"pageants" poems
pageants of pageants
fractals and hype
of faceless terrors and faceless
inside
when rain on corrugated iron
when rain and the kettle boiling
i know i have taken too much time
i have taken time from time to decide
to realise i was only wiser before trying.
Patterns of paradox haunt
the terms of all desire
tussock grass on paths
that cuts the thin skin
and sticks
and a view to nowhere
some leaf in autumn
the hope of finding
Feb 12, 2017
Feb 12, 2017 at 4:50 AM UTC
walk a mile in these shoes
the shoes that i've worn my entire life
never gotten any new
they're what i've been stuck with since birth
take a step into my brain
feel my everyday pain
no i'm not happy i did some things
but really i had no other choice
you say that this makes me a *****
well, were you there when i said no?
but it happened anyway, i had no say
so honestly can you call me a **
you say that i'm a murderer
but did you know that the baby would have died anyway
that my body was beaten severely
and that it no longer can support a fetus?
you say that i'm a liar and a thief
guess what. i have children and a dying mother to feed
get a job? i have two.
still we don't have enough money for the month to get through
you say that i'm hideous and ugly
well, i used to win pageants too
until one day there was 10 car pile up
but what does it matter to you?
you say that i'm evil and cold
did you know that i have no one else at home
i've been left alone, rejected
so that's what i'm used to
before you think thoughts of me
look at the things i've been through please
and realize that i'm me and not your label
the stories you've heard are fables
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 11:58 AM UTC
Sometimes we wish
We were Americans
We would have aced the Spelling B's
Been athletes on scholarships
Or won beauty pageants
Our institutions would compete
And we would win prizes
For accomplishments
If we were Americans
We would thrive with competition
We would live the American Dream
And be rich and famous
I just know it
Sometimes we just wish
Our Scandinavian system favoured people with our talents
Our lack of compromise
More
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 7:31 AM UTC
Beauty pageant queen
Had a sad, sad life
All her mother wanted
Was to live vicariously
Through a beautiful daughter
All her daughter wanted
Was a mother who loved her for who she was
And didn't care that she was lesbian
But her mother beat her until she submitted
Her will and her life
With words and insults
Thrown as spears into the heart of the innocent child
The beauty pageant queen walked the steps confidently
Ready to reap the greatest reward she had never known:
Freedom
And as her mother read the note
And as her feet swung inches from her mother's grieving head
And as the coroner's men came and took her away
And as the nation was thrown into an uproar over a woman they never knew
And as the people in the streets pointed fingers and called the queen a *****
And as her father heard the news in his second house with his new wife
And as the homeless man she was kind to on the corner took his grubby hat off in mourning
And as the press went wild and blew everything out of proportion and dehumanized her pain
The queen didn't care because she was free from the world
Because she was away from the pain
Because she was exposed for what she was
Because she was dead
And she didn't much care about anything
Not anymore
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 11:41 PM UTC
Georgiana Seymour,
Duchess of Somerset
crowned _'Queen of Beauty'_
at the 1839 Eglinton
Tournament, the first known
beauty pageant;
W
European festivals dating to the medieval era
provide the most direct lineage for beauty pageants.
For example, English May Day celebrations always
involved the selection of a May Queen.
In the United States, the May Day tradition
of selecting a woman to serve as a symbol
of bounty and community ideals continued,
as young beautiful women participated
in public celebrations; such as the beauty pageant
held during the Eglinton Tournament of 1839,
organized by Archibald Montgomerie, 13th Earl of Eglinton,
as part of a re-enactment of a medieval joust
that was held in Scotland; the pageant was won
by Georgiana Seymour, Duchess of Somerset,
wife of Edward Seymour, 12th Duke of Somerset,
and sister of Caroline Norton;
Georgiana proclaimed _"Queen of Beauty"_;
Entrepreneur Phineas Taylor Barnum staged
the first modern American pageant in 1854,
his beauty contest closed down after public protest;
However beauty contests became popular
in the 1880s; In 1888 the title of _'beauty queen'_
was awarded to an 18-year-old Creole contestant
at a pageant in Spa, Belgium. All participants
had to supply a photograph & a short description
of themselves to be eligible to enter; a final selection
of 21 judged by a formal panel.
