"glam" poems
We were promised
Glitz and glam
Love and security
Never the beating down
Of our own
Never the feeling
Of an unlovable soul
Waterfalls into the night
We all know something ain't right
The nonsensical millennial
Smokes into the night
The harder we work
The harder we fall to our dying depths
And you wonder why
We haven't slept yet
We were promised
And now we are ****** off
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 12:01 AM UTC
It’s something that try we should
To provide the parrot its basic food
Apple minus seeds mango banana
Grape orange guava papaya
As for vegetables cooked dried bean
With beet broccoli its heart you can win
Cucumber carrot and cauliflower
They surely love like they love a shower
Corn on the cob is fun for parrot
They aren’t fussy as them you thought
Hot peppers peapod lettuce
For them delicacies you can choose
Sweet and baked potato well cooked yam
They devour in delight add to their glam
Parrots are cute friendly and nice
Give them oatmeal millet brown rice
They’re not greedy from you they won’t beg
Though these birds love scrambled boiled egg
The parrot is innocent gorgeous and sweet
Can’t call them carnivore yes they like meat
Must talk to them and not keep your mouth shut
Your loving pet the parrot loves occasional nut.
Now words of caution what don’t do them good
Candy and chocolate and all junk food
I know you are smart and not at all mean
To offer this wonder bird mushrooms caffeine
Believe my words they aren’t my opinion
Use them in your food don’t give them onion
Dairy products for them are a big ‘no’ ‘no’
You surely want them to healthily glow
Give the parrot shower keep its cage clean
Give them just fresh foods no sugar no caffeine
Say ‘no’ to pesticides choose only organic
See in their bowel nothing goes toxic
Follow what I’ve said the task is not hard
Spend your time well with this beautiful bird.
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 8:18 AM UTC
My throat’s all scratched from this screaming I’ve done
My diaphragm is all rubbery from these animal calls
But I carry on until you answer my distresses
O Captain, o Captain! Take me away from these generic hoes
I’m too swag for this ghetto
These ******* be hatin’ but you were always mine for the takin’
So take me now—like I did you…
Please. We’re friends. We’ve partied together and cried together.
I even bought you taco bell.
Take me away on your disco stick because
This club can’t handle me and my electric *** pants
What good is your love when just our chakras touch…
I need your grasp, I need your smell…and your **** dramatic stare
Captain, my Captain, you may not be fly like Kanye
And I may not be glam like Beyoncé,
But this club can’t handle us right now
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 7:31 AM UTC
Prisoners of their own success
Their world now micro-sized
Fan adulation to excess
Their love is just disguised
Their objects of affection
Live their lives inside a bubble
Leaving their prison, though it's self imposed
Could bring them worlds of trouble
A truck driver from Tupelo
A pop band from the 'pool
A superstar from Hoboken,
And one...the King of Cool
The superstar from Hoboken
Became the Chairman of The Board
If you made it into his 'rat pack'
You knew you'd really scored
His movies and his music
Made him the world's number one
But he had to minimize his world
When someone stole his son
His boy was kidnapped, truthfully
Back in 1965
And through his contacts in the mob
He got his son back home alive
This is the price of fame folks
Behind the glitter and the glam
They've got to have their safety
But the fans don't give a ****
Prisoners of their own success
Their world now micro-sized
Fan adulation to excess
Their love is just disguised
Their objects of affection
Live their lives inside a bubble
Leaving their prison, though it's self imposed
Could bring them worlds of trouble
The Memphis Mafia gave protection
To The King of Rock and Roll
But, by choice his world got smaller
And he went into a hole
He built a house in Memphis
To protect him from his fans
And thanks to Dr. Feelgood
He died a lonely, broken man
He couldn't live the life he earned
He was a prisioner instead
It's a shame he has more value
Now that he is dead
Prisoners of their own success
Their world now micro-sized
Fan adulation to excess
Their love is just disguised
Their objects of affection
Live their lives inside a bubble
Leaving their prison, though it's self imposed
Could bring them worlds of trouble
He'd a partner and was cool
He was suave and sang songs
And he worked with a "fool"
They conquered the nightclubs
They were known near and far
But his created alter ego
Lived his life at the bar
He ran with Frank Sinatra
He was the King of Cool
But when The Chairman started lessons
Dean was right there in his school
The Beatles broke in Hamburg
But way back in sixty two
Their bubble was just forming
There was nothing they could do
They lived their life behind the scenes
For when they did go out
The girls would all go crazy
And the world would twist and shout
Privacy came hard for them
They went four separate ways
These four young men from Liverpool
LIved life inside a maze.
