"fads" poems
She is equipped with sensitive *******
and those other secret places
that ladies give out as prizes
to deserving guys as long as
they adopt the right disguises
of gods, gurus, intellectual giants,
goats, children, father figures, macho brutes,
sugar-daddies, supermen, seminal vessels,
house-repairers, jar openers, jocks, hate objects,
handy shoulders to cry on, emotional support systems,
sensitive, intuitive, yet strong silent types
who can also pay the bills,
tall dark and handsome total strangers,
toy boys, clowns, jugglers, jokers, millionaires,
wood choppers, ******* removers,
bottomless reservoirs of reassurance
or just plain spunky studs when the moon is right.
In fact, anything but woffly wimps.
Oh God, no. Anything but woffly wimps.
Yes, but what about stoic, steadfast SNAGS,
you know, the Sensitive New Age Guys
who won’t face-shift for a ****
Yes, well, let's try to sum all this up here right now.
I think that the woman is dripping
with a brimming reservoir
of luscious and sensitive resources on tap for
the man who can figure out her cosmic kaleidoscope
of swirling dreams and desires,
which is definitely not to say she can’t be totally independent.
Although please don't be confused.
Friendly boy-next-door types who are handsome,
aren't too hairy, who like to laugh, who have a boyish braggadocio,
who are students, who appear to be intellectuals,
who are not nerds,
and who can **** it in the kitchen, who can be oh, so cool,
who can convince a maiden that she is in distress,
and is in need of rescuing, while he has
a swaggering hard-on will do, too.
Oooh. You devil.
And if you think this poem is misogynist, misanthropic or myopic,
well, I’ve been around and by now, well,
I really should be panoptic
because I’ve seen all the fads,
and really, it’s sadly too bad
about those poor old
earnest SNAGS.
But you know what?
I don't think I understand anything, because
I'm really a victim of worshiping women.
I'm bedazzled and as blind as the next man, and
yes,
I'm just happy whenever I'm with them.
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 8:28 PM UTC
A poem nebulously arrives
at the precincts of mind
like in every pregnancy
it changes a whole lot of things
A firefly with a drop of
oily yellow light so feeble ;
but one gets lost in the
happiness it brings
I haven't ever known
a happiness similar to this.
In the days of my childhood,
I used to sit in a room opening
to the vast green rice fields,
At the sunset, when light fads in to darkness,
the gloom that spreads around
makes one ask, 'what if the moon
wouldn't appear tonight?'
A drop of light appears from nowhere,
flies to a bamboo grove,
this I couldn't foresee,
it turns out to be a firefly, its light
pulsating like a coded message,
to more fireflies so shy and want
the pain of darkness to foster them,
I close my eyes and wait for the sound
of their wings flapping in my subconscious.
Now, they come in swarms, a spectacle
one can't explain, all I know is
that I was yearning for their presence.
They are guests for this celebration
of light, I crafted with my pain,
and love, the antidote, for all that angst.
A poem is born as a dome of effulgence
these fireflies create in pitch darkness
that meditates alone only on light .
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 2:24 PM UTC
Of simple plastic
made with screws and with transfers.
The fads of old youth
banished high upon the shelf
now a plaything for the dust.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:00 PM UTC
I was fit and feisty at fifty
It was no big deal,
Because that's how half a century
Is supposed to feel.
In my sixties I'll take stock
Start making great plans,
Ignoring all the "you cant's"
And embracing all the "I cans".
Can I be **** at sixty?
And try all the fashions and fads,
Wear stockings and suspenders
And Joan Collins shoulder pads.
I can deal with **** at sixty
And wear Vivienne Westwood clothes,
Dress up and go out on the town
Wearing all my buttons and bows.
I'mgoing to be **** at sixty
I'll wear Gok Wan lingerie
Find myself a Toy Boy
Then maybe lead him astray.
Swift and **** at sixty
When I get my Jimmy Choos,
Dancing the night away
To the sound of rhythm and blues.
Oh! I want to be **** at sixty
'cause age is a state of mind,
I'm preparing my body at keep fit
So as not to be left behind.
But, first I have to deal with
Old Skin, Bad Teeth and Grey Hair,
Then remove the unwanted growths
From just about everywhere.
Then I'll definitely be **** at sixty
And undoubtedly done it all,
The only problem is that most
of it I simply won't recall...
© Hazel
Aug 5, 2012
Aug 5, 2012 at 3:05 PM UTC
If one pulls
A sheep astray
The flock is sure
To move that way.
To fish in a troubled water
De-constructing history
Thwart we could
The old social fabric of unity
And create we shall
A generation
Suffering a crisis of identity!
*“Ask me not why
They are better than
My peers and I
Also sensitize me not to deny,
What I see with my naked eye!
