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Mak Jul 2014
The room was silent. The only sound to be heard was the slow, steady dripping from my mother’s IV.      

“What do you mean, you’re dying?”

Multiple Sclerosis was, in short, a ***** of a disease. Somewhere along the span of my mother's 35 short years on this planet, her immune system made a giant mistake. For uncertain reasons, her body began to attack nerve cells, severely affecting her brain's processing ability and mobility. The only medication that had ever subdued the symptoms was beginning to **** her.

“It isn’t an immediate thing, Makayla. I still have plenty of time.”

Turning away from my mother, I wiped tears from my eyes. There was no way in hell I was going to let my family see me cry. Absolutely no way. This was a joke. My mom was not going to die.

“Kayla, baby, talk to us. It’s okay.”

With a deep breath, I forced a smile, as I often did, and blinked away all traces of tears from my gray eyes. Turning around to meet my parents’ worried expressions, I simply nodded.

“How long?”

The question came out as more of a statement than a question. The morbid implication of those two short words spoke worlds louder than any words I could muster.

“5 years, at the absolute worst.”

At that, I stood, and left. I ran, and ran, and ran. I ran until my lungs hurt, and then kept running. But no matter where or how fast I went, I knew I could not escape the horrible reality of the matter.

The woman who gave me life was losing hers.

I was always the type of person who knew how to talk my way out of any situation.

And this time, there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

There’s no sweet-talking death.

And with that, I began to accept her demise, and my defeat.

///

The first sip burned my esophagus, and I felt the blaze continue to my stomach, where it left a lasting warmth. I coughed a little, as the hazy feeling of drunkenness set in, setting my head spinning and my insides ablaze.

The past two months (52 days, 4 hours, and 30-something seconds) were a continuous downward spiral into a constant intoxicated state. Instead of addressing my feelings in the endless sea of counseling sessions and semi-sympathetic family therapy hours, I isolated myself. When my mother asked how I was, my reply remained the usual, “Doing great, mom.”

I was not, in fact, doing great. The alcohol wrapped itself into me, braided itself within my better sense, and I began to let myself fall apart. The wall I so often hid behind, the wall of perfection, of cool, was crumbling. Short, yet deep cuts lined my thighs, just high enough to be hidden by the hem of my shorts.

My mother had the opportunity to save her own life. Russian research had found a possible cure for the disease that had been plaguing her very existence. 3 weeks of chemotherapy, followed by a few months of intensive care, and she would be normal once again.

My mother denied the treatment.

“Too much money,” she said.

“Too inconvenient,” she said.

Compared to the life of my mother, no amount of money nor convenience mattered.

I was furious.

I was drunk.

///

My mind swam, speech slurred, fingers trembled.

My phone sat in front of me, propped up on a gray tissue box, which had been halfway expended due to that night’s waterworks. The Coca-Cola can which held my ***/coke concoction was long past empty. I was drunk, and screaming words like ‘sorry’ and ‘doesn’t deserve this’ into a pillow. I knew my mother deserved to live. Compared to me, she was a saint. I felt empty and pathetic. I deserved to die.

I convinced myself that maybe if I did something extreme, she would value her own life more than she did.

I held tightly onto the railing of my house’s only set of stairs, as I attempted to keep my balance. I walked drunkenly to the medicine cabinet, careful not to make noise and wake my parents. I grabbed as many pill bottles as I could carry.

Exactly 41 pills of assorted shapes, sizes, and colors sat in lines on my bed. Small to large, rainbow order. The comfort of organization wasn’t helping this time. I wanted to die.

Before starting my buffet of medication, my phone lit up. One new text.

“I know you were feeling upset earlier, and I just wanted to remind you that you are special. You matter.” I instantly felt even ******* for what I was about to do.

I laid down in bed, beginning to drown in my own tears, and let myself fall asleep.

