"laurent" poems
Please
Don't spray
Your cheap **** all around
Like it's air freshener
I actually wear perfume
Classics: Yves Saint Laurent, Coco Chanel, Oscar de la Renta
I pay good money to stand out
So don't make me smell like you
And your cheap *** perfume
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 8:44 PM UTC
Take me on a journey
Whisked away by your poetry
Let me exhale my mind
And be at one with your kind.
Lead me away like the fey
To poetry journalists
And HB specialists
Who like Toreinss Pinwinkle
Sprinkle fairy dust upon words and phrases
Until all who gazes are stunned.
Take me to where sk abdul
ski slopes
Where words formed
With ice cold precision
Fall soft as snowflakes
Forming landscapes in my mind.
My mind wanders with Luiz
Until with an elbow crack, I’m back
Tuned in a spin, by Ryn
Heeding Laurent’s call
Away from the dark places Mr Woods may take me
To be at one with the shadow in the dark,
Because as someone anonymous once said
“it’s sometimes light
but can be dark
as poetry is not
just a walk in the park”.
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 9:28 AM UTC
The fall of the
L'Heure Bleue,
the sweet lights, Brandenburg Gate,
awaiting human kisses,
a Midas touch,
kiss & tell
lipstick stains,
good girl gone bad,
Her,
heart & soul,
written,
in a silver,
streak,
of embellished ink
Each morning, crossing
horizons,
dawn to sunrise,
the photographers
'sweet light'
sunset to dusk
No full daylight, or
darkness,
sunlight only illuminating,
scattering skies
Paris, & Rome
the Colosseum, & the Eiffel Tower,
strike fire & flowers
This blue hour, shapeshifters
black Alexander **** &
Saint Laurent's elaphe snakeskin,
tainted pumps
The darker side, of
feminine mystique,
fire wood skies fade
Her,
ghost remains
She,
travels her own mind.
© Sia Jane
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 8:00 PM UTC
.
D
e e l e
l i c l
c ou c
o s o
u D e u
s l i s
D c o D
e u s e
l ~ l
i
c
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 12:36 AM UTC
boy may move
make moves
the coast sways blue
ghostly grey quaaludes
gasp and gather and get gone
see gulls
see “get out of dodge” a la roget
sunburnt skin Rośe
aloe
vera ****
saint white
more saint than yves laurent
freighter; only witness
speak now
or hold your peace
see “forever” a la webster
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 7:43 PM UTC
it was more than a week ago
when he burned my hand
and i called you up drunk.
she pulled the phone from my hand
and told me i was making a mistake.
i told her i was calling my mom
and she gave it back to me.
we were on the bus
when i called her
and i smiled at him and i felt dizzy.
she took my phone from my hand
and talked to her.
you didn't pick up so i called again.
ring.
ring.
ring.
i whispered in her ear
careful and afraid,
( i n t o x i c a t e d )
"don't tell her what i told you earlier."
she turned to me with an eye roll and said,
"i would never."
he watched us.
hands shaking as i texted you
as steady as i possibly could.
it might have been the third time i told you i love you that month.
you told me to stop texting.
she handed the phone back to me and got off the bus.
i told him to come over here.
he said no.
i sighed and sat next to him.
she was giggling in my ear.
i felt sad.
so i started to smoke.
she took my phone away.
my voice was hoarse from all the cigarettes
and my hands were frozen.
inside, someone turned on all the lights.
i handed him the phone.
he asked if you were my sister.
she gave me back my phone.
i messaged you again.
you said you were bowling.
i said i didn't care.
i hung up the phone and asked him where he was going.
we were alone.
he said orleans, what about you?
i said st laurent.
i told him my sister lives there.
you wouldn't call.
your phone was broken.
it went straight to voicemail.
you said i was drunk.
i said i wasn't.
i said he burned my hands and i made lots of friends.
you said congratulations.
i got off the bus before him.
i said i love you.
you said, "you're drunk."
i said i was scared
and that i was alone.
no one would answer my calls.
i got off the bus at my sisters.
i listened to the strokes.
someone behind me called my name.
i played with the cigarette pack in my pocket.
it was my sister's boyfriend.
he lead me up to their apartment.
they gave me beer.
and ****
you said i should be talking to her.
i said i'd rather be talking to you.
i met a drug dealer
and tried to roll a joint.
they told me to keep drinking so i did.
it wasn't enough.
you said you were done.
i asked you why but i think i already knew the answer.