It's sad that adulation
takes their freedom, makes them hide
But they're safer locked away from us
They're safer locked inside
Prisoners of their own success
Their world's now micro-sized
Fan adulation to excess
Their love is just disguised
Their objects of affection
Live their lives inside a bubble
Leaving their prison, though it's self imposed
Could bring them worlds of trouble
May 8, 2012
May 8, 2012 at 8:21 PM UTC
Oh young barret of the night. Who steals from the dreams of lost sain children like Moloch. The decrypted white house was nothing but A sanctuary for degenerates. the man… MAD… MAD was the man MAD, was the house, MAD were the claimers, MAD were the slaves to the slick but king of so called glam MAD was the man MAD MAD MAD.
The barret was entering the house, leaving behind all. what has become of my young love asks me? he enters. MAD was he who entered the trap, MAD was he who allowed, MAD was who gave no warning of the moloch sacrifice being made to the two of his so called servants. MAD was all i say MAD MAD MAD, MAD was he who wanted to be hailed like Fernand, MAD was he who wanted to be king like Henry the 8th, MAD was he who wanted to use like Baron Neuvillette, MAD was he who wanted doll oh doll how can you do this.
Oh ADONAL for if you do exist why have you allowed this, oh ADONAL for if you exist why have you for seen this, oh ADONAl for if you exist why have you told of my eternity. Oh ADONAL why? are you mad? for the people shall not say oh ADONAL well this blow over as fast as Holly or as fast of yourself.
he who does as told, he who does what he thinks right for his so called gift. MAD for the betrayal of trust between the packed, MAD was he for the lack of word, Like a mute oh ADONAL like a mute he was! MAD was he who acted like Bromdens father, MAD .
MAD MAD MAD MAD MAD is I for the envolvment of my cellar of time, MAD is I for what i have started and what have become of my creations, MAD is I for all, MAD is I for you, for she, for he, for ***** all mad, MAD is I for maybe i is mad.
written by Keone L Friesian. copyright to Keone Friesian
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 1:35 AM UTC
Some say it should go burn in hell
That the money leaves a really bad smell
But hit and giggle
Or **** and piddle
It's here to stay the IPL.
From countries far and wide
Come players with heaps of pride
But if they fail
You'll hear them wail
For there is not anywhere to hide
The cheques books come out
The auctioneers will shout
Some Players get bought
Some others get naught
The IPL now has such clout
The turn-styles are all in clamour
The Batsmen are using the hammer
They go for the big six
Bowlers try their new tricks
So cricket is married to glamour
Should cricket become this glam
When the ball is met with a blam
hit way in the air
didn't see you there
Sorry about that Maam!