Neither I nor my mother would be dying tonight.
Vaginas are all shapes & sizes
Not many vary from the fold
there are very few surprises
Seems nature's gone & set it's mould

But the ****** has such allure
A pull on man to lesbian alike
A calling so strong and pure
Enough to turn a straight girl ****

Is it the promise of warmth & touch
A memory of a time inside
The scent of our matriarch's crotch
Draws us to those legs held wide?

It was nature's way of ensuring
The human race continues on
So that our presence here's enduring
Never ceasing. On & on

Instinct has been subject to a ploy
To harbour this hypnotic power
Sell it back, a high class toy
Put to work this delicate flower

Control the basic urge of man
The essential need to drink & eat
Once you create the ultimate fan
Then the surplus you do deplete

Until it feels that a simple look
Purchased, from a few feet away
Is as good as one hard ****
Copulation they do delay

And so vaginas became a mystery
Sold back to all who do desire
Remember to look back in history
The vaginas are for more than hire
Pressure has me blinded,
I'm consumed by shapes and sizes.
Beauty of the world is lost in a blur.
Numbers whizz round my head,
Just want to be a perfect ten.
No longer is it people I see,
just their shapes and sizes,
Where do I fit in?
Why, oh why can't I be thin.
Perfect straight lines or
Bulging lumps, soft and round,
I'm obsessed with my shape and the
Size of the shadow I cast upon the ground.
I know we're meant to be different. And sometimes I can embrace my curves, but sometimes I just want to be like the objects of affection that surround us.
Lucanna Jan 2016
She dabs the ducts of each eye
with twirled tissue in hand
Sky blue eyes lost to oceans of tears
Angry waves never allowed to crash into cheeks
She swallows lump after lump
So that the black of lashes don't mix with blue
So that when she leaves my room it is as if there was not a drop of water
on this planet
in her body
You can see the longing within her gaze
when she feels the crisp cobalt threaten to release
Am I the gatekeeper?
To this tsunami of a girl
Tissue after tissue crumpled
smashed between cushions
Her soft small palms left to
catch raining tirade
Dabbing gently as to not expose a non-cover-girl-face
As to not expose the dark circling sharks under iris

100mph blinking
Tepees of tissues
blackened sleeves
Lashes sweeping lakes
of aches

You avoid eye contact
don't let me see the emerald
that creeps up with the hazel of your shattered sight

The divorcee sizes up my ringed left hand
The tormented parent sizes up my pristine smile
The assaulted lesbian sizes up my gender con-formative garb
The privileged heterosexual white male sizes up my rack
The elder sizes up my certificate

And that plush khaki couch of mine...
it's all that's left of me by the end of week
Stuffed with tears

Some of them shed
Clients and tears and ****** assault and feminism and **** this world
Emma Feb 2017
A small clearing surrounded by trees,
Everything is bright and vibrant.
A crisp breeze blowing,
Swaying the grass.

The ground is covered by rocks
Of various shapes, colors, and sizes.
Bladed grass and ivy-like plants
Growing in the cracks of the stones.

A small white butterfly fluttering about,
So full of beauty and life:
Like the sweet-smelling flowers,
So simple with a fragrance of purity.

A soft breeze blows rustling the leaves,
Seeming to shush the world.
All is still, obeying the command,
And all around is at peace.
Written June 2016
Matthew P Beron Apr 2014
I don't know what it is
but I have grown very fond
of umbrellas
all shapes and sizes and colors
I never owned an umbrella
until a week ago
it was raining all day
and my mom gave
an umbrella
nothing fancy
just a black umbrella
then the rain let up
and I almost used
the umbrella
but I was worried
I wouldn't be able to dry it out
getting an umbrella wet
is a funny thing to worry about
but that's how I think
and that's not going to change
so when the sun comes back out
to dry the streets
only then
will I use
my first umbrella
for the first time
and it won't get wet
RAJ NANDY Apr 2015
Dear Poet Friends, being fond of Art, I wanted to compose on
this topic for a long time in a simplified form! Egyptian Art and
Architecture influenced the Early Greeks, who in turn influenced the Romans and other civilizations! Initially Art and architecture, religion and culture, were all closely inter-related! Real distinction emerged with the Italian Renaissance. Here I have used only a portion of my personal notes. Hope you find this interesting to read! Sorry for the length! Kindly give Comments after you have managed to read the entire portion in your spare time. Thanks, -Raj

