"handbags" poems
and i have never really understood why i hate luggage.
why i barely own handbags,
and would much rather fit the necessities in my purse.
why school didn't seem so bad if i had less books on my back.
i had never really understood why i hated so much baggage.
until i realised that it was because i already had all of me,
to carry.
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 5:04 PM UTC
Pink balloons
Glitter nails
Glossy lips
Fairy tales
Frilly dresses
Pigtails with bows
"I have a secret"
No one knows!
Flowery handbags
Sweet perfume
"Can't keep it in "
Need to tell you soon!
Sparkly jewellery
Ballet shoes
"I know what you're about to lose"
"Tell me the secret I here you shout"?
Ok
''Closets open." I'm coming out!!! .....
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 7:40 PM UTC
Expensive handbags,
Pensive listening,
Nothing I say is ever worth
Mentioning.
Swing on this
Hinge-- a see-saw of
Heartache
Bruised on the *** by
The frozen snake--
Never to thaw
And never to break.
Exquisite lampshades
Hide the luminous
Color,
Now a dingy
Dim of disrepair
Order.
Visit a fairytale
Where honey flows in
Waterfalls,
The smooth will soothe the
Heartless work and
Falls.
Tangled cloth again today,
Moth eaten and angled,
We ride in the dark
Convinced our little playground could save
A heart.
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
We danced around handbags
in Budleigh Salterton.
We oiled the hips on
yesterdays snake;
we were blue rinsed Madonna
and Fred Astair wanna.
we were flaming flamingos
on a shimmering lake.
Mar 25, 2012
Mar 25, 2012 at 2:44 AM UTC
Handbags
Fetish for handbags...
The last time I counted
Almost 100 of them
Variety of brand names
LV, Gucci, Hermes, coach, Burberry, Jimmy Choo, Marc Jacobs, Fendi
Ohhh.... you just name them..
Some were bought
Some were given on special events
Proud of the collection, love them all
But closet is full..
Keeping some in the store..
Collecting dust , waiting time to rot
Why not sell them?
Donate the profit to charity, orphanages, old folks etc..
Handbags too many...
Can save lives of many...
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 1:35 AM UTC
I was right. All composed of circles, but
Not a bad thing
Relations make life worth living and
Knowledge of them dispels any notion that
It is not
So deeply intertwined the little glimpses
Matter, carry
Explosive realizations in their handbags
It is hot, we are more than
Excited molecules and yet not
Really, excitement is relative
And we enjoy being excited
Heat transforms into a manifestation of
Interrelation awareness
Our world is largely cold and digital
Not to say we need to be
Neutrality is too often stifled by
Polar hands
Jul 21, 2011
Jul 21, 2011 at 4:16 AM UTC
Handbags
She adores designers labeled handbags
Lavished herself in Paris, New York, London
Approximately millions in RM
She had handbags
Louis Vutton, Paris Hilton, Channel etc etc…
Just name them…
Close to 3 thousands I guess
some she bought
some were given
Certainly Not ordinary people
Like you or me
Can afford to buy…
Some years on
All collection are still kept
Collecting dust in the closet
now the only
use for them
is to be stored
away to rot
why were they
not sold?
Imagine the lucrative profits
Can feed millions of poor kids
Send them to school
Make them learn ABC instead
Just another example
of how poverty
is shortchanged
by greedy elitist minority
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 11:46 PM UTC
But When I said I needed
an ******* on my side
It was in the city of Angels
Where pit bulls are sported like
handbags
And ******** make you money
'cause they rip to shreds
Whatever stands in your way.
I didn't mean
Here
In Paradise
Where my dream
Lays dead at my feet.
And there's nothing left to fight for.
Please
Don't fight me here.
Because with your ******* ways
On more than one beautiful day,
All you've done
is fought your way
Right out of
my heart.
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 3:13 AM UTC
Expert testimony has decreed yellow,
Who are we to speak against those with seven tongues and antlers,
You sleep as the muffin man creeps
Camera in hands and remnants of sickness past upon his clothes
Your eyes Otto Dix, your face like an anguished customer at Greggs.
He, the muffin man, staggers in the night and surveys these barren lands.
At what point will you release your patterned anguish?
Expert testimony has decreed yellow,
Watermelon and disorder for the masses in their lived fury
hunters of the lowest rung,
misery and handbags at the cumulative paces from Newcastle to Carlisle
Flawed Romans and tasty Saxons,
Expert testimony has decreed yellow,
Revolt! bring down the manor!
The muffin man in his element, deckchair reclined
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 11:38 AM UTC
Oh Dipali, Oh Dipali
So pretty, so lovely.
Short hair, the smiley face
So pleasant, your grace.
But why do I wonder,
It's not real?
