her moment
pastel tenderness...primary strength
   bold strokes of passion...bright splashes of spontaneity

to portray for her a frameless existence
   of unlimited intimacy and peace
but she does not rest on my easel
   and I am merely dreaming of the art of love
Dakota Sep 2014
An Explanation

More lines written in my face than an old women.
More lyrical notes than an instrument of your choice,
I'm dancing inside to the sound of your voice .
Each word and phrase creatively counted,
Carefully picked up and placed,
Lights shining between each elegant phrase.

These words flowing from head to mouth,
Much harder than to paper.
Thoughts are lost in revisions and vapor.
I lose my heart and my voice,
With silly fears I've lost my choice.
Now I've come here with these words to say,
But all my metaphors got in the way.
So I'll say the words that will woo,
a small phrase that I can say,
I love you.
Vamika Sinha Jul 2015
Art is good
medication so you'll
deal with this creatively.

You've careened into this so
make the wreck,
the chaos
bloom on a page.
It might even help.

You're going to be a comic book artist
because in the face of such things
words fail and lips
falter,  and you
want to knock your head comedically.
You want
to conjure silly star-loops for
smashing into this
Draw, draw out
and ink in your malady.


The worst is when
your heart is the caricature.
A full-page feature,
a splash,
of high-strung colours
begging to be neatened.


cartoon heart. An
image of a fat, crimson
like a clip-art pic, got
a little worm poking through

Eating, eating away
to leave a love
or loss-sized hole.
Fat white bubbles announcing
so graphically.

Go on and
draw it more lurid. If
the feeling is here, you might as well
feel it.
Let the slops of gaudy red
and green
bleed and
out of the panel.
Stain it, stain
the gutter
where time happens.

At least it gives the comic
a heartbreaking!

And then you turn the page.
Deal with ugly feelings prettily.
Pixievic Feb 2016
An encouragement from across the sea
Inspires my mind creatively

(C) Pixievic 2016
For my Candian cheerleader!! My J girl!! And all others who help to inspire my mind **
MAJD S Oct 2013
I woke up on the wrong side of the bed,
Thinking to my self
That falling off of it was much better;
I picked myself up
And threw myself back into the bumping walls of life,
Thinking to myself
That not picking myself up was much better;
I opened my eyes to a father’s concerned eyes,
Which reminded me of how wrong things are going,
His vocals in twine with the air he’s blowing
Shattered the rhythm of a morning
And scratched the record of a sunshine to give a beat
In the back of my head
Heading towards the doors of my anxiousness,
Opening the gates
For yet more things to wait,
Like the sat scores that never come
And for the first time I actually want them to…
Thinking to myself
That bumping into the vigorous walls of life was much better;
I walked down the street,
Tapping my feet to the concrete
Figuring out that the solids of our creations
Belong to the solitudes of our nature,
And creatively I wrote it on the back of my hand
For there are alotta things that I wanna write
But I just forgot how to,
Alotta things to fight for
But I can’t seem to figure out where to start;
And I am falling,
I am falling through the new beginnings
That open up a door of ambiguous smiles,
Walks down iles
Of a mind that spaced out for a while;
Cups of warm coffee with just enough water in them,
Pens that wrote poetry
That had just enough imagery in them,
Women that wore beauty
With just enough humbleness in them;
And I hold on to those thoughts
And I keep holding on to the invisible waves of hope
That keep crashing my sunrises,
And crushing my heart,
And crucifying my objectives,
And circumstancing my dreams,
And crunching the little crumbles of unattended paper
That I once wrote on,
The poetry that I can no more write
Because I stopped feeling
So I should go back to learning how to;
But loud enough as I speak
My feelings stay silent
Vibrating through my veins just to make sure that they still exist
But she made sure they ceased to
And they did
And they did.
Thinking to myself
That  listening to the manly morning voice of my father
Was a lot better;
Shape shifting from thoughts to spots
And corners that burn
With the acid memories that turn
Round the tables and square the chairs;
The cigarette buds that now exist
On a once so holly place
Mock my words
And word my mockery,
Reminding me of how wrong things are going;
Reminding me to stop
Because I am running out of breath;
I am trying to lift the weight of the world
And the weight of my figure
And figure out the depth of her soul
Aligned with the depth of her eye liner
Now fully covering the beauty in her eyes
Because that’s how she runs from the world,
Jumping over social obstacles
And exes exiting her doors from the walls,
So every time someone walks out of her life
She has to renovate the bulwarks  of her heart,
Skipping through side conversations
Because causality is fatal;
As I skip through the words jumping over stanzas,
The poem that wrote itself
Wrote itself-
And I shall let it be,
For if it wasn’t personal enough for you
It ispersonal for me,
And if you couldn’t find a savior in my words
An enchantment in my lines
Then maybe poetry wasn’t made for me to save you;
Maybe it was made to wake you up
And maybe I could wake up as well
And this time on the right side of the bed,
For the sheets are strangling my neck
And the woodwork is creaking
So as I tried to fix it
A voice in the background booms
Like the sound system of a teenager
“This cannot be fixed my friend
This can only be enjoyed”

— The End —