INTRODUCTION TO THE STORY
OF WESTERN ART IN VERSE:
          PART ONE
    * BY RAJ NANDY

INTRODUCTION
Art over the centuries has been variously defined,
But an all embracing definition is rather hard to find!
Ayn Rand defined Art as a recreation of reality according to
artist’s values, his view of existence, and choice;
Who recreates by a selective rearrangement of the elements
of reality, and not simply out of a void!
Study of Art History is a study of man’s creative evolution;
A progress of his wakened consciousness, and a restless
striving towards perfection!
The progress of his mind, taste and skill, which has gradually
evolved through past traditions;
Finding ultimate expression in his multi-faceted creations!
I commence this story from its earliest days, and mention those
Ancient Civilizations which influenced Art in many ways.
Art has been greatly influenced by religion, culture and history;
Therefore, knowing these aspects becomes necessary to
fully appreciate this Art Story!

PREHISTORIC STONE AGE ART:
Let us take a ride on the magic carpet of History, down
past millenniums to begin our Art Story;
Right into the ancient Paleolithic, Mesolithic and Neolithic
Eras of the Stone Age,
When early humans left their creative imprints on rock
surfaces and on walls of caves!
Long before the evolution of any proper coherent speech
or communication,
In some 350 caves of France and Spain are seen paintings
of large wild animals like horses, antelopes and bison;
Bearing witness to the story of gradual human evolution!
The cave paintings of Chauvet, Cosquer, and Lascaux, date
between 8000 and 1700 BC,
Drawn by nameless and faceless people who emerged from
an inhospitable Ice Age;
Those nomadic tribes who were hunter-gatherers living in
pre-historic caves!
The Story of Art therefore begins before recorded History,
Pieced together by scholars with the help of science and
archeology!
During the Neolithic Period beginning around 8,000BC,
Ancient man became gradually sedentary, engaging in
agriculture and animal husbandry!
With these nomads settling down in small communities,
Art became mystical and monumental in range;
As seen in the megalithic (large stone) structures of the
famous Stonehenge!
This type of post and lintel structure is also found in ancient
Egyptian architecture, and later in Greece as its special
feature!
Art History spans the entire history of mankind,
Right from the pre-historic days, up to our modern times!
Man’s everlasting quest for immortality lies etched on
rocks and raised stone edifices, defying marauding Time!

MESOPOTAMIAN ART (3500-300BC) :
Let us now travel fast forward on our magic carpet to reach
the Fertile Crescent,
Where the Tigress and the Euphrates Rivers flow, to the
Ancient Civilization of the Sumerians! (3500-2300BC)
The birth of civilization has been traced to Southern
Mesopotamia, where the Sumerians built their first cities,
As the earliest River Valley Civilization around 3500 BC!
It was a period when writing got invented in its earliest
Cuneiform form;  (around 3400 BC)
When Patriarch Abraham established the worship of a Single
God, in a revolutionary religious reform! (Judaism)
Mesopotamian Civilization as the source of our earliest
surviving Art dates back to 3500BC;
When major civilizations like the Sumerian, Akkadian,
Babylonian, Hitties, Assyrian, and the Persians, in this
chronological sequence, contributed to Art History!
Mesopotamian Art in general glorified their powerful rulers
and their connection with divinity;
Reflected on their city gates, palace complexes and ziggurats,

are scenes of both victorious wars and their prosperity!
Art was then highly functional and repetitive; depicting
love of beauty, a sense of order, and power of hierarchy,
- in their sculptures and motifs.
However, no signatures were ever found bearing the name
of the Artist!
It is interesting to note that both the potter’s wheel and the
cart wheel, made their first appearance around 3500 BC
and 3200 BC respectively;
With the Sumerians contributing to art and culture, and the
progress of Human Civilization immensely!
(Ziggurats are semi-pyramid like structures with steps, a temple complex located in the center of all ancient Sumerian cities-states! Saragon the Great of Akkad from the North, defeated the Sumerians in the South, & united entire Mesopotamia around 2300 BC, for the first time in Mesopotamian History, & they ruled for 200 years.)

