"dior" poems
candles lit, music's right
I've got plans to ****** tonight
,
I'm in charge .. you like it .. Ok?
going to control you in a most sensual way
I've taken care to dress real nice,
I'm going to blow you .. with ****** spice
I start to undress, start to tease
I wont be happy till your on your knees
we start to kiss, silk skin caress,
your getting hot, a seduction success
as your hands start to roam.
its too late .. your not goin home
now our clothes are on the floor,
both naked .. cept for Christian Dior
I start to moan, beg and plead,
In doin so .. i increase your need
(c) mandy rigby 22.05.2014
(thought I'd have a go at ****** poetry)
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 2:10 PM UTC
I'm not sure how to wear self confidence
but I do know how many calories are in every food I consume
And my heart may be bottomless
but my make up seems to claim my entire room
And my mirror may be shattered with disgust and desperation
but at least my closets are full of Gucci, Prada, and Dior
And maybe I can be happy with lonely isolation
Gives me more time for the materials I adore
And you might as well chain me to my shopping bag
That are filled with platinum, silver, and gold
Cause I will make up for the soul I lack
With the plastics, metals, and materials cold
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 10:51 PM UTC
We climbed from bedrock
to Idyllwild the home
of Pines to Palms
and Suicide Rocks
but not for us
only for those
poor tired souls
for whom the world's gone
flat
refusing
the night threw
itself boldly into the fray
of winds which blew
from storm to calm
so this morning we awoke
to a placid knap
slipping on snowy piste
to turn cold snaps
hot
spiced Nepali tea
sipped from ice
nipped cups
I see promise
picks up
from backward leaps
time forward flips
breaking free range igneous
into pan
piped sizzling
congenial song
that carries on the tree line
like spring
water sprung from
creeks to go scurrying off
with wet socks
until pulled up
by old school granite skies
hanging pools out to dry
in sopping blue rinsed sun
ahead any bald rocks
or hairline fractures
are long since dialled in
as baseless fears
knowing this mobile age
can merrily slip like air
through numb fingers
while baseline hands declare
“hold me close to gather”
edelweiss echoes gone
rappelling through time
the route we've chosen's
to be tied to each other's
peaks in the way of sun
and moon
come what may
be it creases in our skin
or crevasses
we'll win the battle to slim line
any overhanging ridges
so I take care to tighten
my girth hitch to top notch
and hold firmly
to both your conviction
and reach
that setting
out to move mountains
we call home
achieves more than
staying home
and calling mountains
so bright
you have me forget
all things too trite
banal office hype
shopworn old hat
mowing lawn weekends
too dishy to be clichéd
you polish off the stereotype
slam the Dior on out of shape
and dull as ditchwater tripe
keeping a victorious secret
or two in the slip knot
too tranquil shade
taking allure to new heights
we'll never drop
down from
tonight
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 11:03 AM UTC
basilisk ****
nonparticular inexecrable exit
art ****
the lips on for breakfast
twilight zip entanglement
meticulous bending and sensual telepathy
fever-sickness
rock 'n roll boo-boos
lilting black 'n blues on the caboose
puppeteering every tasty ***** loose
chews the collar
thighs and necking room
bustling bussers it gives ifs
gets down with
daisy, dior, dkny, grapefruit(purple) to narcisso and pink sugar too
Bliss tainted madness
playing tug-o-war with
January's vacuum
Years of passing down groupies
to the most recent djs playing bad dubstep tunes
and that sickness of seeing iloveyou's abused
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 5:31 AM UTC
A few years back,
I used to look like a hag,
Dark circles,
Plain cheeks,
Messy long hair,
No sleek,
Shaggy clothes,
All creased,
Now, penciled eyes,
Powdered face ( not literally ),
Short hair,
Neat ponytail ( I'm almost there ),
Branded clothes,
Gucci, Dior, Chanel and many more,
Red lips,
Ready to glaze,
Trendy clothes in my closet,
Still yearning for more,
Shoes of all kinds,
Heels, sneakers and boots,
How time passes,
Transforming into puberty.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 5:43 AM 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
gucci on my feet
dior on my outfit
something about making
all the money back
busy windshield wipers, red light.