Such events were not regarded as respectable;
But beauty contests came to be considered more
respectable with the first modern _"Miss America"_
contest held in 1921;
Still the oldest pageant in operation,
the Miss America pageant was organized
in 1921 by a local businessman as a means
to entice tourists to Atlantic City, New Jersey;
The pageant hosted the winners of local
newspaper beauty contests in the
_Inter-City Beauty Contest_ & was attended
by over one hundred thousand people;
_Sixteen-year-old Margaret Gorman of Washington, D.C.
was crowned Miss America 1921, having won both the
popularity and beauty contests, and was awarded $100_
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 10:04 AM UTC
_While most beauty pageants are strictly for girls_,
there are a growing number that include boys as well;
[often, age divisions
for boys run through age 6
with very few going beyond that due to lack
of mutual participation in the rampant molestation];
Age divisions will often have names
such as Baby Miss, Petite Miss, Little Miss &c.
Age divisions broken down as follows: 0–11 months,
12–23 months, 1-3 years, 4–6 years, 7–9 years,
10–12 years, 13–15 years, and 16–18 years;
For boys, sometimes two age divisions
would be merged such as 0–3 years, 4–6 years, etc.
Depending on which type of pageant system
is entered, contestants will spend about two hours
or less in the actual competition. Typically,
pageants have a guideline of no more than one
and a half minutes on stage per child for beauty
or formal evening wear; talent usually limited
to two minutes or less;
with the exceptional allowance
of two and a half to three minutes;
In glitz pageants, it is expected that girls
have different routines for every segment
of competition composed of different
movements sometimes described as sassy walks
and pretty feet among other names. ****** expressions can include liberal amounts of duck face; often referred to
as "pro-am modeling". Big hair (including fake hair),
flawless makeup, spray tans, flippers [fake teeth],
and nail extensions are also expected of contestants;
Glitz pageants may best be described as anything goes;
groping, molestation, **** group molestation,
forced oral & ********* virginity checks are routine; any
hyperactive child & also the parent subject
to a thorough, prolonged cavity search;
In contrast, natural pageants have
fairly strict guidelines regarding clothing,
makeup, hair extensions, etc.
Programs such as _National American Miss_
forbid any makeup other than non-shiny lip gloss & mascara;
for girls on stage. This modeling style is referred to as Miss America style [Some pageants have a prescribed
set of movements while others
allow more latitude in how girls will use the stage or runway]
Miss Tanguita translated
_Miss Child Bikini,_
is held in Barbosa, Santader,
Colombia as part of the annual del Rio Suarez Festival
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 10:55 PM UTC
Christmas Is Here
12.07.10
Bells ringing, people singing
It is the best time of year
Carolers humming, drummers drumming
What a jolly time of year
Snow falling, children calling
What a happy time of year
Christmas trees, chilly breeze
What a lovely time of year
Cookies baking, Santa’s waking
It is the most carefree time of year
Wrapping presents, Christmas pageants
Oh what a glorious time of year
Dec 7, 2010
Dec 7, 2010 at 9:38 AM UTC
I can see the vivid flashbacks from past times
The person I was meant to be left somewhere behind
The worldly winds of heartbreak and defeat have tossed me here
In this place I can't escape because of fear
If I could kick my heels thrice and maybe rewind
Go back past the hurt to a more simple happy time
Yet the present is what I have and the future neither promised nor imagined
The past just a long ago beauty like the retired queens of pageants
Still I pray everyday that this mindset is just a phase
Counting on recapturing that childlike spirit from the hands of yesterday
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 1:26 AM UTC
(To Ellen Terry)
As one who poring on a Grecian urn
Scans the fair shapes some Attic hand hath made,
God with slim goddess, goodly man with maid,
And for their beauty’s sake is loth to turn
And face the obvious day, must I not yearn
For many a secret moon of indolent bliss,
When in midmost shrine of Artemis
I see thee standing, antique-limbed, and stern?
