"flappers" poems
Why is it so cool to hate on a group
for their fashion sense?
Or that they like to be off the mainstream?
You are doing the same thing that
people were doing to the
grunge
goths
punks
hippies
beatniks
flappers
and they all did something with their counterculture.
Ever think that
ours is the hipsters?
Not really,
they've been around since *The *** Pistols*
actually
they started them.
They made it cool to go to a thrift store
and buy things out of comfort
then rip it up
change it so it looked brand new.
Punk
that made Hipsters.
But now they are just some fad
that people hate on.
Just because they like to talk about
indie bands
knowing them first
wearing band tee's of bands they listen too
wearing vintage and retro clothing
likes reading
being in a cafe
organic food
vegan.
Stereotyping a group is all people did.
Now I can't wear things or do things
because some *** hole is going
to say
**"Ha you're such a ******* hipster!"**
Why don't we stop hating people on what they wear
because how do you expect to get past
racism
homophobia
sexism
ableism
fatphobia
transphobia
prejudice
if we can't even get past how people dress?
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 12:28 PM UTC
Jazz, women, and the start of a new era.
Gambling, drinking, the illegal actions
That gave everyone a thrill.
They are doing it, so why can't I?
Parties, drinking, music, recklessness.
A bit of freedom and women run loose like
They've never seen the light of the moon,
They are the flappers.
Moving pictures like magic,
Lets go to the movies,
Lets go see the stars!
The drama!
The machines! The wonders of
Mass production and a gas engine!
Speed and toxic smells of factories.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
Hip hop. Equals art stop. That crude **** stopped musical fusion
Right in its tracks.
When it first landed, it was still music with a lotta spittle flying.
Not naming names. I listened to a lot of it.
Then Gangsta rap hit. Oh ****
Cant accuse me of blind judgment, I still check it out from time to time
How do you say.Get diverse mud flappers. Know the history.
learn to play an instrument and read it so you can write it. Then come back an see me.
Who am I?.
John Q public.
Pavlov's dog.
Tin Pan Ali.
Long Tall sally.
Sachmo. Scratch less.
Yard-bird.
Donald Bird.
Stubborn ****
Stuff out there is weak as thrice used tea bags. And cost more to get unless you got
a peg leg and a parrot ******** on yer shoulder.
Lyrically, man my six year old says more about less with **** left over. What?
Flame out digitized No talent constructs that make me wanna hurl, url give a dog a bone.
Tin eared, tone def hoochies and synthetic cool cats. Not to mention the rough neks.
Looking like they pooped their pants six times and forgot how to belt up.
There are some real deal talents out there but it is like pickin peanuts out ****
After disco died. Yes I said disco. It has been a circle **** in the cemetery after dark. Naw mean.
But I digress.
.
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 4:42 AM UTC
Dream Catchers, egg hatchers, baby Snatchers, **** wackers, lip smackers, online hackers, ***** slappers, hand clappers, exotic flappers, lazy slackers, suitcase packers, & back stabbers.
Hate & defeated, cheat & feel the heat. Too weak & petite. Tales of hell, wishes on a well, thoughts are things you can't always sell. Sometimes words can be lies liars tell. One day to your death to you fell.
Pass it on. I don't belong. Some people are wrong. Die. I won't cry.
Pakrat hoarders, pro choice aborters, two faced home wreckers, voodoo curses, retired lazy old nurses.
Deaf & Blind, racist & unkind, poor & unemployed. Broke & exploited. Dumb, old, ugly, & fat. ***** stinking rat. Piles & piles of crap.
College professors, real estate investors, coaches, cockaroaches, poachers, perverts & ****** meat eatting caravores. Bums & addicts drunks & fanatics, obsessive compulsive, stalkers too possessive, insane aggressive.
Author Notes :
Partially true, could be your family.
© Harmony Sapphire . All rights reserved,
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 3:34 PM UTC
the only time we care about the poor
is in disaster,
there's been freedom for decades,
but we're still owned by slave masters,
incorporated trademarks
branded on our spine,
the american dream,
might as well be bovine.
flagpole sitting flappers,
never expect to fall,
'33 til infinity,
greed affects us all,
and it's more,
than a disease,
there's no atticus,
instead, great gatsbies.
and boo radley,
aint gonna right these wrongs,
all we've got are our words
and the will to stand strong,
and it seems we're just monkeys,
launched into orbit,
in spaceships,
that only fall once reality hits,
and i don't see any solutions soon,
we consume and presume,
that this is all a cartoon,
asterix fiction,
we lack conviction,
we lack the diction,
to speak our mind,
we are confined,
to the roles,
and the moulds,
and the holes,
that are made for our souls,
we stay out of the spotlight,
even when the times right,
allergic to great heights,
like madden going to superbowls.
ice cold,
a wise man said was cooler than cool
but these fools aint never heard of ice-nine,
it's the right time,
got the right rhymes,
who cares about these thugs,
i'm set on madoff crimes,
who cares about the dealers,
follow the money like the wire,
we're civilians in vans under apache fire,
and the cover-up is comin,
the cover-up is comin
the cover-up is comin
the cover-up is comin
the only time i'm hostile,
is within,
when i gotta smile
at these businessmen,
that are tearing us apart,
and ******** on our soil,
tearing out our hearts,
creeping like the mcboyles,
i've toiled in the trenches,
for most of my days,
as have the majority of those i know,
and we can't just quit,
we gotta get paid,
materialstic societies depend on dough,
so we dream of being on boats like samberg
the only threat to our fatasses is the hamburg
-ler, there's no cure, there's no care,
there's no health, it's not fair,
but if you keep on dreamin, one day it'll be there,
simply stare at the sun, things'll brighten up,
keep buying that product, trust me, they give a ****
fall into place, stand in single file,
and whatever you do, don't forget to smile.