"i want to wake up with a hangover."
"keep drinking."
you went to bed.
i told you i love you.
you didn't answer.
i woke up at one in the afternoon
and told her we needed to talk.
i wasn't hungover.
i went out to my friends house.
i played with the cigarettes in my pocket.
i got home and asked you out.
you said yes.
i felt
complete.
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 4:45 PM UTC
strange
isn’t it
how
memories
pique our moods like
mountains
bursting
through the
stratosphere
only to be sent
plummeting to the
depths of an
abyss
darker
and
deeper
than Marianas Trench
at the flip of a
switch
subtle triggers
found in the way
someone laughs
or when a co-worker
grins
out of the corner of
his or her
mouth
i see you
in the characters of the
literature and
films we used to critique
over coffee
hiding in the vestiges
of Daenerys Targaryen
or
Mélanie Laurent
you are France
an entire country
unto yourself
the smell of the sea
clings to your skin cells
in ways i
only wish
i could
you are in every
solitary
letter of Helvetica
whispering
softly
of things that
were
of things that
are
and of some things that
have not yet come to pass
you float
in the carcinogenic smoke
of cigarettes
a silhouette
corporeal particles
i exorcise
with equal parts
relief
and
regret
every night that i
paint the town
in neon colors
of vibrant life
i write your name
when i
vandalize
and fantasize
that you are
somehow with me
maybe floating happily
in the molecules
of aerosol
spreading across the
concrete
you’re in every song
by Brand New
like the residue of
dew drying on
the leaves
in the
mid-morning
light
lingering
even as
the sun calls you
home
the way i lingered
on your doorstep
to make sure that
you made it safely
back inside your
home
i’ve come to find that
i am equal parts
melancholy
and
blithe
and
i think that i
can finally say
i’m getting better
but
to borrow
a page
from Vonnegut
i’d be lying if
i said i didn’t still
catch
myself feeling
sorry
about the things that
no longer
matter
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 10:11 AM UTC
Recession, what recession, I couldn't care a jot
You should check out all the money that I've got.
I don't need to work as my Dad's a merchant banker
And he's a fat cat too, what a greedy ******
I look out my window to see the peasants grovel
In the dirt, starving in a filthy Council hovel;
I just sit and smile and sip at my Laurent-Perrier.
Long live capitalism, I just couldn't be any merrier.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 7:04 AM UTC
Good things come to those who wait
Well I’m done waiting.
I’ve waited before.
I’ve been heartbroken,
I’ve recovered,
I’ve looked and looked and been around,
I gave up,
threw in the towel.
And then I was found.
By You
you who are so far away that distance includes a time difference
Limbo.
is not a state of mind!
It is a heart breaker, Chest beater There are not enough words in the world Minutes in the day
To express my frustration
With You
The universe
My weak weak resolve
To wait for you
I’ve waited before.
But I thought I had found you!
Been found.
Brought back to the place I had been before
I was like Eve,!
in the Garden of Eden (pause)
Love is like……
Being high
But you still get the paranoia It’s just not as intense
I’ve been heartbroken before
They say:
Distance makes the heart grow fonder?
But no one ever said what it did to the mind
Sleeping patterns, social skills and drinking habits?
I could have loved you.!
(But for that I needed time)
You could have been the love of my life
(Feelings grow)
The one ( a concept we trivialised)
Our relationship was facilitated
By my own temporary living situation
PAUSE
This limbo is never-ending
You drive me ******* crazy…
Crazy to ****
In blue Yves-St Laurent.
On top of covers,
Never under.
I guess the issue is
LETTING GO.