messing with dating apps
while you’re talking
about buying black ops 4
forget what my purpose is
misted in the same drizzling cloud
fogging up the windows
the funny noises you make
when you laugh
dispel all the monsters
away in my mind
philosophy away, leaving an echo
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 3:13 AM UTC
merica
land of
greedy
corporations
home of
i got mine
you
get
yours
merica
where
some
live in big houses
that
climb
to
the skies
still others live
in getto's
where some drive
around
in cars
that need
their own
zip code
america
we got
neimanmarcus
gucci
saks
chanel, dior
some
do
their
shopping
in
the
5 and dime
next
door
merica
its own
worst enemy
for its
destroyed
more
than
it
will
ever
be
jSweptson
Feb 24, 2011
Feb 24, 2011 at 7:24 AM UTC
i always fidget with my itches
then itch raw with each digit
of the rigid way we squirm with
words we feel to be explicit
but rearranged we're indifferent
without the frame we're elicit
no stopping shame that exhibits
the way your brain always listens
even in pain it's persistent
you can't prohibit the accident
of unwitting existence
don't say sorry to the superstitious fiction
stay judicious
just ease your mind with the lyrics
and grind the grass to find distance
don't mind, the path meets resistance
the system we're in's nonexistant
i'll build a fire ladder for each fallacy
and scale every rhythm
just cleaning out all desire
mind going off like a piston
mankind don't need this fine attire
but the dior keeps us christian
not built to feed to designers
only a liar does glisten
yet we find ourselves requiring
our own kind of inquisitions
in addiction and prison
a shiny label don't listen
so without your permission
i'll find my own set of prescriptions
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 1:29 PM UTC
Youth who pelts stones at the convoy,
go get some drunk.
Dawdle up to a tavern.
Cozy up to the ladies.
Have some fun.
You feel great with the gun.
You want to die a martyr.
Yours is a dead cause.
Revolutions are past.
Revolutions don't work.
The baron you want out
is the hell back soon.
He's got the capital.
The dead die unsung.
Sloganeers rise
on ladders of the dead.
Youth who pelts stones at the convoy,
go get some drunk.
Fancy cars. Drive around the world.
Throw away the watch. Wear your phone.
4 am queues are so in. Dior, the who?
Thank god: Chrome can stand in
when Mozilla's bonkers.
Drown in likes and wallow in tweets.
Stay drugged. Stay unconcerned.
Pack up your rage and light a bonfire.
May be the smoke will
plug the holes in our skies.
It's all over.
An unmarked grave is all you get.
Gun or some fun.
Whose cause do you want to benefit?
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 11:54 AM UTC
there's not a place like this around
where i don't want myself around
dirt, hair, and soot inside the air purifier
so many orange and white bottles on the ground
dollars, masking tape, and cologne
Dior, Hermes, and Altoids upon Altoids tins
cigarettes and hand-rolled goods,
Vice magazines and fashion too
The things I keep in my bed are worse off
Than halves of horses heads that
Even Hollywood couldn't direct.
Until I set fire to the oil paintings and the books
At morning I'll count my rock collection of ****** conquests
And bury them like dead birds in shallow graves in the neighbor's yard
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 3:51 AM UTC
~~~
*A rich woman
Walked down the street
She met a workman she didn't greet.
But though they didn't
Stop to TALK
They were able
To exchange THOUGHTS...*
Hey! Look at me! I'm all that!
Think you're cool with that
baseball hat?
I'm in my designer clothes
I'm Dior from head to toe.
I have snakeskin shoes
And pure silk pants
My perfume comes
From Paris France...
**Designer Bags and golden rings
Jeweled tiaras and a
Real mink coat?
What to do with such trivial things?
Except wallow in the
Superficial joy they bring...
Please. Humour me
With stacks of DOUGH
That's street lingo
For cash you know.
I'll sit here and strum my guitar
Whilst I look up
And count the stars...
Please... take your spoils and go...