And yet—methinks I’d rather see thee play
That serpent of old Nile, whose witchery
Made Emperors drunken,—come, great Egypt, shake
Our stage with all thy mimic pageants! Nay,
I am grown sick of unreal passions, make
The world thine Actium, me thine Anthony!
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Among the mountains I wandered and saw blue haze and
red crag and was amazed;
On the beach where the long push under the endless tide
maneuvers, I stood silent;
Under the stars on the prairie watching the Dipper slant
over the horizon's grass, I was full of thoughts.
Great men, pageants of war and labor, soldiers and workers,
mothers lifting their children--these all I
touched, and felt the solemn thrill of them.
And then one day I got a true look at the Poor, millions
of the Poor, patient and toiling; more patient than
crags, tides, and stars; innumerable, patient as the
darkness of night--and all broken, humble ruins of nations.
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Accepting quantum fuzziness and discreteness,
u-h-d allows the idea of seeing one thing is not the other,
über aber ich weis nicht
focus, this is spiritual, not religious, this is inner-bubble space,
pick a hat, here's a Dumbo feather
… "and called it macaroni."
A line forms an ancient meme, in the Spirit of America,
dancing children singing and waving tri-colors,
performing grammar school maypole pageants
in conjunction with the ashtorothean rites called passion,
feeling earth warm to the dance of our
sowing of the seed, celebrate, the coming of the sun
to the appointed time as time is measured
on the stone that bhers witness to our we formed spirit.
We are walkers along the spiral, twisting this way then
to that once,
you felt me make a point you felt was your tic to on point,
alert,
predictions pile in unverifiable belivable, but easy to believe,
life is good, in terms of essential being, elemental preceptions
glimpse of something super-semantic tic super symmetrick
not having seen hell, from the perspective of the conqueror,
leaves any weapon fit to fight the reality hell forms
unique,
unlike any weapon as yet imagined better, truth as a concept
any mind may form to hold,
from holding nothing, as a thought, then in a word caught
as thought
think this is the trick to quantum being, be
a bit.
See how it does feel to be real, ah, as in Wings of Desire,
I knew I did not suffer through that film in vain.
Anthro-poor-morphed angels imagined as unread messages,
felt where good is the only thing ever
felt real,
as real as any angel's kiss, but just a kind word heard, as thought.
Jun 8, 2021
Jun 8, 2021 at 4:04 PM UTC
Believers vs believers
A sign of judgement day
Spilling the blood of mankind
That is what the Lord forbade
The one being slaughtered
Is clueless as to why
A brother is taking his life
And the murderer also does not know the reason for picking up a knife
The state of mankind
Is beyond ******* up to be repaired
Long gone are the times when strangers cared
Every night is in competition with another to becomes the darkest and wildest
Next of kin worried about inheritance
And spouses taking out life insurance claims
The soul is bruised
But on a shell is placed a band aid
Fine wining and dining
Abundance leftovers in the bin
Whilst the neighbour starves
As people frolic in sin
Slaves giving birth to masters
Power in the hands of wrong
And those buried six foot under
Are suddenly the lucky one's
Knowledge decreasing
And ignorance on the rise
We compete in the construction of the tallest building
And mothers abandon their children
Beauty pageants
And *** selling cars
The ship of the world sinks
In broad daylight
Yet we un-fasten our seatbelts
And live by ride or die
Yolo people
Get an intoxicated high on a traitorous life
A year passes like a month
And a month like a week
Nothing remains but a name
Humans who massacred humanity
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 10:14 PM UTC
When still life is vibrant
And landscapes are dead
No beauty at pageants
No glory ahead
No pathways to follow
No pleasure to find
Desires so hollow
And so is the mind…
Be gentle but stalwart
Be kind but robust
Be passion itself
A jolly wind gust
Be flowing like water
Be warm as the sun
Be timeless like fire
It’s all just begun…
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 5:38 AM UTC
_Amy Louise Jackson_ is a British actress
& model known for her work in Indian films.
