"miniskirts" poems
a companion piece to
miniskirts & high heels vs. poetry & yoga^
<•>
a couple of buds at a local dive bar, drinking Buds,
talking loud about technology
and other manly man stuff
attract attention for our conversation isn't bout sports,
get approached by long legs in high heels and a miniskirt,
with the best come on line ever
any woman invented,
"you guys know about computers, huh?"
later after reading twenty or so of her poems,
and learning the degree of difficulty of the
downward facing dog pose
(adho mukha svanasana)
she said:
tell me again how I
*clear my cache,
change my font,
add more memory for new memories,
stop auto correct from making wont into want,
so I can happy write*
"wont thy thoughts to my heart thereof"
so I obliged and then
the geek in meek wrote
his first poem
after first clearing the catch
in his throat
Jul 9, 2017
Jul 9, 2017 at 12:35 PM UTC
did not know her when she was miniskirts and high heels,
before she converted to the one true religion of
poetry & yoga
some stray dog thots raveling in a pack
cross the not-even-6am brain that alternates tween
new day Adam apple crumb crisp and
distracting lascivious Eve ones
I,
would have loved you same back then,
no different than now
I,
write in different styles
under so many pseudonyms,
but it is the same man
I,
who crawls into bed nightly with
great expectations and a list of salutations
to wake you up and commence writing how
I,
love your poetic yoga-toned long legs
snaking between mine
while I imagine them in miniskirts and high heels
which is a long way round of saying
You,
alone, my darling forever young one,
are my
one true religion...
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 12:03 PM UTC
Freedom is premium priced,
At the casino of the world nations throw the dice,
The tables are rigged by the fat rats and mice,
Girls in curvaceous miniskirts on poles entice,
***** laced drinks and cancer sticks merrily fleece,
Fizzy burgers are served filled with crucified cheese,
Layers of salt and blood and veins congealing with grease
Are the fillings inside the consumed meat,
Come to the sale of the century and let your life be diseased,
Take whatever you want and still you will never be pleased,
Remember, one day all will be held to account, so all evil immediately cease,
Do not make the mistake to ********** the legend of glorious Hercules
Or pollute and sell the message of almighty God so cheaply.
©Rangzeb Hussain
Apr 16, 2010
Apr 16, 2010 at 3:40 AM UTC
The assassins hit in 63
And Camelot was gone,
Inspiration vanished
And the darkness sang it’s song.
*Vietnam escalated
Brezhnev’s Russia loomed,
Africa was eviscerated
And Red China entombed.
*Floating on a long white cloud
The Kiwis were replete
With abundant British markets
For their butter, wool and meat.
*The Europeans went ****
And Britain lost it’s way
When the Beatles and the Rolling Stones
Monopolized their day.
*Man landed on the moon
And raised the Yankee flag
And they shot Mahatma Ghandi
For making good things out of bad.
*The Berlin Wall dividing,
The Cold War tense and spare,
ICBM’s threaten silently
In their silos of despair.
*Bob Menzies ruled Australia
As an amassing of his loot
And his White Australia Policy
Condemned him as a brute.
*Found naked on her tousled bed,
Blonde hair across her face,
Marylin Monroe is dead
The world’s a darker place.
*In the Age of Aquarius
Our children lost their youth,
LSD and smoking ***
And Afro’s were the proof.
*Lots of leg in miniskirts,
High bouffant’s in the hair,
Screaming teeny boppers
Rock with Elvis on “the Air”.
*Giant, Rawhide, Ponderosa,
Martin Luther King,
Kaftans and a cheese fondue,
Abortion is a sin!
It’s a sixties kaleidoscope,
A panoramic skim
Of an era of wonderment
Which you and I lived in.
Marshalg
@the Gate
Mangere Bridge
20th January 2009
Oct 23, 2009
Oct 23, 2009 at 2:25 PM UTC
i like wearing miniskirts and i read marie claire
i like bubblegum pop music and i like to dye my hair
i like rich thick hot pink lipgloss and i like to pretend
i still dress up all the time even though i’m seventeen
and im learning how to defend myself
i pretend my legs are made of silk and i pretend im sleeping beauty
i fake like im a natural blonde and fake like im a cutie
i like having kitten pits and i like kissing girls
i like clothes that show off my **** and i like wearing pearls
i like the way my hair smells of peaches
and i like it even when it reeks of 15 different kinds of bleaches
im a ******** soft girl
im a pincushion queen
a raspberry swirl cheesecake
a pretty little thing with a head full of snakes
deliberately unclean
deliberately obscene
pretty as yesterday’s underwear
pretty as the roots of courtney’s hair
pretty as my favourite les mis scene
when anne hathaway’s fantine dreams a dream
and her nose starts running as she starts to cry
and everything felt real for once in my life
i’m covered in face powder and i’m covered in dirt
and you’ll never know joy if you never know hurt
and that’s why they make disney princess plasters
so when you skin your knees you’ll only feel prettier after
let’s talk about all the junk we like
and re-learn the art of laughter
i’ll be in the kitchen making raspberry tea
whenever you wanna join me
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 10:10 PM UTC
What I Wanted to Wear for Halloween
…is not what you wanted me to wear for Halloween.