Feb 9, 2010
Feb 9, 2010 at 10:52 PM UTC
Never had a single
Sang to empty clubs and bars
It seemed our music came from Venus
While the crowd was all from Mars
We've been doing, well...a comeback
Though we never went away
We've been here, though no one knew it
You know this band is here to stay
No one knows our music
Now we have a different crowd
They don't care what we play them
As long as it is loud
No faces look familiar
Although the bars all look the same
I guess we should be thankful
If at the end they know our name
We knock off songs they've never heard
We play them just for us
They ask for stuff we do no know
And they rarely make a fuss
It's not the same as it once was
And neither then are we
We're doing well, a comeback tour
Though we've been here since sixty three
Some kids think we're the shadows
Hermans Hermits, or the Pips
We don't care that much though
If it gets us bigger tips
We missed out on a contract
When glam rock knocked us aside
We wouldn't wear the makeup
I would rather go and hide
We still play clubs and empty bars
Done it now for 50 years
We make a bit more money
We don't waste it all on beers
We've never gone away though
Even though folks always say
We're glad you're back together
We never ever went away
We're a band that loves it's music
Never made it big
We're out doing a comeback
Me, Ronnie, Bart and Stig
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 11:22 PM UTC
Goth Glam was a 2010 daydream.
I’ve detached myself
So far
From everything
That
When I got there
I realized,
I was staring at the very
edge of nothing
In the
Darkest parts of
Outer-mental space.
Space
Is
Cold&Empty;
So I am.
Here’s to finding
Light in darkness.
Until then,
I’ll be
Swimming in the slimming,
Black Sea.
Apr 5, 2012
Apr 5, 2012 at 12:14 AM UTC
Superheros as they say
They are all the rage today
Superheros are the glam
But Jesus is stronger than Superman
(Chorus)
Jesus is stronger than Superman
Jesus is stronger, He has a plan
Jesus could save the whole
Wide world....
Every man woman boy and girl
Can Transformers
Heal the sick?
Thor or Jesus, take your pick
That Green Lantern has a car
But Jesus made the moon and stars
(Chorus)
Could Robin walk upon the sea?
Could Batman die for you and me?
Spider Man climbs buildings tall
But Christ's the Saviour of us all!
(Chorus)
Superheros can be weak
Jesus Christ's the one to seek
Just turn to the great I AM
Cuz Jesus is stronger than Superman
(Chorus)
children cheering... Yaaay!!!
SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
(C) September 28, 2014
(rewritten)
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 6:10 PM UTC
unscrupulous universe
steeped in illusion and so
electrifiedcrazy
with
infernal edges chafed
against tinfoil stars
bent and
broken.
they make believe that they are beautiful.
unscrupulous people
sharply disillusioned and so
upandoutwild
with
rough edges filed smooth
with makeup and glam
but they're still
bent and
broken.
they make believe that they are beautiful.
understated words
creating an illusion and so
slipperysilverfleeting
with
dark corners coming
alive under the
pretense of fiction
bent but not
broken.
they know that they are beautiful.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 12:59 AM UTC
my wonderful nanny
is not actually a nanny.
she likes to be called Annie
and doesn't carry a *****
she writes poems about us and day drinks.
she likes to cuss and never makes a fuss.
she even gets her hair done regularly, unlike other grannies.
her makeup is always perfect, her red lipstick signature.
her sunglasses are just divine and delicious.
she is a glam-ma
Nanny Annie is the best.
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 8:02 PM UTC
Music
Running out of time, nothing left to rhyme,
no longer in my prime, listening to Sublime.
Used to smoke **** slaves I have freed,
red I still bleed, listening to Creed.
I'm all that, I have kicked my cat,
my girl is a brat, listening to Ratt.
Invented a love potion, makes girls frozen,
many things I've broken, listening to Poison.
Buried in the sand, not what I planned,
I need a helping hand, listening to The Steve Miller Band.
Too many cell phones, can never get any loans,
love the show Bones, listening to The Rolling Stones.
Confessing all my sins, playing some violins,
dizzy from the spins, listening to The Thompson Twins.
Standing in the cold, my life is uncontrolled,
just got paroled, listening to Avenged Sevenfold.
Sprayed with mace, kicked in the face,
stuck in this rat race, listening to Three Days Grace.
Working the graveyard shift, lots of sand I must sift,
my life needs a lift, listening to Taylor Swift.