In attire,grooving,life style ,
Cosmetic application and civilization
They galvanize youth's attention!”*
Come up with a generation
We shall
That does not bat an eye
Our dictates to buy,
A generation that does barter
An age-old culture
With fads,for such a venture
Proves to it an adventure.
To achieve what we terribly sought
If we use somebody of note
Fame that has got
Say an artist or a poet
The mob will not
Fight-shy to drink a lot
From our poison ***
Without a grain of salt
“God doesn't exist "
Could be top on the list!
Alas, we could say “Worship us!"
*"Forget the Key And Lock theory!
Why should you worry?"*
Or social and religious norms
We could rock
With *“A lock could lock a lock
even in a wedlock!”*
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 10:05 AM UTC
no journey is ever easy
or effortless, and i wish i could
tell all these ladies at work
that they don't have to follow these
silly diet fads or weight loss plans
because i understand, miss, ma'am
i was there once, overweight and
so terribly unhappy
i'm only where i am now because
of the time and effort i put into it
spending money and time
on foods and activities
that help me better my body
and my mind
so please don't ask me what food you should eat
or what i did to look how i look
you need to learn it on your own
the want and desire needs to be yours
just please don't starve yourself
because that's not the way to do it
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 8:26 PM UTC
I love you like hypebeast love fads
Except I won't drop you like the ones they've had
They don't unspderstand in their ghouly sets
I could be your romeo you my Juliet
But if one of us dies the other can just be sad
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 12:14 AM UTC
It was the early days of the organic food craze
and my wife, ever a slave to the latest fads
(which disposition sometimes benefitted me pleasurably
but mostly cost me dearly)
made me run on an errand
(like: “Fido – go, fetch!”)
to get some organic vegetables
and arriving, I blurted out to the produce guy, stumbling:
*“Some ****** for my wife”* –
and that wise guy, Oxford-educated as he was
(though a failed Professor, so ended up at the greengrocer’s)
he said: *“That you must induce or encourage in your wife, Sir;
I cannot and will not be of service in that connection.”*
And I slowed down and I said:
“Well, dear fellow – for my wife, have you any organic vegetables?”
And Oxford-educated as he was, he did not understand such fads
having mostly a sedate and Classical demeanour
and he pointed his most English nose to the air;
and so I attempted again to sensible-phrase my inquiry:
*“Are your vegetables -
and this I ask on account of my esteemed wife -
sprayed with poisonous chemicals?”*
And the Oxford guy apprehended now, and he pronounced:
*“Poisonous chemicals for your spouse
you must procure yourself, Sir”*
Now, that was an idea. I knew Oxford-educated guys
were smart in some way or other.
And since then I have been free of my wife.
I have no need to run on errands for no baby, no more;
though I do have to count bars,
limited as my numerical skills are,
as is my verbal proficiency.
And the Oxford guy, meanwhile, I have it from the grapevine,
has set up an ******** Food Chain Store*, worldwide;
I knew he’d go places, sooner or later, far and global
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 8:06 AM UTC
welcome to the hollow cake
buttered by cream frosting
its no fun being the rat in wax
is it?
was the garnish good, at least?
we're here only moments
and they're being wasted every minute
just like all the opportunities
that have gone on by
there's still plenty game to be had
a plentiful lot in play
pennies for each of their fads
hair changes, and ripped stockings
handmade
but when the dye fades
your mascara runs
was it fun?
Jan 13, 2021
Jan 13, 2021 at 6:21 PM UTC
We've done it
We've did it
It's concurred and done
We've been at it since two thousand and one
The Class of 2014 is what we are
And boy have we gotten far
We are the generation that expierienced things none other has
From 9-11 to those new Internet fads
We are turning our tassel
It took a thirteen year haul of hassle
But as we stand
Diploma in our hand
We know it was worth it
We are the Class of 2014
And we did one heck of a job
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 9:28 PM UTC
Print screen my whole being,
in the cadence of seasons changed.
Generation X's sweet heartbreak.
Strangers share the pain.
We walk the walk online,
nowadays,
in these times that are a changed.
Changing no more - subtly maybe.
The footfall of history stored,
in Google baby,
& terrabytes & ram.
A virus called.
And the rhyming stalled,
until;
Man made museums in nothing, but,
soldiered components,
smaller than the eye can see.
Nano moments,
lost in scrolled screens,
likes and comments,
compassion shared
around,
the world,
until forgotten;
fads
fade
away,
into familiarities.
Then we logged out of life,
and left reality behind smokescreens,
of PCs
HD ready, on blue days -
Blue Rays,
now smaller.
microsized.
Our brain waves microwaved.
Attention spans,
in the palm of our mouse shaped hands.