ANCIENT EGYPTIAN ART :(3000 BC -500BC)
Next we travel to an isolated area of north-east Africa,
Where the White Nile flows down from Lake Victoria.
The Nile enters Upper Egypt traveling through Sudan,
Is joined by the Blue Nile at Khartoum to become one!
Continues its flow north through Egypt Lower, flowing
into the Mediterranean as the World’s longest river!
Historian Herodotus had called Egypt ‘the gift of the Nile’;
Ancient Egypt became a rich treasure trove of art and
architecture for all times!
The Nile valley area was protected by the desert on its
east and the west;
In the north by the Mediterranean, and towards the
south by a rugged mountainous terrain!
Annual flooding of the Nile along with an effective
irrigational network,
Ensured Egypt’s prosperous stability, congenial for her
many innovative architectures and art works!
Egyptian Art got shaped by her geography, mythology
and her polytheistic religion;
Also by their preoccupation with after-life and belief in  
the immortal soul’s continuation;
Thus elaborate funeral rites were performed by priests for  
the body’s preservation by mummification! *
(
’KA’= was a real astral twin or stellar double of an Individual, which continued to exist even after death, requiring the same sustenance as the humans, so food offerings were made in the coffins! ‘BA’= shaped like a human-headed bird, composed of non-physical attributes of an Individual. ‘BA’ collected the deceased’s personality after death from the mummified remains & united it with the ‘KA’, making a person complete; thereby making it possible for the person to be reborn as ‘AKH’ (Star), - in its ultimate unchanging form, to join Osiris in the ‘Happy Fields’! Since this journey to the next world was fraught with danger, magical funerary spells & rites were performed by the priests, with incantations from the ‘Book of the Dead’, inside the funeral chamber of the Pyramid!)

Art During Old, Middle, and New Kingdom Period:
Egyptian Art was concerned with ensuring continuity of the
universe, their Gods, the King and the people;
A projection into eternity a version of reality pure and free
from all earthly evil!
Therefore in ancient Egyptian society, conformity over
individuality was always encouraged;
Artists worked in groups with conservative adherence to
rules, order and form,
And all individual artistic initiatives strictly discouraged !
Their earliest pyramids the Mastaba, the Step, and the Bent
Pyramids were all prototypes;
While the Great Pyramid of Giza built for Pharaoh Kufu,
- was the first true pyramid which still survives!
Art comes down to us as ‘funerary art’ designed for the tombs,
Which was to accompany the royalty in their journey to an
afterlife, with its symbolic forms!
This symbolism is seen in their paintings, statues and architecture;
In vibrant color codes of their paintings as a special feature!
Where White was the symbol of purity, Black for death and night;
Green for vegetation or new life, Blue for water and the sky;
Red for life and victory, and Yellow like Gold as the flesh of the
Gods and also the Sun God ruling the sky!
Thanks to Jean-Francois Champollion’s translation of the Rosetta
Stone, (1822)
We are able to decipher many mysteries of the Ancient Egyptian
with the cracking of the Hieroglyphic Code!
Larger than life statues with poise and austere harmony at the
Luxor Temple complex survive;
Symbolic of the individual’s status, while creating zones of
strangeness for imagination to thrive!
(
’Matsaba’= Egyptian for ‘bench’, referred to bench shaped pyramids;
“Step Pyramids” = were like benches placed one on top of the other in
a tapering form going up vertically!)