Living in Illinois, tired of hearing noise,
losing all my poise, listening to The Beach Boys.
No hands on the clock, it's me people mock,
dryer stole another sock, listening to Kid Rock.
Music has made me what I am,
loving the hairbands and the glam.
Hard rock is all I know,
how could you not like Ugly Kid Joe.
Heavy metal is where it's at,
all the older bands are bald and fat.
Top forty isn't half bad,
every year it's a different fad.
Disco and grunge had a short stay,
Nirvana and Pearl Jam, get too much air play.
Hip hop and rap has been around to long,
can they even sing a real song.
Nothing will ever beat the eighties,
spandex, hair and all the ***** ladies.
My two favorite songs are Sister Christian,
and Here I go Again,
those songs remind me of way back when.
Country, well that will always ****
rednecks, Nascar, hunting and a giant truck.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 1:58 AM UTC
If God,
really wanted
his creations to
be hidden,
in the closet.
He wouldn't have
put a door **** on
the closet door,
in the first place.
Open up your mind and,
construct your
confidence,
turn the
free-life,
door ****
&
Say a prayer
Then strut the **** out
of the darkness
into
the technicolor love
rainbow.
I may be a
prissy princess
but underneath
all the
gay, goth, glam
are big
******* steel *****
**** me,
I'm easy.
Just kidding,
I'm infamous.
8==D
god <3's gay people.
religions h8.
not god.
god = love
Mar 28, 2012
Mar 28, 2012 at 5:34 PM UTC
here's to the glam rock messiah of outsiders and misfits,
the androgynous man of the stars with the music.
born in brixton,
he traveled the universe by spaceships and soundwaves
with wild hair and one eye dilated.
book-loving and queer,
in love with the thought of turning 50.
the world had never seen a man
living different lives at once,
but here the starman came reinventing himself:
ziggy stardust, thin white duke, aladdin sane, major tom—
all different selves tied together by his heart.
he lived his earthly mission, rightfully so
that even the gravity of the world could not keep him put.
so on and on he strummed his guitar and crawled on stage,
in spaceboots and dresses, in porcelain doll makeup,
reaching out to all the nobody and somebody people
but one day his cosmic vessel
was taken down by a secret sickness
and halted his mission here on earth,
and so the streets and little bars smelling of cigars
were flooded by the ones who mourned,
who looked up to the stars,
wondering where their starman went.
the world had never seen such an electric creature,
but here the star man came in music and dance,
saying it was alright to be weird—
to embrace strangeness
in a world where every earthling wanted to be the same.
and perhaps, he isn't really long gone:
his time here may have ended
but now he is out there, somewhere,
on some distant star,
watching over the Earth as he always has.
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 11:31 AM UTC
She
Is the apple of a selfish man's eye
The one every girl despised,
An excuse for the jealous stirring
They felt in their bones
Every time she strode
Head high
Chin up
She
Carried a backpack of never ending jokes
Wherever she stopped by
And the only giggles she could
Involuntarily
Push
Out of the mouths of her helpless followers,
Were the genuine types,
The laughter
After
Depression and tension
She
Bloomed in ball gowns
And party dresses
She could keep her heels well shined
While still
Strutting
On the dance floor
Nothing but glitter
And glam
And a girl with passion and desire
But
This is how the world saw her
Watching from a car window
Nothing but her appearance and facade
Her, at the least of what she was
Behind the curtain of
Pretty
Her hair and humor blessed her with,
Was a landscape of
Beauty,
Her for what she is
And if you tried hard enough
You would see that
She captures the heart more than any set of eyes.
She could make you laugh hard enough
To make the lemonade pour out of your nose.
She could sing up your spirits with a melody that goes "you are beautiful".
She could rock the formal attire society required,
But she looked far more joyous in sweatpants and rock concert t-shirts.