I wanted to be one of those girls in the comic books,
spinning around in high-heeled boots, high-strung ponytails, and miniskirts.
You convinced me to be Mulan.
It was the 90’s, after all.
And she was pretty cool. I guess.
I loved it more when I realized she had a sword. I planned to cut my hair with it.
But when I asked for her sword, you handed me a fan, told me to have fun with my friends.
My best friend wore a real kimono that year – all thick and purple and bright –
her father brought it back from Japan.
We were both Mulan. I guess.
But she loved her fan and silk and uppy hair up-do.
Mine had already taken a tumble for the worse.
And that is exactly what I see, many years later, as I stare in the mirror – finally in my boots.
I keep them on when I sit at the keyboard and type in her name
M-U-L-A-N
The truth comes after H-U-A
After twelve years of fighting, and dying, and winning, and fighting by her side,
China didn’t even know she was a woman.
They couldn’t have cared less at all.
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
Highheels and miniskirts
mascara and manicures
lotion and lipgloss
A girls world is a mist of all things non "boy"
and yet
it all sercretly revolves around boys
what he wants
what he likes
why are we trying so hard to impress them?
Feb 10, 2011
Feb 10, 2011 at 5:13 PM UTC
Don't call me a fool
just because I don't fit your bill.
I am made of mistakes
and ugly laughter.
I am a before,
a right now,
and a happy little after.
I am gritted teeth
and burnt roast beef
and tired eyes
and skinny lies
and bloated bellies
and tiny tellies.
I am shattered hearts
and missing parts
and miniskirts
and false new starts.
I am that one channel
your parents don't let you watch,
or a giant, messy void
called a black ink splotch.
I am peer pressure,
irresponsibility,
and midnight crises
pushed into a fleshbag
to walk around the world.
Don't control my life
just because you can't control
your own.
I have my own place in this world-
-a place called the throne.
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 9:45 AM UTC
theatralic melodys
from the remedy
of first kiss tragedies
self ironic chronics of the super-sonic self-awareness immortality tonic
blasting out jokes
that choke from an overload
of a self-sadistic adolescent glow
there are troubles in teenagetown
out of their mind
cause they are homeward-bound
assimilate a thrill and be a thriller
as you drop a one-liner and become the moment killer
cheerleader utopia and planned backseat scenaries
communicate via inside jokes in binary
prom night is a kafkaesque dilemma
coquettish flirting miniskirts
plus a dangerous liqour goodnight hammer
there are troubles in teenagetown
cause troubles do make a sound
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 7:05 PM UTC
Freedom is premium priced,
At the casino of the world nations throw the dice,
The tables are rigged by the fat rats and mice,
Girls in curvaceous miniskirts on poles entice,
***** laced drinks and cancer sticks merrily fleece,
Fizzy burgers are served filled with crucified cheese,
Layers of salt and blood and veins congealing with grease
Are the fillings inside the consumed meat,
Come to the sale of the century and let your life be diseased,
Take whatever you want and still you will never be pleased,
Remember, one day all will be held to account, so all evil immediately cease,
Do not make the mistake of prostituting the glorious deeds of Hercules
Or polluting and selling the message of almighty God so cheaply.
©Rangzeb Hussain
May 8, 2010
May 8, 2010 at 8:06 PM UTC
Street lights
city's asleep right?
liquor store heist
jazz music and sweet lies
Billy Bat cries
because his girl did leave last night
And the radio, doesn't care
nor the angels in the bible
billy the bat has to fly on his own
through depression and the absencene of meaning
screaming, gleaming city lights and neon signs
Sweet Crimes
Miniskirts flirting at midnight
bowling alley heist
Money and denial
the Anchorman sighs
and Billy bat too
cause he seems to get over you
Well the radio still doesn't care
nor the angels in the bibel
Billy the Bat has to fly alone
through heartaches and hardships
screaming, gleaming city lights and neon signs
These times
the mafia will rise
super market heist
the city girls are cryin
billy bats eyes
open from ages of denial
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 6:45 PM UTC
inspired: gray old men in soiled raincoats
& drunk, ***** young |
girls w/ ratty | | |
pink & blue [hair]; |
Russian girls [dressing like second-hand (Barbie's & Chloe's)
postmodern fembots in white ankle go-go boots
& Pucci miniskirts w/
moth-eaten colored ||
tights
gather in dusty libraries reeking of
old books & alcohol & later, strong ****** of going
to college [ ] parties & losing tenure;
Artaud [Rimbaud, Burroughs, Villon], Bukowski &
Berryman: insane [Whitman, Ginsberg, Carroll -
Plath, Smith, Millay, Teasdale] |
losers | like old bearded (Dorothy Parker)
uncles reciting gutter odes;
paraphrasing classical epics -
[Gilgemesh,
the Death of Arthur,
Large & Small Eddas]:
***** young girls [ ] write flirty love poetry
to old
men & teasing boys their age w/ insight: boys
knowing nothing of insight, | all except | ||
| that one poet
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 1:37 PM UTC
He's the skinnier
and the drunker
Just a few cents
for your pride is all he seeks
Sell your soul
the devil is in a good mood today
If these poem ever made sense
then you'd be the craziest
Just like her
Like the tales
She confides in
like the miniskirts
or the cloths of the dark
your high on kush
Heaven here she come
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 5:57 PM UTC
Shh, shh, shh,
Shut down.
