"jumpsuits" poems
Like the last fire ember keeping is warm
For it is our only chance to survive
Fading
Like a generation of people
Killing rather than nurturing
Fading
Like a little boy's life
Running away from his future
As his past haunts him
And he cannot escape
Fading
Substance is the only way for him to get away
Pain is the only emotion he feels
Fading
Physical abuse wearing him down
Weeping his way to sleep
Fading
Food doesn't come often
Blatant neglect turns to crime
Fading
Empty, cuffed in the backseat
On the road to his new life
Fading
Jumpsuits were his only wardrobe
Though 3 meals a day were beneficial
Fading
In need of substance once again
Craving was intended this time
Fading
Lying there, cold
No more pain to feel now
Fading
As the sun behind the ocean
New life beyond the clouds
Fading
Like footsteps on the shore
Never to come back again
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 3:07 PM UTC
Were you alive when the
bricks began to crumble
beneath our hand-held, picket line
across the parking lot in front of some
school that no one bothered to name?
Our exhaustion-mumbled whispers
skipping across lips dropping to the street
that tapered ladders on gargantuan gadflies as the summer heat
etched the tear lines into mud tracks against
our ruddied faces.
Cohorts torn into flip stands
layered toward standing political sores --
tell me how to cross my t’s and fill in scantron circles before
the suits step over brown-bag lunches
to stretch the yawning yellow tape over the students’ lockers.
We were strung up the flag pole, almost posted as decapitated heads for the public.
The political analysts call this “The biggest school closing in decades.”
Under teeming hammer-strikes :
glasses shred to paper-splinters
before a young boy’s diploma
crying white chalk bricks
from university’s doors instead on to
prison yard orange jumpsuits.
Can we call this a school improvement project
or can we call this the Same Salem Witch Hunt
As unwashed teachers and students alike deck the sidewalks like
Either Christmas decorations on Michigan Avenue or
Inmates on the gallows platform
I’m completely unable to read the television marquee that told the neighborhood that City Hall was too stuffed with paperwork to defend the mothers and invisible fathers.
I’m completely unable to write out of respect for these children’s already-carved in stone pathway to the gutter, graveyard, and/or prisons.
In the first wink of dawn
We will all scatter
To our respective positions
Carved out in concrete before the
barricades fall
to flood the street.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 3:52 AM UTC
We're all victims to our mind
We feel what we let ourselves feel
Our unconscious thoughts drive our activities
Drive our sanity level off the bridge
We are prisoners of ourselves
Free whenever we discover this
Brains wrapped in orange,
Jumpsuits of oblivion
Looking to reflections to define ourselves
Describing not what we are
But who we aspire to one day be
Our hearts play a song
Beat something we cannot understand
Stop beating when we neglect them
Our minds electrify life with the ability
To learn, to change, to grow, to be
Our bodies are a catalyst to these
Moving to the beats of our hearts
Dancing to the electric fire of our minds
Our consciousness looks to the flaws
Looks to improve, and be happy
When if we really pause
To look within at the glory
Of all we have,
The grief doesn't seem like
The hell we make it
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 8:10 PM UTC
When we were young, we went DYU in
Lipsticks and jumpsuits and gulped
Chamomile tea on table one, our hot spot.
Now that Eapen is here, I want to go
Back to those Bangalore days with my-
Ladies, diapers and a pair of baby socks.
Tim, time, time! Stop, stop, stop!
This is the moment, the moment from
Our yester imaginings, Eapen our baby drug
Let's get back to those hostel rooms,
Jumpsuits and lipsticks with 'the nucleus' on our shoulders.
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 8:29 AM UTC
Streets as hot as metal
Where bodies turn to ice
Bullets litter cracked sidewalks
That broke the sad stoplights.
Laughs flood through the fences
With shattered slides and dreams
The man passed by this every day
With feelings that tested seams.
Every day, the same old thing
Drugs erupting from the bricks
Graffiti covering an old cafe
Crime makes this city tick.
Another young kid crying
For he hasn't got a home
Another car's been totaled
The wrath road rage has shown.
Another playground built again
Trying to make the town look clean
He can't ignore the orange jumpsuits
That stick around to plant some trees.
Blood stains here and flowers there
Take a stroll down Contrast Street
Ignoring grimy street vendors
Cause he's heard they've got the creeps.
Another gun shot in the air
Another cry for help
Another pretty restaurant
And people trying to convince themselves.
That maybe it's not happening
Someone will come along who cares
Someone else, take care of that!
Me? No, don't you even dare.
So I guess this can just keep happening
These walking contradictories
You're defeating your own purpose
We're losing, don't you see?