She is jolly more than giggles
She is grace more than glitter
She is beauty more than pretty
My, if you met her,
You'd called it blessed rather than lucky
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 5:44 AM UTC
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gKPEOfybQak&feature;=related
*Remember his name when you look at the night sky.
- the Toe-cutter*
You are the Night Rider,
a fuel-injected suicide machine,
a rocker, a roller,
a no-controller,
yer a cop killer,
the mighty weird hand of vengeance
come to smite the un-roadworthy.
You, Night Rider,
clearly unaffected
by the state’s urgings
to “yield” and, perhaps,
“soft shoulder”.
You are the Night Rider,
sleeping in on a Tuesday,
performing your masculinity
in unshowered, unshaved machissmo.
Night Rider,
won’t you come to your senses?
Nobody enjoys maniacal laughter
anymore.
It makes us think of ****
covered in fleas, bedbugs,
whiskey ****
or Janis,
and the last moments of an American Saigon.
Ahh… Night Rider,
we share your machine lust,
your fetish,
your hard-on for the muscle-bitch,
the suped-up hot rod,
the last of the V-8 Interceptors
(1973 Australian Ford XB Falcon GT).
We, too, like a nitrous kit,
a roof and tail spoiler,
we likes our flat black:
………....................our murderous speed
………..........................has driven daddy to drinkin’.
We ride!
Night Rider, we understand.
We get the lurid infatuation,
but, **** yer a hick-weed,
all these roads lead to jail
–how have you not grasped this simple truth?
The highway is not freedom,
but a circular slave song.
Oh, rider of the night,
why all the re-runs of Seinfeld?
And cheese bread?
You’ve grown a belly, N.R.,
and while it might be glam
to be young, dumb
and full of ***
or all muscle
in butt-less chaps at 21,
you’re 45, Night Rider,
and no-one cares anymore
about your straight-line revolution,
about your road to freedom,
about it,
about what kind of future
you and Floosie would’a made.
The kids are alright
but
they ain’t never heard
of you
nor your last,
wild-eyed flight.
As the Lord Humungous has indicated,
no one
gets out
alive.
Jun 22, 2012
Jun 22, 2012 at 3:09 PM UTC
#NoMakeUp
Chic lookin' like death,
with her dyed platinum blond hair,
her fake silicone **** and all that make up,
over dressed like Halloween **** girl I'm scared,
the less you wear,
the less impressed I am,
you get dressed up just to get messed up,
smoke a cigarette then get your teeth whitened,
you get done up glam,
just to get run up in,
when,
in the world was it ever okay,
to,
disrespect yourself that way?
Getting fckt by strangers,
without getting money or commitments,
that means you're like a **********
a ********** that's not even good at business,
you're a despicable disgrace,
to the entire female race,
you wear all that cover-up,
because you've got Krocodil face,
that's Krocodil with a 'K',
better get it straight,
the kind from Russia,
that will eat your face,
eat your whole face off,
face it,
the facts are basic,
real women look way better without any fake make-up.
The only reason you need it,
is because you don't see this,
plus you fill your stomach,
with fast food *****
you're going down in flames,
what was your name Halley Comet?
Saving money on food,
so you can buy cosmetics,
maybe if you changed your diet,
you wouldn't need cosmetics,
there's nothing romantic,
about cosmetics,
cosmetics cause cancer,
don't you get it?
More vegetables,
less processed cheese,
and your face won't look,
like it's got a disease,
please,
remember these words,
real women look better without any make-up,
without all those name brands we're all naked,
believe whatever you want to,
but these words will still be true...
So stop dying,
your hair to death,
and trying,
to get the guys to stare at your breast,
you are,
so much more beautiful naturally,
and if you,
go natural well actually,
you might find,
a man who loves your mind,
a man that truly loves you,
for who you are inside.
and I promise this,
in all honestness,
no man will ever fall in love,
with a woman because of the size of her breast,
or the color of her hair,
or the brand of her dress,
no real man will ever really care,
whether your outfit is Versace or Guess,
because good men care about the real you,
not fake fashion brand names,
you are not a cow nor are you cattle,
so why would you want a label branding?