I don’t want to
It’s not fair
I just found someone who cares
About music, and books, haircuts
Me.
My needs
My pleasures
You chased ME
Right into my own mind Heart Body and soul
You got me
All of me;
My virginity
You said you didn’t do goodbyes.
I’ve never had to say goodbye;
But I think that we should have
Instead of this awful purgatory
That I’m wallowing in
Doubt, pity and swallowing
.My feelings.
Because this was meant to be easier (plea)
For you at least.
I
I just wish I was a vampire
So I could turn my feelings off
And recover
And I can’t fully address the heartache,
The recovery
The looking looking, getting around
Giving up, throwing in the towel
Because like a child
I am putting my foot down
I don’t want to be found
I already found you!
I will make my way back into your heart.
I will cross oceans.
I will succeed
Doubt and fear
Of my own instabilities
Abilities
Or lack of…
I have never been as uncertain.
I hope you’re happy…
That you make me feel this way…
Not that I regret
The time that WE spent.
I loved being we.
I hope that you would have grown to love me.
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 10:58 AM UTC
(Short Story)
The questions burned inside of me
searing through my guts to my core
leaving a trail of ash through this house
treating my blood like gasoline
smoke rising to my head
melting my brain
Down to this;
One question -
Did he do it?
I could hear my heart beating and watched the hairs on my skin shake a little from the rumble of its thunder.
I asked this question to myself over and over. First, in disbelief. Not letting the facts in front of me fully sink in. But as hours passed, the question began to change and I began to see the woman in the mirror staring back at me a little bit differently.
We’ve almost been here. Time and again. This place of such uncertainty and unknown. But never this close. Not here where we are today. I poured a glass of wine and kept the channel 3 tv on mute. Leaned against the cabinets and granite counter top in the kitchen. I put my head down. Starting at the residue of water stains on the glass that I had chosen. These water stains are disrupting my peace, I thought. Just another flaw in this house that nobody else sees. Infidelity allegations, sleepless nights, bedroom fights, and now this?
I put the glass down, found my way slowly in my Saint Laurent Swarovski crystal-embellished satin pumps through the dim, echoing hallway to the den. My place for morning light and his for evening company and cigars. I looked all around, starring at every wall. Flashbacks of us stripping down, him gripping my waist as he thrusted inside of me while I held on to these walls for stability. A house that has seen many things. If these walls could speak I may not believe their stories.
But this story, is difficult to disbelieve. Not revealed from walls, but through the power of the news media crew. Unfolding and developing stories ringing in my ears. Like high frequency waves making me dizzy. The story of Anna. The last breath she took and the last person to see her alive. The man they believe to be her lover. A quiet man, intuitive, logical and a realist. A hard working, loving and devoted family man. My husband, Oliver. Now under the authoritative custody of the Mipson county sheriff department, as a prime suspect for the ****** of Miss Anna B Delaney.
Details of the scene have not yet been released so it is still unclear and most inconceivable to imagine what happened to Anna.
Jun 16, 2018
Jun 16, 2018 at 11:29 PM UTC
The smell of your leather belt was comforting--
rich and almost plastic-y, smooth with round notches ingrained
how many times have I fallen asleep on your stomach
lulled by bubbles and pops quarreling beneath the surface
your voice rolling through your legs, thick waves, I'm
hearing you through layers of mud and my ceiling watching
your big feet, awkward and knobby like hobbit toes
I'm trying to picture this in my mind so it stays, just
the other day I felt your hands for minutes on end to be sure
I knew the texture of your hair as well, soft in the back, abrupt before
your neck, the smell of you too
Pleasingly dank as if your dresser was wet, soaked in laundry soap and Yves Saint Laurent
soft against my lips as if I could roll them back and forth under your ear
pretending I'm only breathing but I'm teasing
and crying, you're leaving for
new mexico
Aug 8, 2012
Aug 8, 2012 at 12:07 PM UTC
.