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 5:34 PM UTC
I helped a fat man find a denim jumpsuit in the guest house down the road
when I was working at some department store
dreading the thought of helping someone not beautiful like me
but my boss she has quick little feet,
she caught me as I slinked to the other side
¨You will be perfect¨ she said
so I smiled and said
¨of course¨.
The fat man had a fat beard and was already wearing a fat denim jumpsuit.
I agreed he needed a new one because this was an old one but the department store´s clothes were too small.
Someone had disorganized the guesthouse.
The clothes were in heaps on the floor, the fat man was happy enough to find fat jumpsuits his size so I let him meander and take deep sighs.
I began to like this fat man as I watched him slide on his belly across the floor, I saw in him beauty I hadn´t see before,
¨maybe¨I thought ¨we all deserve more¨
before he was gone.
you recieve no commision once you wake up.
Feb 23, 2011
Feb 23, 2011 at 9:59 AM UTC
My best friend left his board at the skate park
Lost track after too many 720 attempts out the bowl on his bike
He likes to film me in my most embarrassing moments
We spent a day making a music video in goodwill
rollerblading through the aisles in jumpsuits
(it may never come out)
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 10:02 PM UTC
-
pale........Bourbon,
burnt........Kettles,
yellow........Bricks,
tin........Goblets,,
onyx........Bars,
dark........Shadows,
shady........Greed,
green........Motives,,,
golden........Gates,
gray........Castles,
black........Lions,
white........Scarecrows,,
rose........Petals,
metal........Toilets,
orange........Food,
blue........Jumpsuits.
.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 10:26 PM UTC
Designer Mandira Wirk gave actress Nimrat Kaur a regal look when she showcased her New Royals collection at Amazon India Fashion Week on Saturday.
Wirk showed 20 ensembles, including Kaur’s ivory drape concept sari with just a zipper, panelled gown with mother of pearls and dori work paired with a sheer cape.
“Her collection is so pretty and feminine,” said Kaur. “I love her clothes. This collection is called the New Royals... it’s bringing pretty back, beautifully enhancing the female body form. It makes you feel so light and pretty.”
Panelled anarkalis, jackets and capes, crop tops, jumpsuits and tapered trousers appeared alongside designer’s signature drape saris and dhoti pants.
Wirk, in a beautiful off-shoulder powder pink dress, said: “I wanted to get pretty back to the runway. It is pretty feminine, wearable and an extremely versatile collection.
“I have done lots of pastels...lot of capes, sleeves. So basically a very feminine and romantic collection.”
The range saw a heavy use modern details like wide pockets and deep waistbands paired with layers of French knots.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/plus-size-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 4:12 AM UTC
It is dawn,
Men in green jumpsuits,
Have struck terror,
Up the mountains down the deserts,
I remember grandfather telling me stories of heroes and traitors and villains and fighters of a Desert warfare,
We were sitting under a palm tree,
eating dates and sipping mint tea,
his voice takes me back there to a time,
when he was not even born,
Though I was not entertained,
I was mourning,
As a stranger would mourn the desert rain its brevity,
But it is dawn, does it matter?
All men that had fallen had been forgotten,
A nation rose and fell and is aiming to rise,
Can it matter?
I guess not...
For what grows.... In the desert,
Anyway?!
Feb 28, 2017
Feb 28, 2017 at 10:38 AM UTC
There are films, and then there are films that are directed by Luca Guadagnino, set in Italy, starring Tilda Swinton, and featuring wardrobe by Raf Simons during his time at Dior. Released earlier this year, A Bigger Splashmarked Swinton, Guadagnino, and Simons' second film collaboration (the first was I Am Love) — and it made everyone want to go on holiday looking fabulous.
Basically: Swinton plays Marianne Lane, a world-famous rock star holidaying in the sleepy Italian town of Pantelleria. (Right? We know.) Though her character is recovering from throat surgery, which renders her speechless for the entire two hours of film, leave it to Swinton to remain as captivating as ever. Oh, and she's joined by a rather sweaty Matthias Schoenaerts, a wickedly pompous Ralph Fiennes, and a brooding, scantily-clad Dakota Johnson.
If you're unfamiliar with Guadagnino's style, it's filled with long, lingering shots of nature, close-ups of food, silences (and lots of them), sumptuous sceneries, grandiose architecture, and breathtaking styling.