I don't have time for spoiled souls
I'll enjoy the things that matter most
While you celebrate
charades and toast.**
If life's a charade,
At least I'm a player!
You're sure not gonna
Run for Mayor!
C'mon DOUGH BOY
You know that you want
All the goodies that we flaunt!
Yes... I have a real MINK!
And my money has a STINK
But who supports
The people you are?
Why! You're nothing but
Shiftless POOR!
**I ain't gotta pay
to play this game
I got a Full Heart I'm all IN!
You can't just buy
Yourself some PEACE
I've learned life lessons
To pay my lease!
Your whole life is inside your wallet
And I'm sorry... but I must call it...
Inside your soul is
bankrupt and foreclosed
It's sad to see happiness is posed
Shiftless, classless and
OUT OF STYLE
But your pretty golden pennies
Ain't worth my while...
You've got cash, but it's just CRASS
Lady. Take your fortunes and
KISS MY BOOTS!!!**
WELL! I *never!
The last thing she thought
As she hurried away.
She's filthy rich NOW...
... but one day she'll PAY.*
(C) SoulSurvivor
(C) Frank Ruland
~~~
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 12:47 PM UTC
Have I become her?
that untouchable sultry lady
whose dress flows in the wind
wisps of blue that match the
color of the sun in her hair.
Flyaways are held in place
a sprayed on gentle hold,
if you stand closer maybe you'll
breathe in the scent of Dior,
or a knockoff, it's your call.
Not to mention, the taste of
ash on my lips and kiss.
But she and I, we're, oh, so different.
She is always
unsure
insecure
lost.
And I've found myself
and I'd never try to be cute
and with you.
I respect myself too much.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 8:24 PM UTC
The paparazzi's camera flashes,
He caught me with my Dior glasses.
I push them up to the top of my head,
I was going for that “classy” look, like the magazine editor said.
Waiting to walk down the red carpet,
I am wearing a beautiful golden locket.
It went perfectly with my long, flowing red dress,
With my looks and accessories, I was sure to impress.
The crowd was screaming as I stepped out of the limo,
It was then that I got the memo.
I struck a pose, and flashed my pearly whites,
The camera flashed, and then I turned around and walked in slow strides.
On my feet were four inch heels,
With my killer outfit, they seemed to seal the deal.
The fame is spectacular,
But I must say, very difficult to master.
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 1:07 AM UTC
Viens donc ma Muse
Et comme chaque dimanche matin
J'ouvre grand mes ailes
Viens danser avec les fauves
Et prends-moi sous l'aisselle
Plonge dans ma sueur matinale
Tu vois, tu sens le parfum
De la bête qui halète
Quand tu l'allaites de tes désirs secrets.
Cette bête qui dort en moi
Et qui te captive
Cette bête aux mille têtes et aux mille poils
Qui t'épient et que tu guettes
Par la fenêtre
Le parfum de cerf-lynx qui te hante
Une odeur oubliée qui t'obnubile
Une odeur de ton enfance
Comme une souffrance lancinante
Qui te trouble et t'exaspère
Une puanteur charnelle instinctive
Presque un fleuve liquide
Qui se répand comme une onde de rut
Et se faufile entres tes lèvres et narines
Sur les chemins pentus de l'extase.
Sens-moi épanche-toi
Hume-moi respire-moi
Renifle-moi
Essaie de deviner le nom de ce parfum :
Cocaïne de Lanvin ?
Fleurs du Mâle de Guerlain?
Encens Sauvage de Dior ?
Sang-dragon de Givenchy ?
Et si c'était simplement Cyprine de Muse
Que tu secrétais sous mes aisselles?
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 6:07 AM UTC
People came and went all night, welcomed by the warm evening, the 12-piece jazz band, rich restaurant aromas and the boundless night sky. I hear their enthusiasm as they’re escorted to their tables. These Geneva people seem more Germanic and reserved than the French, although they’ve stolen our language. Maybe they license French or subscribe to it, like Spotify.