The masks you wear,
Covering up your anguish and fear.
Look at you, all changed .
Feet to forehead, everything arranged.
Just as an experiment, take my advice,
Need not be beautiful, need not be nice.
Be the one you really are- Just For Today!
Thick glass-frames, oh poor eyesight ?
Or maybe the darkness of the lonely nights
without the two twinkling stars,
Your eyes reflect the deep scars.
Remove your glasses
Be the one you really are- Just For Today!
Take out your golden wrist watch,
Take out your blue and white friendship bands.
Free up your wrists, Free up your hands.
Burdens of emotions and time,
The marks will show up as their remains.
But Be the one you really are- Just For Today!
Heavily packed your wardrobe, so colourful.
Tops and denims and matching shoes, so cheerful.
Fingers will run through them, but give them a holiday.
How about just a plain salwaar-kameez for today?
Search for your simplest sandals, no high heels.
Be simple,
Today no visual appeals.
No make-up, no fancy handbags.
Be the one you really are- Just For Today!
A beauty rising out of clouds,
For today will just dissolve into the crowds.
Soon you'll realize its value,
An existence so natural, so true.
But for today, just be the one you really are.
And you'll still stand out in millions, my dear,
With your pretty face, and the short hair.
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 11:04 AM UTC
wake to
people walking
home from after hours kegger
cheeks red
holding their heels
swinging handbags
brazen voices pierce through holey
screen to fitful
half sleep state
next to an acrid smelling
guitar player
i
stir
and
put on
my coat
decrepit door
c r e a k s on worn hinges
sneak through filthy kitchen
littered with plastic cups
reeking of stale sweat
poured
tequila
shot
abandoned
along with sliced
lime and salt shaker
companions
marijuana inspired chords
l i n g e r
in the air
take my bottle of Jack from the freezer
dare not drink water
from
the
tap
though head pounds
just put on sun
glasses
taking flim-sy
strides to
fair trade
sit outside in an iron chair
the art on the walls burns my eyes
adj
usting
2 days *****
shirt
the barista brings
a hot soy latte
with cinnamon
sprinkled on top
thanks- i say
she doesn’t respond
smoke a cig found in my
purse
who was smoking 27’s?
give a homeless man a
quarter on the
way back to my
car
he takes it says
god bless you
the strokes play through
cassette player
it’s too loud
before noon
don’t buckle seatbelt
on east wash
capital disappears
from rearview mirror
until road becomes
hwy 151
and it
vanishes behind
a hill
like i was never here
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 4:25 PM UTC
The girl you see on the train
With a piercing to commemorate each heartbreak
Has a few in places you can't see
— Because you can't know her relationships;
You don't know her heartbreak, or pain.
Instead, you count the suitcases and handbags she is lugging.
The girl who got a new piercing each time her heart broke
Has more smile lines on her face than studs,
So you can see she has had a fair measure
Of good moments:
She is not all rough edges and elbows.
But what you don't know,
And can't tell
From looking at her alone,
Is that she got a tattoo
Each time that she moved on.
The girl with as many piercings as heartbreaks
-And as many tattoos as movings on-
Has eight pieces of jewellery
Strung through her skin,
But only seven markings
Inked into it,
Because she knows she'll never quite get over
The one she can't quite forget.
You'll have to speak to her to know her—
A stranger on the train—
And let her tell you about her life;
And one day you'll hold her hand
As she gets her eighth tattoo done.
Break out of your bubble, if only because
One day, eight heartbreaks in, you'll help her break even.