Simons worked with Guadagnino's friend, costume designer Giulia Piersanti, on the wardrobe. She told i-D about the inspiration for Marianne's clothes:
We specifically wanted Marianne Lane, Tilda's character, to be a bit more elegant than her surroundings. It was important for her to have a wardrobe that was a bit over-the-top. In the end it was also important in the acting and portrayal of the character for her to be nonchalant about it and very effortless. She's a star, and she doesn't hide it. Even when she goes out into the piazza, she's a bit overly dressed, like an old movie star would be. She needed to keep that glamour in her wardrobe.
Despite the striking simplicity of Marianne's style (billowing jumpsuits, shirt-dresses, and thong sandals), it's the details that make this film one of the finest examples we've seen of dressing well in the heat. For your viewing pleasure (but still — watch the film), we've selected the most memorable fashion moments. Warning: You will want to do away with all your hot pants, crop your hair, and buy some silver shades, pronto.See more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/cocktail-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 3:12 AM UTC
you could be laying in a gutter on the side of the road
or busted again for all I know
your usual misdemeanor
gets 90 days in the slam
and a fine of a grand
but you haven’t asked for bail as it stands
so maybe you checked in to rehab
either way its 3 squares a day
for you that’s a killer deal
we all know how you love to make fashion statements
but even I’m not sure of orange jumpsuits
look good with high heels
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 9:31 AM UTC
A wakeful can rolls over the gutter, 'tis caught up the waking wind.
Outside the Asda, the not so superstore, where the doors are closed and the world is the same.
A painful world, standing out in the rain.
It's a world where men in orange jumpsuits sit, they're waiting for rain.
Or pain, an escape almost knowing that freedom awaits at the makeshift pearly gates.
Drove past the docks with structures lit up, perceived as giant horses as if of troy, really huge cranes, but nothing like birds.
All desperate to see what's going on in the world as a matter of some kind of crazy urgency.
(C) Livvi
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 4:23 PM UTC
From where I sit
It sounds like
Basketballs
Dribbled unevenly
Across the field
The big brick building
Rises ominously
With tall fences and towers
I hope that I am mistaken
And those distant thuds
Are something other than
Bullets blazing
I do not step outside
I do not pull the binoculars
To my tired eyes
Because I am too afraid to know
Blue shirts brown shirts
Orange jumpsuits
What I imagine
Is not a pretty
People packed in
Like lengthy Legos
Getting stack on
Top of one another
Aggression breeds aggression
My objections are silent
Because I am afraid
That they might come for me
It sounds like thunder
Repeating
Am I better off not seeing
What horrors lay beyond the field
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 10:32 AM UTC
deep red blood dripping onto the floor
bright red roses swaying in the breeze
orange prison jumpsuits walking in the yard
orange carved pumpkins on the porch
yellowed skin as kidneys fail
yellow sunshine streams through the window
dark green mold spores entering your lungs
vibrant green grass freshening the air
darkening blue ocean water pulling you under
clear blue sky calling peace to the turmoil
purple poison dart frog toxins seeping into your skin
purple flowers in bloom decorating the garden
May 6, 2025
May 6, 2025 at 9:42 AM UTC
I took your sticky hand
Both of us uncomfortable in long checkered jumpsuits
and button down polos.
That Thanksgiving we made pilgrim hats and pasta string necklaces
We walked to the park through the little white gate
that seemed so tall we could barely reach but now it squeaks and the bells broke.
The path through the sour grass flowers is overgrown with cancerous weeds
the trees are too small to climb, and the big one with roots is populated
by empty teenagers making out and carving their names in our place.
This is where the bodies are buried. Where we said goodbye.
Where we played, our little world
of imagination filled lazy times streamed with
sudzy bubbles: Popped.
I’m sorry I failed you Jack. That she failed you.
For giving up too soon. I know you
wish she held on longer, that she fought
for you and I. You moved away because she left you
And I left you and so you left me, alone.
You lost so much, but you got out, peeled your eyes
from the flickering screen. Flashbacks of
our shared childhood ripped away.
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 8:20 PM UTC
when they replaced my half-torn slip-ons with velcro, i laced up.
orange jumpsuits pushed lunch trays and sized from the waist up.
© Matthew Harlovic
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 3:24 PM UTC
no dice to roll, got some sort of fiery hand in nowhere vegas land, what, why, women with greyed hairs in jumpsuits and stale cigarettes, no dice to roll no dice to roll, what am i going to do? whatever tickles my fancy? Can't seem to stop writing, it feels like some sort of disease, I'm reserved then cautious and not sure what the next thing to churn out is, I am freaked out, humble, and making my way over to the next table, attempting to make some sort of sense, but the atmosphere of the room is nonsense, dressed for some kind of hawaiin getaway, the theme is even less formal, of those who do not consider fashion, where am I headed? never be aware of the person, what did I mean when I say that? I don't know what I am talking about sometimes, am I talking to nobody? can nobody hear me? I feel so intensely this draw towards
nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing!