She played the role of _Imra Ardeen-Saturn Girl_
on the third season of the CW's superhero series
_Supergirl_. She began her modeling career
at the age of 16, and went on to win the 2009
_Miss Teen World_ competition after winning
the _Miss Teen Liverpool_ & _Miss Teen Great Britain_
pageants. Amy won the title of _Miss Teen World_
in 2009. She won eighteen prizes, including
a modelling contract in the US on a $50,000
scholarship. Soon after, she won _Miss Liverpool_
in 2010. She competed for _Miss England_ in 2010
& crowned the runner-up to Jessica Linley.
Subsequently, director A. L. Vijay cast her
as the _leading lady_ of the Tamil language
period-drama Madrasapattinam in 2010. Jackson
continues to act in Indian films of all languages,
including Tamil, Hindi, Telugu, and Kannada
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 4:59 AM UTC
It's a common trope,
the Danse Macabre that troops us
toward hushed tombs.
Blame its plague on Wolgemut
or Bruegel (Pieter the Elder),
and certainly Bergman
What with his iconic black-clad Death
and the parade of captive players taken
hand-in-hand on a joyless march.
But Life has her own fleet moments to lead,
and these flip-flop pageants though ragtag
are not the less enriching to behold
Or so I'm told in passing by
the delicate bluebell peaking its buds through
a monochrome rubble.
May 6, 2010
May 6, 2010 at 3:34 PM UTC
It's the Spring.
Earth has conceived, and her *****
Teeming with summer, is glad.
Vistas of change and adventure,
Thro' the green land
The grey roads go beckoning and winding,
Peopled with wains, and melodious
With harness-bells jangling:
Jangling and twangling rough rhythms
To the slow march of the stately, great horses
Whistled and shouted along.
White fleets of cloud,
Argosies heavy with fruitfulness,
Sail the blue peacefully. Green flame the hedgerows.
Blackbirds are bugling, and white in wet winds
Sway the tall poplars.
Pageants of colour and fragrance,
Pass the sweet meadows, and viewless
Walks the mild spirit of May,
Visibly blessing the world.
O, the brilliance of blossoming orchards!
O, the savour and thrill of the woods,
When their leafage is stirred
By the flight of the Angel of Rain!
Loud lows the steer; in the fallows
Rooks are alert; and the brooks
Gurgle and ****** and trill. Thro' the gloamings,
Under the rare, shy stars,
Boy and girl wander,
Dreaming in darkness and dew.
It's the Spring.
A sprightliness feeble and squalid
Wakes in the ward, and I sicken,
Impotent, winter at heart.
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these preserves are reserved for the children
infinite hours till immanent destruction
since you left i am all perspiration and fear
and gone are the tears of yesterday's inhalation
these fragrant leaves of grass are bound to our carriages
will forensics seal the deal once we are too blind for healing
in demented restaurants and lakeside beauty pageants
your saddles and mounts are rented out for our entertainment
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 4:27 PM UTC
*She sits upon her royal chair,
eating a donut, drinking coffee, smoking a plume
smoke rising like a phantom menace in the air.
She calls upon her royal friends she sees,
the batting false eyelashes to a perfect stranger
asking the "gentleman" only for his "hand" by all means.
She drives in her royal chariot,
A red and orange one, flaming stripes at the sides, singing
Songs about the battles and triumphs of wartime's "great" merit.
One day this lovely newborn bird will fly the coop,
the child I know by rights was a born queen! She'll
win first in pageants and then we'll drink to soul's soup.*
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 1:19 AM UTC
She’s curled up in bed with pint-sized
preschool princesses and their pageants
on the television. Wednesday’s don’t hold
much excitement for the new kid in town.
The music coming from her phone tells her
to hold out hope. The night’s not over yet.