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 4:21 PM UTC
We do not compare to one another.
My skin is the coal the people used.
Your skin is the powder the flappers adore.
My soul is deep and my heart is pure.
Pure as white!
Your soul is shallow and your heart is dark.
Darker than the skin my people hold.
We may not compare, but you are my brother.
Not by blood
or by class.
We are fused-
Fused by lives we live and the past we lived
We are connected forevermore.
There was a master and he was cruel.
The crackle of the whip was the electric shock of my greats. There was no hope for the slave that cried.
There was no voice for the slave that remained strong.
Flight was the tantalizing thought.
The slave hadn't a chance to live in flight or freedom.
Their was only the need to fight.
Fight to live and fight to breathe.
Those greats so far down kept on fighting.
They kept on preserving.
They had their beauty that could never be touched.
White Man, White Man listen to me.
I was the coal that was used.
I was the coal that was taken from its home.
I was the coal that was discarded and given freedom.
The flappers are young and they love their powder.
You will be used and you will become the slave.
I am the coal that is free.
You are the powder that is used.
My beauty will never will fill a white mans body.
Too much has been seen and too much has been lived.
No white can hold my strength and no white can hold my beauty.
They are mine and forever will be.
My soul is deep and my heart is pure.
I shall not be condemned to this life no more.
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 10:44 PM UTC
Hot Jazz, subsonic blasts!
My whoopee cushions deflating fast!
Rumble squeaks, the but kazoo,
cheeky flappers 2 by 2!
So toot your horns and raise a glass,
for trouser dancing's such a gas!
At the soggy bottom dew.
( )*( )
https://youtu.be/iSGzMaSgws4
Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 1:02 PM UTC
Bolted junkyard
and the absenteeism
flits me winding up..
Counting the preumbra of Columba livia
on those marmalade hue of maudlin chillness..
As it commixes up onto wafting airborne:
drifting over the scattered cumulonimbus.
Far flocking flappers .
80° collateral to peeking atomic number 10.
Oh crystalline form of pure carbon..
All mighty massif .
All parallel to 180°.
99 sometimes .
69 and 36 degree.
minus the 13, it sways...
the oscillating stripes.
And the vivid blazing heap of splitting cotton-balls ..
metamorphosing into some voodoo like
Magical. magnetic. amethyst horizon
Devouring the fading dodger wide blue .
Then restoration again.
The alter coequal to dreary cawing
And these paranoiac utterance...
The phantasm.
The illusion..
and
eye..
skidding off-track the reality.
Detaining every grasp of it.
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 12:19 PM UTC
Burlesque, Jazz, painting and literature
In the golden age of stripping
Four different golden ages converged---
The golden age of burlesque: Gypsy Rose Lee, Blaze Starr, Tempest Storm---the beats; Burroughs, Kerouac, Ginsberg---
The golden age of modern art; Pollack et al---Motherwell, etc.---the golden age of literature, the golden age
of music after swing’s drop dead ghosts,
hiding in fur dyed hot bebop---
the ghost of the roaring twenties, flappers’ ghosts
and beat girls smoking cigarettes,
casually ***** the dawn of the atomic age
came late---strippers come early,
dancing in like Flora Dora girls showing their garters---
Hot Hot Hot---the origin of swing in her sweaty leotard---
Martha Graham and St. Vincent Millay and others---
Stripping has come down to Dita from Lily,
U know Betty’s in the kitchen w/ her cookies---
Her: Barbara the nurse, the cookie dealer,
What’s-her-name---the woman who is still rich,
I can find her on Match.com where Mary-Ann Mobley found her British soul mate---U know her puppet lover, Miss America 1959 Miss History, June in Paris---her Barbie,
Troy of the broken boulders---
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 11:08 PM UTC
Every generation of young girls considers
themselves the new Flappers & proceed
to do just what their mothers did at their
age; every generation of young boys think
of themselves as the new Beats, going on
to do exactly what their fathers did at that
age; this has been going on since Greek
philosophers & temple prostitutes, from
wizards & witches to *********** & selfies.
Jan 27, 2019
Jan 27, 2019 at 5:56 PM UTC
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 2:44 AM UTC
Loathsome little loving liars
Lying laughingly lazily
Poor pretentious puny pet
Phrasing picture perfect plays
Forty ******* fornicators
Flogging feathered flappers
Words wired without winds
Wistfully woven wrongfully
Bi-curious bitey bell-shaped *******
Bump big butts boastfully
Helping Harry's holey hippocampus
Holes he hides here hazily
Jun 18, 2019
Jun 18, 2019 at 10:43 PM UTC