The Old Kingdom Period covers a five hundred years span
of Ancient Egyptian History, (2686-2181BC)
Known as the ‘Age of Pyramids’, with Pharaohs from the
Third to the Sixth Dynasty!
“The World fear Time, but Time fears only the Pyramids”,
- is an Ancient Egyptian Proverb;
Whose ‘heterogeneous structure’ made it earthquake
proof, making Time to reluctantly serve! #
Here we find formalized figures with long slender bodies,
idealized proportions and large staring eyes;
Where Kufu’s Great Pyramid of Giza raises its mighty head
as the highest, on the west bank of the Nile;
And the mighty Sphinx guard the entrance to those ancient
royal tombs, though defaced, still survive!
These pyramids were like Pharaoh’s getaways to eternity,
An insurance to an afterlife of peace and prosperity!
(# Pyramids with stone blocks of different sizes & shapes made them
Earthquake resistant; & use of pink granite in the inner chambers
made them erosion resistant against Time!)

The Middle Kingdom Period (2040-1650 BC) :
Following 150 years of civil disorder Theban ruler Mentuhotep
the Second, reunified Egypt and ruled up to Nubia, (Sudan)
And began the Classical Era when Block Statues appear,
indicating political stability;
When artisans worked with bronze and copper alloys, designing
exquisite jewelry!
Kings now preferred to be buried in secret tombs, Pyramids
having lost their appeal,
And work began on the west bank of the Nile, in the Valley of
Kings!
(
Inside those rock cut ‘funerary temples’ on the East bank of the
Nile, opposite Ancient Kingdom of Thebes ; Pharaohs from the
Early and Late New Kingdom Periods were buried, including
Tutemkhamen.)

Early New Kingdom Period (1550 -1295 BC):
Between the Middle Kingdom and this Era, Art remained
static for almost a hundred years,
When the Hyksos from the Near East fought the weak Theban
Rulers!
In 1550 BC Theban Prince Ahmose reunited Egypt, and was
succeeded by able rulers, who ushered in the Golden Age!
Art works continued to maintain its basic traditional style,
With successive Kings from the 18th Dynasty consolidating
their kingdom’s wealth and power all the while!
But Egypt witnessed a change with an innovative style in Art,
When Amenhotep IV in 1353 BC became King, initiating a
fresh start!
This king changed his name to ‘Akhenaten’, the spirit of Aten,
-- ‘The disk of the Sun’;
Abandoned the pantheons of Gods with Aten as the ‘sole God’,
and a religious revolution had begun!
His new capital city of Amarna, 200 miles north of Thebes,
Got decorated with a new kind of art work to make it complete!
The statues now appear more realistic displaying emotions,
With fluidity of movement, unlike those rigid earlier creations!
The artistic talent of this Amarna Period gets best exemplified,
In the exquisite bust of Nefertiti, Akhenaten’s Great Royal Wife!
Regarded as ‘icon of international beauty’, a great archeological
find ! **
(
Discovered by a German team of Archeologists in 1912 at Amarna! This 19 inch long limestone Nefertiti statue weighs around 20 kg, now housed in Berlin Museum; comparable only to the artistic Golden Mask of Tutankhamen!)

King Tutankhamen (1336-1327 BC):
Akhenaten’s unpopular rule was short-lived, with those humiliated
Theban priests calling him the ‘Heretic King’!
A nine year old boy Tutankhamen (‘The living image of Amun’),
was next to succeed him!
King Tut restored the worship of Amun, in a back-lash against
Akhenaten;
Shifted the royal palace back to Thebes, with the religious center
at Karnak once again!
King Tut’s short ten year’s rule remained buried in 3000 year’s
of Egyptian History,
Till Howard Carter found his richly laden intact tomb, in the
Valley of the Kings! (1922)
King Tut’s priceless and exquisitely carved golden face mask,
reflected the exalted standard of art work;
Weighing ten kilos, inlaid with semi-precious stones, and eyes
made of obsidian and quarts!
With the King’s early death, the 18th Dynasty of Pharaohs came
to an abrupt end,
And the 19th and 20th Dynasties of the Late Kingdom Period
commenced!
The famous rock temple of Abu Simbel now got built, under the
warrior and builder Ramses II, one of Egypt’s greatest Kings!