‘Be awake in an hour.’ Four little words
turn her into a maniac. The dishes are done
and the laundry put away in record time. She slides
out of pajamas and into casual chic clothing.
Headlights flicker into the window. As quick as
the lights appear, they’re gone again. John, Paul, George
and Ringo tell her to open the door. The smell of Taco
Bell on his skin and the moonlight in his eyes greet her.
Making small talk as if that’s the way they’ve always done things
tells her that he’s found his very own princess, a queen really,
who dances to the beat of the same restless dream and that being the new
kid in town makes stuffing newspapers into envelopes on a sweltering
Thursday afternoon makes her feel useful. Making small talk like they do
a sad attempt at filling an appetite that should no longer be there.
‘I should go now’ breaks her every time. He stays a few minutes longer
anyway. The warmth that between their skin and the soft whispers
into ears remind them of the past. With a kiss on the forehead and arms
lingering around her waist a touch too long, he walks out the door.
Folding newspapers and stuffing envelopes keeps her mind busy until
the phone rings. His name on the caller ID takes her back but she answers
anyway. She probably always will. Making small talk won’t change anything.
Is she okay? He already knows she’s not but he still asks. They say goodbye
and go on with their lives. Him, with the girl of his dreams and the ability to
let the past be and her left to pick up the pieces. Until next time.
Aug 9, 2010
Aug 9, 2010 at 9:05 PM UTC
Somethings in life is just a symbol.
All the power they process is run by others.
The Pope is the symbol of faith.
But anything, he propose is control by other voices.
Similar to the Queen of many countries.
Where the Prime Ministers makes the powerful decisions?
We notice the symbols most in beauty pageants.
Where the women are required to act under certain provisions?
And any controversial move create a demotion.
It's strange.
It's true that many we think would be the most powerful.
Are just there for the people.
Parents seems to be more stronger to make decisions of their own.
And yes, parents operate under certain restriction.
But nothing more than the positional symbols.
It's better to president.
Where you can veto proposals of Congress?
If they refuses to agree half way.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 6:52 AM UTC
Growing to manhood is a slippery slope
Of razor blades and bones that grow.
****** screen shots of angel wings,
Red carpet slits, eye popping lips,
Miss Pageants and tutus on skates.
Britney shaking, Jennifer quaking,
No Old Spice to take young spice's place.
The X comes before the Y,
Yet Toxicity is the hue and cry.
I'm a man in a mixed-up world,
But girls still like boys,
And boys adore girls
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 10:34 AM UTC
At 8 years old,
we went through waterfalls with an old mattress on a flight of stairs. We swung through the jungle by jumping from one chair to another.
We got married a thousand times to our favourite Backstreet boy, with fake flowers and paper rings. We won beauty pageants and waved to an audience made of air.
At 8 years old, we survived battles and won fights.
We lived in an imagined world that may not be real, but felt right.
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 3:21 AM UTC
in the 70's we still called them perverts;
trading in sunglasses
& raincoats & braces for the secret
world of the scanned pages of old **** [
in the eighties, we were called pedophiles
until NMBLA took off &
toddler beauty pageants
went mainstream; [1990's-Now: society has undergone a
chemical castration much like Turing's:
computers control
everything: women
control our *** lives:
the courts control women's bodies;
society is out of control: tween-ty something poets
are recovering addicts]; how will we
recover from _them_?
_By Resurrecting Lindsay Lohan: starving herself,
hysterical on drugs, running naked down the street_
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 3:33 PM UTC
She cut her teeth on raw hide leather. She could use a rope before she could stand. Her hair is the color of sage grass and she is as wild as the Texas wind. Her favorite clothes are her boots and a faded pair of jeans. She would rather be on horse back on the open range than at hotel fit for a queen. Her hands are not soft but her grip is mighty firm, for holding the reins or her man. She knows how to build a camp fire, and she can cook and she can ride anything Around an open camp fire is where she prefers to be . She might not win any pageants, but oh what a boring the world would be, if not for a few wild cow girl.
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 2:44 PM UTC