Peter (my bf) and I danced, unburdened by tomorrows, on a terrace of frozen-ice like, pale-blue tiles. The spilled star-field glittered like fireworks on a dark canvas of a new-moon, black sky.
The distant, snow-covered Alps seemed to reach for the glistening cosmos, like spilled water rushing across a floor or children grasping at toys. Compared to this celestial gallery, the Geneva skyline looked as sad as an old stage prop.
The air was scented with blooming jasmine, baking bread and coffees. A breeze, in turns warm and cool, wrapped around us, sharing the dance by pressing my dress to me one moment and throwing it away the next.
The dress I picked it up in Paris earlier in the week - a svelte, Chiuri Dior, ‘New Look Silhouette’ in Prussian blue Chiffon and cobalt crepe - felt as lightweight, breathable and cool as workout-mesh.
Peter’s a good dancer. He’s firm yet gentle, guiding me effortlessly, in a lazy, jazz way, from the waist. When we’re in the flow, our choreography’s guided more by the unseen music than a set dance.
Our evening - I think it’s fair to say we owned it - turned into an unhurried night, before easing, unnoticed, into morning - as summer evenings tend to do.
Our words, in hushed tones, were washed away on the breeze and the music, lost to anyone but ourselves. Time never seemed more of an abstract and irrelevant construct - and if there was a world beyond those moments - it went unnoticed.
.
.
Songs for this:
Good Luck, Babe! by Chappell Roan
Lose My Breath (Feat. Charlie Puth) by Stay Kids, Charlie Puth
Stumblin’ In by CRYIL
**** to someone by Clairo
Jun 5, 2024
Jun 5, 2024 at 1:19 PM UTC
For the last five hundred years, posh “society,” is where the wealthiest and most influential people in the world mingled, inter-married and conducted business. If you’ve ever watched “Downton Abbey”, “The Gilded Age” or even “Crazy Rich Asians” you’ll know what I mean.
Maslow’s hierarchy of needs - a psychological pyramid that describes human fulfillment - states that part of our human nature (once your basic needs are met) is the desire to attain social position. Having mere wealth is just not enough once you are in the top levels of achievement.
In the 1970’s Arab money started pouring into the west. Arab petro-dollars bought swaths of land in the UK, in London and New York. The Arabs dazzled everyone with their wealth and bling but they never penetrated posh society.
Then in the 90s the second, Asian wave, of new wealth washed eastward and they had a bit more success in society. But starting about 20 years after the fall of the Soviet Union, Russians started coming to the west with new money to invest - in the UK, in particular.
Russia became the billionaire capital of the world, oligarchs were everywhere buying anything not nailed down and eventually trying to insinuate themselves into posh “society”. Tatler (THE magazine of society) even began publishing a Russian version. If you were a wealthy Russian, you were moving up. By 2022, they weren’t too far from the edge of REAL success.
That’s what evaporated three weeks ago - with the invasion of Ukraine - Russia’s luxury infrastructure and their hopes of acceptance into posh society. Gucci, Chanel, Hermès, Dior, Apple and Tatler (just to name a few luxury brands) have left Russia to rot. If you’re Russian now, the chances of being admitted into posh society are gone for the next 20 years - at least.
You may say “so what?” Well, one way a dictator holds onto power is through mercantile largess. The granting of rights within the Russian sphere of influence - to control and distribute goods and services - is how oligarchs are created. The support of these oligarchs is important and transactional.
A man with a 100-million dollar yacht - looking at what chunks of their wealth may well be confiscated in the west - or lost to the Ruble’s collapse - could easily offer life-changing wealth to any henchman willing to end Putin one way or another.
Will this happen? I don’t know. But this is the system they’ve set up for themselves.
Mar 22, 2022
Mar 22, 2022 at 4:12 PM UTC
I never promised you
a million dollar home
with a Porsche
in the pavered driveway,
a huge closet full
of glittery Versace gowns
or cases of Dom Perignon.
I never said
I'd give you
three trips a year
to the Italian,
let alone the French Riviera.
Isn't one Prada handbag enough,
why do you have to have four?
I know I promised you
my loving heart,
which I tried to delivered.