And I promise this,
in all honestness,
that this is,
honest honestness.
Real men fall in love with real women,
because of who they really are,
not who they pretend to be,
real men fall in love with real women,
because they love her soul's avatar,
and her divine femininity…
So let your hair grow,
back out to it's natural color,
if you honestly want,
to find a natural lover,
and save your self,
for those special lovers,
that are truly deserving,
of all of your natural wonders,
leave the fake hair,
for the fakers,
leave the toners,
for the loners,
leave the make up and fake dyes,
for the hookers and transvestites,
you,
are beautiful,
without,
the manicured cuticles,
you are beautiful,
just the way you naturally are,
there's no need to alter yourself,
with some silicone and scars.
Just be beautiful Beautiful,
there is no need to pretend,
and leave the makeup and fake body parts,
for the trannies and mannequins... ∆
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 3:16 PM UTC
Joanne told me they would be clapped out.
Radio Luxembourg wouldn't play them.
No Glam you see,
frayed collars, Bar room Blues.
But I'm still into Bees make Honey.
Pawned my Zenith Quad-8 for a Seiko LCD Quartz.
Memorised Ashai Pentax's Reason #44.
Still have the hots for Marisa Berenson's knees.
No censure.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 6:25 PM UTC
If I should tell you ‘Bout all that’s not gold,
I won’t be speaking of the dangles on my mother’s neck,
The stud on my sisters’ ear or the rock between her finger.
I rather walk you through society and how we paint it
How we lose sight of reality and view just the glam
How we concentrate on what’s flashy…
and how we don’t see cute to see the ugly, rather view the paint in Awe
and see the pain in ‘gust.
I will tell you how we channel our focus on the big weddings and lose the sight of the bigger picture.
So, if I’m to talk about all that glitters that is not gold, do know these:
I’d be telling you of the painful truth you chose to ignore,
The scandals that come with the big weddings,
The agony masked in smiles, the pain of each like button
How each comment burns like fire.
Would let you in on my mother’s secret,
How her dangles are not real, she also removes her spackling watch before the end of each occasion.
I’d tell you how my sister’s earrings fade daily and insomnia she gets from the rock on her finger.
I will tell you how reality is far from society, and leaves you to face the agony.
So, when you think about a sparkling gold, think about the last trend and those who end with it.
Think about earth and how we rotate with it,
Please think about reality.
Apr 28, 2023
Apr 28, 2023 at 7:38 AM UTC
*His eyes rivet on the extravagant evening sun,
in frenzied creation, profusely mixing colors,
applying on the canvas of the horizon,
painting her, his lover with astonishing precision,
--portrait of a girl in love
unmindful of what the world thinks about her
and in total dedication to her man.
Love makes larger than life heroes out of weak mortals,
and creates echoes on the far horizons that keep on reverberating!
She sits quietly holding his hands as if it is all she needs
never thinking, it is obvious, whether this is a fallacy or ultimate truth,
that holds good for all the changing seasons.
With her long chiseled fingers she draws
something beautiful, a motif that emerged in her mind,
in front of them, the seascape, was a lively cyclorama
framed by bright ultramarine.
Like eels just out of water, their bodies gleaming,
bikini clad glam girls, beach soldiers spearheading
an undeclared beauty attack,
on the look out for hidden challenges
while walking past the love pair,
each one stands awhile, scrutinizing her thoroughly
measuring with a scale, hidden in those eyes,
as if she was a **** on parade, even women couldn't help covet.
Though inappropriately dressed, for the beachfront appearance,
she invites more attention, she is amused.