Ask him how well
It worked out
When we broke up,
Then he wanted me back.
How he showed up crying.
He's the only other one
I've ever called my Polaris,
And he called me his Firefly.
Late nights in my basement,
Giggling quiet because
My parents didn't know.
Ask him about
When I chose him
Over my Bird,
And he felt like air.
Ask him about
When he took it
Too far,
And why I don't wear
Miniskirts anymore.
Ask him about Valentines,
And why his new girlfriend
Hates me.
Ask him
What I'm like
When I lose
Predictability...
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 3:58 PM UTC
We are growing further apart
And the only reason that this upsets me
Is because you're taking my heart.
When did you rip it out of my chest?
Was it when you told me that I already had yours?
Or was it when you took my celibacy
That I unknowingly unlocked myself to you?
What happened to making it work
No matter what
**Hold me in your heart
Because it is the closest thing to my soul
--You will always be remembered
Because my spirit decided to settle in you
---Give me your body
So that I will never have to go anywhere without you**
Why did you leave?
Did I do something wrong?
It's not you, it's me
Don't lie to me
I am always the reason
You always play the victim, get over yourself
Just like the way you got over me
While I was sitting on the outside designing miniskirts for your cheerleaders
You are always waiting
I thought I needed to wait for you to love me
And I could've awaited eternity
But instead I searched forever
Looking for someone who had not yet found himself
**Fly with me to Neverland
Where even after eternities of forevers
I will find you
--Swim with me across the seven seas
Where our thoughts are permeable and diluted
I can understand you
---Lay with me
You are an everlasting illusion of love
I dream you**
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 6:42 AM UTC
I know I am not what you think
a woman should be
I see you flinch at the sight of these
stray hairs between my eyebrows
I know you want binaries
You want boundaries
You can't wrap your head around fluidity
I know I am not what you think
a woman should be
I know my flannel shirts untucked from miniskirts
Confuse your standardized notions
You repeatedly ask me if I'm a lesbian
As if the only way this type of femininity
Could be rational was if my sexuality
Deviated from another norm you abide by
And by the way, I'm bi.
How long will you stare at these
Uncovered pimples and army green nail polish
How long will I feel your gaze
Appraising and questioning
Every inch of my flesh?
You didn't do this when I was thin
That time when my bones were present
And my eyebrows were threaded
And my skin was covered and my
Clothes were coverings two sizes too big
Now I have multiple chins and sometimes
I let grease run down them
When I let myself eat onion rings
I don't know how to not let you
Look at me in the way that you do.
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 5:15 PM UTC
The air breathes silk and soft
the table is crowded with crap things to do
my mind falters in the gutters running criss-cross
the pages of poets dreaming love
where is the *** and sin and late nights
in the bottles of doom
which race through my thoughts
down to the last drop
Where is this woman I met last week
spilling her ***** out on the table
for us to gaze upon-untouchable
because her man flexes his muscles
while he appears brain dead.
Why do I write such stuff
Why do I see with blinding eyes
Where do the words come from to express
pain and loneliness and the poverty
of patience. Who really reads these snippets
I am rambling into the night
where the shadows make walls
of visions that dance silhouettes
of memories from times ago
and the hustle bustle of beauties
that I once knew are now fragile old women
tending to grandchildren
in the dusty courtyard of life.
Even as I write an endless stream
of rivers cascading into waterfalls
of words my mind bends beautifully
this Sunday mornings sermon of hope.
Just now I heard a youngster write
of what poets and poems do.
Nothing really. It metamorphoses
the body and soul into exquisite
melancholy or madness, pain or purity
but never ever makes sense
when you want it to.
Who ever said poems should be short
with miniskirts and make-up
parading the twilights of ******
and hopelessness
unable to find clients of hope
unprepared to shock listeners
into jumping off the cliffs of nonsense?
Thats only a snapshot
of how I work
writing endless reams
of the bad and the beautiful.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 8:57 PM UTC
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Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 11:52 PM UTC
a fatuous ****** was
a mystery
while political recovery went
to Landon
with a host of boomers
that threw in their towels
and modular things
like miniskirts
that accentuated their legs
with gratitude of marks
whether paper may trigger darkness
while without clement
in stranger areas of lament
that cry for their cement
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 8:38 AM UTC