Say goodbye to the old days,
guilty as charged,
in
the strife of low battery life;
running out of charge.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 8:06 AM UTC
Desensitized by the sands of time
I'm abhorred you're a cultural cog
Bobbing on the surface
you find eating gulls disgusting
but don't bat an eye at nauseous oil slicks
I wish I could set it all ablaze
so we'd pick our destinies more carefully
Or more care freely
You see me as a motley mesh
Flesh covered by cloths from mismatched fads
Yet, you're a pretentious simian that's forgot our past
Just a gussied up grazer, disavowing discomfort
scoffing at any endeavor that isn't grass flavored
The chimers on the lawn are all robed outcasts
bellowing to the fodder eating fodder
the posh set the stalks to be mowed over
But for the justice of all the inside out bulls
leaving their wallets on the ground
the entrail fashion never catches on
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 7:20 PM UTC
Designer clothes, glittering cars,
A million buck fragrance,
Costly drink at the bars,
Flying in chartered planes,
Your so called stars ,
Celebs at the parties,
Smoking cigars .
Oh, you like calling it high society ?
Then please do, mister,
I can take facts with ease.
I've been a slave to it, since so long,
I know how ******* high it is.
Effin brats of billionaire dads,
Acting cool with pricey ****
******* roaming in alluring rags,
All slaves like me, of tempting fads.
Jul 11, 2010
Jul 11, 2010 at 11:37 AM UTC
let me be original
let me show the world what i am made of.
I was told living
was all about not becoming
some print out that came out
of the copy machine
but some limited adittion
with a copywrite stamp
on the backside.
my brain is not some archetype
for you to fill the spaces of.
i'm not some idea bank you can
go to and pick out of when you're feeling
ų̠̈̔ n͍̈̇͜ i̘̺̐̅ n̗̜̽̓ s̼̜͠͠ p͎̱͂͆ ĭ̼̠̋ ȓ̺͕̕ e̢͙͐̎ d͎̯̀͐
i do not crave for fads but indivduality
that you destroy within the hours of release;
not even letting the *** simmer before
you douse it in flames.
my innovation nothing but a trend
no one knows the origins of.
i am not some carbon copy
so stop making me into one
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 2:37 AM UTC
this is my facebook
real facebook
instead of connecting with fake friends for numbers
i'm connecting with friends i never knew i had
people here pick me up when i'm sad
a community that breaks hoplessness and fads
a place where beauty doesn't mean perfect
my facebook is right here with everybody
theres no santas list
everybody has been naughty
and i don't put my life on display
i display my feelings
because no matter what
i know you won't judge
so i'll be the first to say
i love you facebook
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 11:50 AM UTC
Hello Super Bowl Sunday,
I don't really know you
I know I should be attentive,
but I haven't got a clue
You are a holiday to many,
a really big deal
But to me you are a mystery,
and an excuse for a meal
A game to watch, I get it,
and some really pricey ads
I can watch what others scream about,
and pick up on new fads
I feel I am outside looking in,
on others' joys and sorrow
They will hype all day beforehand,
recapping all tomorrow
After all, its just a game,
Not filled with reason and rhyme
But I will get my revenge next month,
when it's Oscars Time!!
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 1:10 PM UTC
As my illogic breaks, I'll robot make
to be this soul's chamber,
robbing a piecemeal joy from misfit toys
tossed out for fine tuning
by toddlers cheery mad to gorge on fads.
I'll take their T-Rex head,
with droopy lids that wink as if to drink
the world's wide-shallow stares,
plug its plastic prongs in torso of tin
while twin squeeze-box arms splay
to tie magnetic bows round pads below
gold, plush lion cub's legs.
This moppet of mixed breeds I'll learned feed
with animate cunning
to be ruled by charmed laws that give it pause
when whole-sum circumstance
tangles fuzzy circuits. Then a circus-
wire's unbalancing act
I'll paste from templed flesh to doll enmeshed
by transfuse rigging,
and as coil comes to slough, just as I'm off,
I'll flip that gilded switch,
implanting my spirit into a bit
of copper-hued country.
Mar 31, 2010
Mar 31, 2010 at 9:49 AM UTC
When I look in the mirror
I lay my eyes on a terrible sight
An image so horrendous
It brings tears to my eyes
They all say "Honey, You're Beautiful!"
To which I pretend to agree
They all say "Please don't listen to anyone who says otherwise."
But then I ask my self,
Why would I ignore the people who are truthful?
My face is a mess
It's full of all kinds of red marks
My chest is so flat
It's almost like I'm a guy
My stomach is gross
I'm not skinny like those other girls
My thighs repulse me
They're full of scars and are way to big
So when I look in the mirror
I say to my self
"Why can't I be perfect?"
"Or even just a little bit prettier?"
I ask my self why people lie to me
They give me compliments
That are obvious lies
My boyfriend say "Babe you're perfect!"