Pharaoh Ramses-II of the Late Kingdom Period :
Here I sweep across centuries of Egyptian History, to mention
King Ramses-II’s contribution to our Art Story!
In Shelly’s famous poem titled “Ozymandias of Egypt” he is
immortalized; (Greeks called Ramses-II “Ozymandias”!)
And as the Pharaoh associated with Moses in the movie “The
Ten Commandments”, he is popularized!
Egyptian Art is intrinsically bound with its religion, pyramids,
hieroglyphs, and architecture;
With a concentrated focus on ‘afterlife’ as its special feature!
In 1270 BC young Ramses took over from Seti the First,
And his rule for a period of 66 long years did last!
As the third Pharaoh of the 19th Dynasty, he had ruled with a
firm hand;
Recovered lost territories from the Hittites and the Nubians,
- earlier captured Egyptian lands!
He enlarged the territories of Egypt ensuring prosperity and
stability;
Became renowned as the famous Warrior and Builder King
of Ancient Egyptian History!
Ramses-II had expanded most of the temples, as recorded in
the artistic motifs and hieroglyphic symbols;
Here a special mention must be made of the Temples of Luxor,
Karnak, and Abu Simbel !

Temples of Luxor and Karnak in Ancient Thebes:
Ancient Thebes was located on the eastern bank of the Nile,
where the modern City of Luxor stands;
Thebes was once the capital of the 11th and 18th Dynasties,
And the power and religious center of all Egyptian land!
Gets mentioned in the 9th Book of Homer’s ‘Iliad’ where “heaps
of precious ingots gleam, the hundred-gated Thebes”!
Excavation work began in Thebes during the late 19th century;
And the gradual unearthing of the Temples of Luxor and
Karnak, added a new dimension to Egypt’s Art Story!
It must be remembered always, that the Ancient Egyptians in
those early days,
Structured their temple architecture to the point of ‘Sacred Art’!
With their knowledge of astronomy and geometry, they
aligned their temples so perfectly,
That the light of the rising sun fell on the temple’s innermost
sanctuary! (Temple of Abu Simbel is a great example,)
Where the Egyptian priests, who were also the artists, healers,
mathematicians, astronomers and scribes;
In dimly lit incense-filled sanctuaries performed the sacred rites!
The temples symbolized the cross roads of the cosmos, where
the divine and the mortal met in perpetual harmony!
These divine scenes were integrated into the very fabric of the
Egyptian society through chants and rituals;
With cosmological symbols of magical hieroglyphs, which
priests alone could transcribe in those days!
(
Thebes began to decline rapidly after Alexander the Great
established the port-city of Alexandria as Egypt’s new Capital
around 332 BC !)

Luxor Temple built by Amenhotep-III, was dedicated to God
Amun, his wife Mut and son Khonsu, - the Theban Triad;
Tutankhamen and Ramses-II expanding the temple during the
New Kingdom Period!
Creator God Amun became assimilated with the Sun God Re;
Was worshipped in Thebes, and in the cult centers of Luxor and
Karnak, - as Amun-Re!
The walls and columns of these cult temples were decorated
with carved and painted relief,
Depicting the interaction with Gods, and military exploits of
Egyptian Pharaohs and Kings!
The sun temple of Amenhotep-III at Luxor has many columns
resembling papyrus bundles,
Symbolic of the primeval marsh from where Creation was
believed to have unfolded !
A Sphinx Alley excavated between Luxor an
judy smith Sep 2016
When I was chief creative officer for Liz Claiborne Inc., I spent a good amount of time on the road hosting fashion shows highlighting our brands. Our team made a point of retaining models of various sizes, shapes and ages, because one of the missions of the shows was to educate audiences about how they could look their best. At a Q&A; after one event in Nashville in 2010, a woman stood up, took off her jacket and said, with touching candour: “Tim, look at me. I’m a box on top, a big, square box. How can I dress this shape and not look like a fullback?” It was a question I’d heard over and over during the tour: Women who were larger than a size 12 always wanted to know, How can I look good, and why do designers ignore me?