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 7:41 AM UTC
Now pack your luck up in handbags
hurry hard through your back door
These nights
Are colder than they ever were
dousing fires on 13th floors
When flame-lit streets frost over,
you can see a little more,
and the dancing sidewalk shadows let you pass
Now cross your arms and your fingers
clear the cobwebs from your head
You're off
And running on your rabbit's feet
clutching clovers to your chest
10,000 lucky pennies
for a Greyhound ride out west
when you get there, count to 7 and exhale
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 7:44 PM UTC
When you're drunk in the back of a minivan
Around two in the afternoon
The world outside becomes an aquarium
Sharks with buzz-cuts and button-downs swim by on sidewalks
Schools of tiny laughing fish with bangs and handbags follow
I wonder what it would be like to get run over by the tram at the outdoor shopping center
With that horrible bell ringing the whole time
Your bones slowly and carefully snapping and grinding
To make way for the shopping fish going from one store to another
My friends try and get me to buy some new shoes
I want new shoes but I don't want any of these
I put an open shoulder bag on a mannequin's head like it's a hat
I stand next to a line of mannequins and pose pretending I'm one of them
I get bored and chat with the mannequin next to me
Me: Tough crowd
Mannequin: It's all fun and games for you but this is my job so I would appreciate it if you would stop dicking around and get back to shopping
Me: But I don't want any of these shoes
Mannequin: Go look at them again and imagine they're puppies
I go back and look at the shoes imagining they're puppies
I don't want them to get put to sleep but I also don't want tacky cowboy stitching
I pull a mannequin's pants down
I watch the mannequin's face fill with shame
But there is nothing it can do
Because its arms are not real
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 7:42 PM UTC
Sitting alone in this cage all day
What's an Orangutan to do
I need adventure, I need to play
These's to much boredom in this zoo
Well hello there, em orange old thing
The name is Elvis with handbags on my mind
Oh, you look as though your wearing string
I'm all shook up now I think you will find
Well hello there Elvis you slimy snake
Very glad to meet your acquaintance
The name is Edward and I'm about to blow this joint
If there's no further questions
Elvis hissed as he had spotted a group of girls
With handbags about their person and shoes
"Can I slither in the cage with you and your curls"
He considered that he had nothing to lose
How about using that sharp tongue of yours
To unlock this cage
There's so much more to see out there
We really should be on our way
The two E's made their escape never to return
They lived on bread and cheese till it came out their ears
Now the past seems light years away
The two friends so close in their aging years
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 10:30 AM UTC
One cold morning,
One usual Tuesday,
I awoke before the sun,
I stretched before the clouds formed,
One exact moment in the morning,
when the water met my face
and when coffee hits the nerves,
I remembered.
It was breezy and gloomy,
The wind blew calmly across,
I can feel it in between my fingers,
I can feel it on my chest
in between my shirt and my skin
as I board the seven o’clock train.
There you were walking down before me
as I wait patiently for the train tracks to roar,
I saw you in your beige jacket,
Your green blouse,
Your black laced skirt,
Your fair, fair skin,
and your black rim glasses,
that tried to hide,
but could not, the droopiness of your sleepy eyes.
I saw them all,
I feel them all,
The beauty, the casualness,
I know them all.
I see you almost every other day,
In the same train,
At the same time,
In the same barrack of steel that encapsulates
all the passion and the indifference we have about our career.
But we never spoke.
Your beauty, your casualness,
is proof that coincidences are dangerous
and fate is perhaps overrated.
I always wonder why
in the midst of all the hustle and bustle of life
we are still hiding behind a façade,
a wall,
a barricade of non-verbal stimuli.
Why are we, in the depths of our cover up,
our ego,
still not anticipating a conversation?
I assure you,
Our eyes met more than once,
But we looked away pretending that this ardor,
This obsession,
This craze and zeal,
is nothing more than a line of sight
and a blink of an eye.
But I know for sure you’ve seen me,
And I know for sure you’ve seen me
seen you,
So what lies between us is a barrage of men and women,
rushing off to their nine AM clock in.
Men carrying their brown briefcases of complexities and anxieties,
Women carrying their vibrant colored handbags of regret and rage,
All to conceal and suppress,
To obscure and to disguise
one uncomfortable conversation about the hardships of their lives.
Perhaps we could never find the courage,
Perchance we never will.
Perhaps this poem will never see its poetic justice,
Perchance it should never too.
But in case it did,
And in case we found courage,
I’d like you to know
that in my train of thoughts that are propped up of complete nonsense,
there is one clear emotional track that will not detour,
and that is to see you sitting opposite me
in that cold metal seat,
and to have you meet me in the eye
only to have the both us look away
in sheer interest
and utter ignorance.
But we both enjoy the visual flirt.
Don’t we?
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 1:38 AM UTC
Counterfeit CDs
Drugs, clothes, handbags
One ma paints counterfeit Van Gohs
Fake drugs are the worst
Because fake medicines don't help people
It's big business
Especially in China
Golf companies hire a Chinese manager
The manager copies the business model
Starts making counterfeit clubs
Begins his own counterfeit industry
Modern Fakes trade
Cialis, ****** Levitra
The packaging professionally done
The investigator seems quite concerned
That it is almost impossible to tell these products from the orignals
190,000 Chinese people have died because of fake medicines
The Chinese government is powerless to stop the faking syndicates
Capitalism unrestrained
By decency, morality, or law
According to the investigator
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 1:16 AM UTC
Handbags at dawn
A man in the middle of Handbags at dawn.
Two lovers for one heart. This is war.
A mighty showdown; a choice is needed.
One man, one love; never being greedy.
People don’t worship love anymore.
It’s just a thing they do. Forget about being faithful.
It’s so much easier to do what you want.
Consequences don’t happen, just have fun.
Standing face to face, eye to eye.
Fighting for love. Crocodiles don’t cry.
Learn the pattern, then anything can happen.