But after a tumultuous love, and eventful elopement
she is in bliss, in her love-land with her prince
she is just ecstatic, no thought could make her shake off her composure.*
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 2:15 AM UTC
The night is going well
She's a Beauty and special
Hair combed right
Things feel alright
Both looking head to toe
Her heels of glam
Rocking the chuck
Hopefully bring good
She wears a skirt not to short
She's classy don't rush to kiss
Just hold her hand and flirt
Colored eyes chance with the color clothes
Showing skin not too much exposed
She chose the fit so the eyes womt quit
Night of dinner romance her tonight
No need to rush build the trust
Night comes to an walk her to the door
Say good night say let's do this another night
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 5:31 AM UTC
it’s a god-awful small affair
to the girl with the mousy hair
10,000 hipsters stand in the square
with ***** makeup and ****** flare
prayers fly into the dim lit sky
as a generation asks god ‘why’
it’s a god-awful small affair
to the girl with the mousy hair
I sit here in despair
for a god of whom I did care
well, just a man with a master’s eye
for making all of the people sigh…
and now I sit here with my head in my hand
just trying to understand
what this world has come unto
can there ever again be skies of blue
and while swishy in her satin and tat
frock coat and bipperty-bopperty hat
there can never be another like that –
the morning news brought a cold chill
as the icon of us undesirables
came to be laid at rest
it’s on America’s tortured brow
leaving us to sit solemn
as old records spin
telling tales of space men
and life on mars
a little china girl
and one man who feel to earth
it’s on America’s tortured brow
the fashionista of glam rock
the birther of Ziggy
the man who sold the world
forever changing
chameleon
in smart shoes –
spinning grooves
and scattered cd’s
tears slipping away
as memories already start to fade
it’s the freakiest show
look at those cavemen go
will they ever know
just who left us
take a look at the lawman
beating up the wrong guy
it’s a god-awful small affair
to the girls with the mousy hair
now she walks with a sunken dream
and the cream that once rose so high
so too will come the time to die
and as all of us let him go
there can be a bit of hope for those
who carry a torchy flare
to the girl with the mousy hair
and will sing in the dead of night
with face paint and a big spot light
******* and the party boys
come out with their fancy toys
but it’s a god-awful small affair
if you find you’re too square to care
‘bout the goblin kings sad depart
from this earth and from hipster hearts
see these kids have no loyalty
to a man who helped define me
when the world gave me a frown
for kissing boys in a dainty gown
ole Davy gave me peace
with a confidence that never ceased
oh Mr. Jones I’m in debt to you
for turning my grey skies to blue
now I’ll forever carry this torch
from green valleys to my own front porch
but it’s a god-awful small affair
it’s nice to know some of us care…
about the earth and sun and stars
and yes
there is life
on
Mars –
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC
Another day another hour
lost in the hum drum
of everyday life
I am a mother, a daughter,
partner by your side
I never say it enough
never share what I feel
never tell you how much I adore you,
I truly do
Your simple ways,
and the smile in your eyes
You are the **** sporty realistic spice
that I fall in love with day after day
There is so much I feel and not enough
words to convey how much
I truly adore you
I truly do
There is no glam or glitz
or fairytale blitz
but there is trust and love
and years of support;
an unspoken desire
that I somehow distort
But I want you to know
after all these years
you still are the flame to my fire...
© Priya Patel Feb 28, 2016
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 3:38 PM UTC
It all becomes retro
a bit like the sixties in a Parisian fashion show and
it's
all for one and I for one would like to go
retro.
Bakelite was alright and
crystal sets for the news,
but now it's crystal meths for the mad nights
and I have the blues. but
can't sing.
But
bring me a railroad and I'll lay down a track,
give me some retro
I want to go back.
I could wind back the clock for some 80's glam rock and
I could wind back in time to the Maginot line or
I could wind it some more to the hundred years war, to the ships and the pilgrims who went to find fame in that country of which I can never remember the name, to Grimm and his tales, to Glendower of Wales and if retro's the way to go then that's where I want to be **** the modernity of the
21st century, all systems go
back to retro.
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 1:09 PM UTC