At New York Fashion Week, which began Thursday, the majority of American women are unlikely to receive much attention, either. Designers keep their collections tightly under wraps before sending them down the runway, but if past years are any indication of what’s to come, plus-size looks will be in short supply. Sure, at New York Fashion Week in 2015, Marc Jacobs and Sophie Theallet each featured a plus-size model and Ashley Graham debuted her plus-size lingerie line. But these moves were very much the exception, not the rule.

I love the American fashion industry, but it has a lot of problems and one of them is the baffling way it has turned its back on plus-size women. It’s a puzzling conundrum. The average American woman now wears between a size 16 and a size 18, according to new research from Washington State University. There are 100 million plus-size women in America, and, for the past three years, they have increased their spending on clothes faster than their straight-size counterparts. There is money to be made here ($20.4 billion (U.S.), up 17 per cent from 2013). But many designers — dripping with disdain, lacking imagination or simply too cowardly to take a risk — still refuse to make clothes for them.

In addition to the fact that most designers max out at size 12, the selection of plus-size items on offer at many retailers is paltry compared with what’s available for a size 2 woman. According to a Bloomberg analysis, only 8.5 per cent of dresses on Nordstrom.com in May were plus-size. At J.C. Penney’s website, it was 16 per cent; Nike.com had a mere five items — total.

I’ve spoken to many designers and merchandisers about this. The overwhelming response is, “I’m not interested in her.” Why? “I don’t want her wearing my clothes.” Why? “She won’t look the way that I want her to look.” They say the plus-size woman is complicated, different and difficult, that no two size 16s are alike. Some haven’t bothered to hide their contempt. “No one wants to see curvy women” on the runway, Karl Lagerfeld, head designer of Chanel, said in 2009. Plenty of mass retailers are no more enlightened: under the tenure of chief executive Mike Jeffries, Abercrombie & Fitch sold nothing larger than a size 10, with Jeffries explaining that “we go after the attractive, all-American kid.”

This a design failure and not a customer issue. There is no reason larger women can’t look just as fabulous as all other women. The key is the harmonious balance of silhouette, proportion and fit, regardless of size or shape. Designs need to be reconceived, not just sized up; it’s a matter of adjusting proportions. The textile changes, every seam changes. Done right, our clothing can create an optical illusion that helps us look taller and slimmer. Done wrong, and we look worse than if we were naked.

Have you shopped retail for size 14-plus clothing? Based on my experience shopping with plus-size women, it’s a horribly insulting and demoralizing experience. Half the items make the body look larger, with features like ruching, box pleats and shoulder pads. Pastels and large-scale prints and crazy pattern-mixing abound, all guaranteed to make you look infantile or like a float in a parade. Adding to this travesty is a major department-store chain that makes you walk under a marquee that reads “WOMAN.” What does that even imply? That a “woman” is anyone larger than a 12 and everyone else is a girl? It’s mind-boggling.

Project Runway, the design competition show on which I’m a mentor, has not been a leader on this issue. Every season we have the “real women” challenge (a title I hate), in which the designers create looks for non-models. The designers audibly groan, though I’m not sure why; in the real world, they won’t be dressing a seven-foot-tall glamazon.

This season, something different happened: Ashley Nell Tipton won the contest with the show’s first plus-size collection. But even this achievement managed to come off as condescending. I’ve never seen such hideous clothes in my life: bare midriffs; skirts over crinoline, which give the clothes, and the wearer, more volume; see-through skirts that reveal *******; pastels, which tend to make the wearer look juvenile; and large-scale floral embellishments that shout “prom.” Her victory reeked of tokenism. One judge told me that she was “voting for the symbol” and that these were clothes for a “certain population.” I said they should be clothes all women want to wear. I wouldn’t dream of letting any woman, whether she’s a size 6 or a 16, wear them. Simply making a nod toward inclusiveness is not enough.