But you whispered
when you left,
I wasn't good enough
to deliver
the goods you really wanted.
So long,
keep your Miss Dior,
*****
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 5:28 PM UTC
I know a woman that likes to be alone in her room.
I sometimes watch her from the half shut curtain inside her little universe.
Have you ever imagined the fullness of a woman alone?
There is a certain beauty that can only be captured if she can’t see you.
One of these nights I saw light coming out of her window
I said
“I will just have a quick look, she will never find out”
A room full of plants, because she needs to feel needed.
A room full of smoke, full of candle lights and Dior perfume.
She is sensually moving her two hips, marked by a man’s passion.
Standing in front of her mirror, trying to fall in love with herself
Since no one else does.
Her satin pink robe, wrinkles on the curves of her ****
while I try to imagine the smell of her skin
and her thick black hair.
I said “A woman alone can make you fall in love”
And then
She lays on the floor and I can hear
music coming out of that window
While she is rubbing her back on the soft carpet
And flowers are blossoming between her thighs.
Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 5:03 AM UTC
i used to have money
i wore Dior like a Parisian beauty
chic and sophisticated
flawlessly fashionable
or so the surface showed.
i used to have six different credit cards
a thousand fake friends
a pedigree pug i called Peppermint
i used to have money
i forgot my own worth
i skipped my meals
to fit into a size four
never knowing what
i was doing it all for
i used to have money
until all i saw was dollar signs
until i could not recognise my face
until i lost my mind
May 6, 2021
May 6, 2021 at 2:45 AM UTC
she was 3 feet 7 inches
with enlarged aureoles
that almost entirely
covered her small *******
and an *** so mondo
that it needed a wheel barrel
to hold it so she could walk upright
her lips where plush for kissing
with a look on her face
that caught the Bishops eye
and caused him to growl lecherously
his stunted reddened member enlarged
while she postured
giddy
pretending to hang herself
over the toilet bowl
this is how they spent most Saturday nights
in the rectory
their favorite little routine
as Christ looked on
his eyes shrouded in
the darkest Dior sunglasses
she pranced and gurgled
went slack-jawed
her tongue flapping
turning vermilion
drooping and feigning death spasms
pretending to perish
inspiring him to beatific *******
as he sacrificed their babies
to the oblivion
of a toilet paper ***
thus kneeling between her legs
he became the humble recipient
of adorations golden shower
amen
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 4:06 PM UTC
I want money
I want to live in a country that’s sunny
I want a jewellery box full of gold
I want a husband that’s extremely bold
I want all the most expensive cars
But then I stop and think can these things heal away the scars ?
I want caviar for every side dish
I want a tank full of butterfly fish
I want Channel I want Dior
I want the most amazing house decor
I want a diamond necklace that twinkles like stars
But then i stop and think can these things heal away the scars?
I want the best tasting champagne
I want to be at the top of the food chain
I want a Mac
I want my mother in law to have a heart attack
I want to buy and smoke the best quality cigars
But then I stop and think do these things heal away the scars?
Want is like a plaster it will protect you for a while but if overused it becomes extremely vile.
Gratitude, forgiveness , acceptance .
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC
1.3.
I learnt all
my best
lessons
sitting in
basements
chain smoking
with church
ladies
Smoke clouds
old Dior
perfume
filled
cold rooms
The smell
of lives
lived
Heavenly
odour
making love
under black
moons
Hell hath
no fury
like a woman
scorn
by a God
As they
weaved their
golden yarn
Regrets
of the words
lost
to their men
left for
death
in battle fields
long forgotten
They keep saying
that the
government
will save us
I can feel
it’s the end
when
the kids
their not
right
Lost in video
games
they don’t
even play
outside
Everyone else
is done
with living
Busy paying
and
praying over
the real.....
Call of Duty
Me?
I’ll just keep
playing
with my golden
string
Praying
for a
stranger
to throw
anything
my way
I’m just a beggar
Begging for
some much
needed change
Jun 11, 2019
Jun 11, 2019 at 4:30 PM UTC