YOU IDIOT!!! you're just going in circles, and a part of you wants to believe halloween logic is actually truee
God ****** I don't know what to do with myself
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 4:55 AM UTC
*(i'm afraid of
sleeping now)*
last night i dreamed
the warm white church
walls were all painted
army green
and the kids were
wearing orange jumpsuits
as the youth leaders
screamed orders
*(flashbacks to
calisthenics and
lock-ins that i
usually skipped)*
and i was
scared
so i hid
but they
found me and
i was suspended
i woke up wishing
for my sleep back.
Nov 26, 2016
Nov 26, 2016 at 11:12 PM UTC
A letter with your name came to my address
Inside, it had a promise that I fell for once again
"I plan on being around so much more this year"
Now I've just grown bitter, accepting that you're still not here
Concrete walls and barbed-wire fences
That's where your home is, isn't it?
You're there constantly, do what you can to go back in
A part of me hopes you never come out again
I'm tired of your lies and excuses
And your false atonement for your sins
I'm tired of hoping steel beds will give you back to us.
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 1:38 PM UTC
Oh, you trapped my soul
Locked it in the jailhouse
I came here a man out of time
Today a parasite
Clinging onto the walls
Wrapped around the bars
Stone walls are my friend
Prisoners are my family
Orange jumpsuits for a uniform
Carving the lines into the granite
What time is my parol?
Tastebuds conform to the slop
No one believes my cries
This verdict isn’t mine
I never did the crime
I must have been framed like a picture
Tricked by the trickster
My lawyer was in on the plot
Helped no one but himself
Oh, you trapped my soul
When will the day come
Where I leave behind these walls?
Somedays I think
This is where I belong.
Feb 2, 2020
Feb 2, 2020 at 11:39 AM UTC
The prisoners do not speak
Their jumpsuits scream in orange
Help me
The color so flamboyant
The guards do not speak
Their uniforms scold in blue
No talking
The colors are true
The warden does not speak
His prison mumbles in gray
Suicide
But the colors have already died
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 11:13 PM UTC
No one seems to care; no one really listens
If you don’t play football, baseball, or basketball
Nobody cares. Most teachers don’t know me
And I don’t know them. We need orange jumpsuits
You can’t ever talk to the principal;
He’s too busy, and if you do, he finds
Something wrong with you, and gives you a sermon
Maybe his Jesus loves me, but he sure doesn’t
The assistant principal doesn’t know us
Or care about us; she just screams at us
Unless you’re an athlete. She likes athletes
Everybody just seems so uncomfortable
Or like they don’t want to be here…
“WHY AREN’T YOU IN CLASS?! WHO’S YOUR TEACHER?!”
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 3:13 PM UTC
O yeah throw ya hands
In the air
And wave em like
Ya just don't care yeah
Check the pedigree
Its so lovely
Got haters and foes
Below me show me
Love or else get sedated like drugs
With yo body slugged circling in the drain
Causin drain
I'm nasty from neat
I'm Mystic transform
Like Mystique
Styles unique and who can compete
Against the Texas elite
Never been a novice
Always an elite flows in repeat
Got ya soaked up in ya
Seat
Cuz of the way I floss
On the beat
Ya bound to sweat an ultimate threat poetic terrorist
Ain't no justic once I ****** the rhyme crime
Throwing dimes
On pennies that means I'm nine
Steps ahead of you only a few
Could hang with my crew
Straight out the Houston zoo
Choke emcees til they cold blue
Bringing back the old
Out with the new
Skool big cable jewels .and adidas jumpsuits
Ready to serve you like a court sentence
They can't be serious must be delirious I turn furious
Got critics curious
As george as ya engorge
My plate of lyrics hard for ya to clear it
Once I steer it
In ya direction souls stiff as an ********
Make way for the rhyme interjection
Always keep my Smith n Wesson
Just incase death once ya
To learn a lesson send the blessin'
To the sky high so why try
My third eye never seen a t
Sty
We take whole pies **** a slice
Like my shortys ice out wildn out
Htown ***** know what I'm talkin bout
Make hits like ya in a boxing bout
One round with me is like eternity
Krino in me Pac in me Biggie in me
O yea I rap like any far from a guinea
Pig spligs wigs like digs from oil rigs
Puff my e cig so I can get with
The styles that's hard to comprehend I flow like the wind
Come through any entrance
Uh so ya know I'm in try again
Only get served like the rest of em
Uh and that's how we do it
Htown holding crown
Beating suckas by the pound man hold up
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 10:36 PM UTC