Love means nothing, truth only saddens.
Another body is all that matters baby.
Sleep with two until one is unhappy.
There are no rules; promises are made to be broken.
Sleep with convenience. Lies are easily spoken.
Have an argument to get rid of one.
Then find the other one when they are gone.
When you have used them, say goodbye,
Then find the other one and apologize.
Demand privacy when it comes to your phone,
So you can hide when the other one calls.
Tell them you want a night out alone,
To stop the fights…hand bags at dawn.
(C)2019 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Aug 1, 2019
Aug 1, 2019 at 6:02 AM UTC
The old and the new,
do you remember
December back then?
Stockings hung
bells rung for School?
fool,
no school at Christmas time.
What now?
Google invents the new advent,
twelve days and a million ways
to find everything,
Google
can even sing you to sleep
carols to keep you snug.
Bah humbug,
handbags are on another page
Google and see, but
we
remember the go out and look days
I guess
we
are set in our ways,
the old and the new do
what they do and
I do
too.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 6:03 AM UTC
Her Garden
Her world is an explosion of colour.
Flowers paint her pumpkin walls,
Fuschias dance in her back garden
and exotic roses watch over the plants that play to her music that breezes from her soul.
She is their sun
and their shade-
their very earth
and their rain.
Her children are loved
and her beauty adorned
with the essence of God.
Her Home
So warm.
Large wooden windows give light to the rooms.
To be there is to be in history:
faded photos, art, collectibles, aged mirrors,
take me on journeys to old souls and to myself.
The walls that hold them are boldly coloured and yet so comfortable. Every corner is a suprise placed with care.
The butch duck on the grandfather clock has laid an egg and curiously glares at the fireplace in the opposite corner.
I will always remember her fireplace.
Her bed is dressed with a red and gold silk oriental throw and large pillows resting on the headrest.
In the corner a tree laden with colourful handbags and hats for all occasions.
She has a mirror on an antique dresser for company
decorated with rings and makeup and jewelry
and many many interesting things.
The basket holds scarves and gloves and shoes,
and her sheets hold the moment i was born anew.
Her Art
She is her art.
Full of suprise,
eclectic,
eccentric,
bright.
Her home,
her garden,
her songs,
her interests,
her way.
She smiles poetry and wears classical movies.
She dances flowers and daggers
and speaks mystery and passion.
So soft and perplexed-
a roller coaster of colourful tastes
and memorable aromas.
To meet her is a pilgrimage,
to lose her is to lose an eye.
Dec 9, 2009
Dec 9, 2009 at 6:40 AM UTC
The edge is what the words meant to our juvenile minds
You came like a milkman of crazy like I paid you a subscription
Because the married voice of our desperation may be rocka fella
Don't mean we are gucci chanel postes of imatation handbags
But I sit at the end of a dinner plate admiring your constant behavior
And wondering how a high school misfit still views a. Past excuse as a comment for hate
Might be strong and smile but worried actions equal a cold shiver
A snuggie is the present warmth left by infomercials
I won't say ur the crest of a ohs blue...
But I still appreciate a *********** like you....
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 6:51 AM UTC
And the crack heads were standing around on the corner.
Eyes hanging on stalks.
As eagles they watch.
The girls walk by with their handbags on arms.
Flashing their smiles and immense lucky charms.
And they chase her down the road, like god awful toads.
Who thinks that they're hot,
I assure you they're not.
Their faces laden with swollen oozing pores.
Result of a good many scores.
One's nose kept on streaming, his throat's really sore,
His head, always believing his feet miss the floor.
As he vomits in the corner, he expects her to care.
She looks straight through him as if he's not there.
Not a care did she give,
All she muttered was ***** you"!
(C)LIVVI
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 5:53 PM UTC
Shocks of ecstasy arouses
My demurring face as a camel
Walking into the storm of desert
The undulating paths swing in agony
As we embraced the brim of Niger sea
The journey to the point of no return
Gnarled us and crooked us in a shackles
Of chained poverty and shared corruption
Locked in a **** of one man's handbags
We still imbue courage as we walk
On the greenish infertile land
Control by family, friends and concubines
Woe to our stool of mystery
As we hope the secret of better life
relies on a selected messiah
It is I, it is we and it is you
That must prevail to slaughter
What imprison us
With a cast of casking ***
The long queues of twenty nineteen
Where our drunken journey ends
Written by
Martin Ijir
Dec 18, 2017
Dec 18, 2017 at 1:28 PM UTC
How many pockets and handbags, can you carry, your things in?
-How many things, do you carry, in your pockets and handbags?
© By HF-Whisper
12/3/2021 19:56PM
Jun 23, 2021
Jun 23, 2021 at 8:26 PM UTC