To which I reply "Haha sure thanks"
He thinks I'm just modest
But if only he saw what I see
He would be repulsed
He'd flee the scene
My best friend
She says "I wish I was as pretty as you."
Until then I never understood
I guess friendships really are built on lies
The number that I see on the scale
Is much too high for me to bare
The size of my pants
Is much too big for me to handle
The size of my bra
Is much to small for me to feel proud
So off I go
Look up new dieting fads
Promising my self I'll make my self better
But as I know
I'll soon stop trying
And begin the cycle anew
But for now I'll try
Just skip a couple more meals
Maybe this time I can do it
Be perfect in my eyes...
Not disgusting.
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 2:58 AM UTC
I am a garb.
An outfit.
I am now in season.
And in trend.
I am well loved.
Well received.
But fads pass...
What used to be the rage
will eventually fade.
What used to be sought after
will inadvertently be shelved.
And forgotten.
So wear me now.
Fill me full.
As you grow,
my sleeves would shorten.
And seams would burst.
Wear me now.
For I am your garb.
And I still fit.
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 9:29 AM UTC
A prophesied alarm ticks away,
As sobering faces make their way.
Welcome oh stranger, to the land of the learned,
A trip from a ticket handsomely earned.
Watch your crooked tongue,
Forked and twisted in a manner wrong.
For here there be beasts and creatures,
In the midst of dreams and futures.
Through the air drifts the scent of a fanciful tonic,
Quelling instinct, and suppressing the panic.
Walk past the snappy ladies and lads,
Peering at screens for the latest fads.
Watch their suits emanate regality,
Killing the scene with sheer brutality.
See through the pores of that fine fabric,
And you'll find the remnants of a familiar trick.
Not unlike the wisdom of the wizened,
The words of the victorious, the echoes of the poisoned.
Underneath it all, see the truth,
Strip away the puffed, monstrous brute.
It's a dainty little feeling, fear they call it,
On their faces, clear and large is it writ.
They turn from the brave to the meek,
Everyone caught in this noxious reek.
What they ought to have predicted,
Is that this reverie is self inflicted.
Sullen cheeks, and drippy noses abound,
Waiting to be addressed and found.
This place is a walking minefield,
Of broken bones and souls to be healed.
But its not their fault, I can't complain,
Because all they feel they don't feign.
As in the midst of this perennial parade,
I find solace in the friends I've made.
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 10:28 AM UTC
We'd return tired from the green patches we toil,
or in deep blue, we sail our crafts days on end,
ordinary folk, we are, we worship work
morning sun wakes us up as soon as he shows up,
we set about quick and stand our ground till the sun leaves,
we are worried about nothing, no quills for us nor frills,
one thought leads us forward, we seek light, till it lasts
we fought, relentlessly we did,to make both ends meet,
we fought, we fought, to stop the rot, day in and day out
We ate cooked cassava root, drank spring water,
when winter came, we shivered in palm leaf thatched huts,
all those who were known smart had their proclivities and fads,
on the streets,we buy and sell, we haggle all through our lives,
nobody seeks us for anything, we are invisible, in the dark
we have no special place in anything, anywhere.
Silently we fought, kept our aching souls clean,
never we were in ballads, tales or honor lists,
in every roll call, our names went missing,
when nemesis struck, it came for us first
in times of calamities, our bodies lay strewn
all over the country and all around the towns,
every one was rescued and kept in shelters
authorities loudly claimed but it was not about us
we waited and waited yet relief didn't come.
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 12:49 PM UTC
Lonely Butterfly
Listen
do you hear it
the sound of wind rushing in
winter is on its way
with the clouds of Gray
the buttress colors of summer fads
I hide my heart in rain showers
the Flowers in my garden are faded
they look almost as lonely as I
the beauty of true clarity has succeeded
the veils of one’s true colors wove the sea
frost bitten blossoms in an envious eye
lost puzzled and all alone
Cold as stone in my home
I am a Lonely Butterfly ready to fly on high
I fly around in the dark world I live
to find my shining spot of true Love to Live.
Poetic Judy Emery © 1980
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 1:36 PM UTC
Twitter is stupid
Facebook is dull
It would be a nightmare
To keep track of them all
I’ve never liked MySpace
It’s such a huge bore
And checking my e mail
Is such a huge chore
I’m writing this poem
To post on the net
And it will get zero
Responses I bet
I’m tired of chat rooms
And lame game requests
I can’t download free music
Due to stupid virus threats
I hate those annoying
And tiresome Pop up ads
I don't need ******
Or new fashion fads
When the clip on the YouTube
Says like it or loathe it
Why should I answer,
When I think nothing of it
But despite all the bull ****
I’ll stay online all day
Or just for a little bit
Dec 24, 2011
Dec 24, 2011 at 9:06 AM UTC