Tom
Ford Yves St
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Dior Michael K
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Karl Lagerfeld
Oscar de la Ren
ta JohnGalliano
JeanPaulGaultie
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outin GeoffreyB
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R a lph L au ren
Pierre Cardin Giorgio Armani
Zac Posen Phillip Lim Jason Wu Gianni
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Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 10:57 AM UTC
my hair absorbed the humidity like the mop that dips into the watered down Fabuloso on sunday mornings
slaps on the floor and rubs back and forth on wood
i looked at the ground after stares from the first five grown men i passed
i felt dizzy chasing after meaning
i walked until i pictured myself downtown
peering in at sweet pork spots
and bakery corner shops with the occasional
we buy gold stands and ads for tutoring nearby
feel the cobblestone of the streets beneath my feet
making it hard to walk in an aligned manner
i felt my face flush of coolness
i step to the side holding on to one of the vans
that have fake coach and yves saint laurent in the trunk
look at my hands
skin translucent veins undeniably apparent
wipe my eye and i’m back
on the ave
on a saturday morning
strolling
formulating my escape
Apr 13, 2019
Apr 13, 2019 at 11:35 AM UTC
Like the bankers bunch of wankers buying immunity, taking the community chest and passing go.
Monopoly funny but it's your ******* money they're moving around.
Swimming pools and Eve St Laurent,
the perfume of being right when you're wrong and
just pay the fine,
defraud and
***** the public purse.
The social spike ain't going to jail,too many posh nobs ******* on the pay trail,
feeding on the poor sure is filling,
Negotiate a settlement it doesn't matter that we're bent we're bankers,tossers,selling off our losses,calling in the debts,
millions ,billions,
we'll make a few gazillions and the pillars of society can kiss our **** we're the ******* barbie dolls,the bearded ******* billy goat trolls,
Investors **** us up,digest and get their dividend,we get,we lend,this gravy train will never end.
No shysters were injured during the making of this poem because they've got a guarantee
'steal the money and stay free'
The social spike will be the death of me and then they can steal my annuity.
********
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 7:22 AM UTC
There stands our Novel Chamberlain
Xenophobic uber-prat with top dog pretensions
a weak chine coward showing profile unrefined
goggles dark, black shirted.shameless bully craves attentions
parody of a man mired in semblance exuding puerile ignorance fine
insipid pale republican Tonton Macoute compensating his limitations
There stands our novel Chamberlain
a oaf with mildew loaf, the ubiquitous Brown shirt warrior
he's here, there pontificating absurd prose worthy of disdain
cringing vocabulary, warped voyeuristic styles, he straddles Parlio
emitting odious **** of a mentally deranged finding shelter in de rain
basking in mock praises from acolytes and accounts in his alter-egos
There stands our Nonentity Chamberlain
the charlatan of all poetic sides and raconteur un- magnifique
he's eaten in Laos, slept i Siberia, climbed the Laurent and lion slain
been all over the world, bedded women from China to Mozambique
he is a trialist, finalist, racialist, specialist, a fantasist, all but not plain
as he sits in ***** drawers in a dingy room masking his life oblique
There stands our 'no-mark' Chamberlain
dark shades and black T-shirt a poser fantasizing he is a G-man
look behind the facade and see the under-endowed troll insane
a coward, a nasty, witless, brain addled yob and **** fresh in a can
show me the confident wholesome being who does like this knave
a fake con artist, buffoon, with the pretentious guise so much in frame
Aug 20, 2019
Aug 20, 2019 at 12:21 PM UTC
If our worlds do collide
Somewhere deep in the sky
My angel dressed in Saint Laurent
Will you call me
Will you call me
When our inner thoughts collide
Somewhere deep within the night
A fragile girl dressed all in white
Will call your name
And say her vows
Apr 25, 2023
Apr 25, 2023 at 9:55 AM UTC
Laurent, I want to thank you for
Breaking my heart before
'Cause now I know that love --
Is not being able to say 'you're mine'
But being able to say the perfect rhyme
The day you learned to play with my heart
Is the day I learned to play with words
Watch as I turn my pain into written art
While I watch your eyes run dry after the rain has poured
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 1:36 PM UTC