This problem is difficult to change. The industry, from the runway to magazines to advertising, likes subscribing to the mythology it has created of glamour and thinness. Look at Vogue’s “Shape Issue,” which is ostensibly a celebration of different body types but does no more than nod to anyone above a size 12. For decades, designers have trotted models with bodies completely unattainable for most women down the runway. First it was women so thin that they surely had eating disorders. After an outcry, the industry responded by putting young teens on the runway, girls who had yet to exit puberty. More outrage.

But change is not impossible. There are aesthetically worthy retail successes in this market. When helping women who are size 14 and up, my go-to retailer is Lane Bryant. While the items aren’t fashion with a capital F, they are stylish (but please avoid the cropped pants — always a no-no for any woman). And designer Christian Siriano scored a design and public relations victory after producing a look for Leslie Jones to wear to the “Ghostbusters” red-carpet premiere. Jones, who is not a diminutive woman, had tweeted in despair that she couldn’t find anyone to dress her; Siriano stepped in with a lovely full-length red gown.

Several retailers that have stepped up their plus-size offerings have been rewarded. In one year, ModCloth doubled its plus-size lineup. To mark the anniversary, the company paid for a survey of 1,500 American women ages 18 to 44 and released its findings: Seventy-four per cent of plus-size women described shopping in stores as “frustrating”; 65 per cent said they were “excluded.” (Interestingly, 65 per cent of women of all sizes agreed that plus-size women were ignored by the fashion industry.) But the plus-size women surveyed also indicated that they wanted to shop more. More than 80 per cent said they’d spend more on clothing if they had more choices in their size and nearly 90 per cent said they would buy more if they had trendier options. According to the company, its plus-size shoppers place 20 per cent more orders than its straight-size customers.

Online start-up Eloquii, initially conceived and then killed by The Limited, was reborn in 2014. The trendy plus-size retailer, whose top seller is an over-the-knee boot with four-inch heels and extended calf sizes, grew its sales volume by more than 165 per cent in 2015.

Despite the huge financial potential of this market, many designers don’t want to address it. It’s not in their vocabulary. Today’s designers operate within paradigms that were established decades ago, including anachronistic sizing. (Consider the fashion show: It hasn’t changed in more than a century.) But this is now the shape of women in this nation, and designers need to wrap their minds around it. I profoundly believe that women of every size can look good. But they must be given choices. Separates — tops, bottoms — rather than single items like dresses or jumpsuits always work best for the purpose of fit. Larger women look great in clothes skimming the body, rather than hugging or cascading. There’s an art to doing this. Designers, make it work.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/cocktail-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/black-formal-dresses
Hal Loyd Denton Apr 2013
Not funny but this was written on 4-15-12 exactly a year to the day


I re-post this for our last battel field Boston these words are nothing but as you read you will find the one who lives in them and He is everything all the comfort and hope we can ever want


Sorry if this seems at first confusing all my friends on facebook and Redbubble will get it right away as
I asked them to use their love and caring to pray for my hurting distraught friend at her time of great
Loss if you are hurting it will help to at least a degree or it will help at times of future loss

Well dear sweet precious Addy this brutal day is at an end I hope you sleep well I prayed for you and
Kathleen’s son way into the night at first I was terrified you weren’t going to get my post and you would
Enter as I told my wife you would enter the lion’s den the lions all have familiar names pain sorrow
Grief and many others and they maul with cruelty without pity I didn’t want either of you to take those
Fatal steps without your armor not to be to descriptive but reality waited with a blast I tried to diffuse the
Coffin the grave and headstone never could I do it immeasurably my fight for you could only be in the
Smallest victories comfort mined at times like these is like uranium white silver metallic with almost
A power that can’t be harnessed the same as loss of a love one what blow back again the same as a
Nuclear test one problem you don’t get the protection of a bunker no just suffer the blast in your
Body mind and heart you are stepping into the shoes the same as young woman who lost her father
That as she described him he was the light of her life our paths crossed on line when I thought she
Was a classmate’s wife her story of her dad touched me deeply I’m going to add that piece here plus
The comfort I tried to write for my friend that was more like my brother when his mother died I will
Include a small background so it wail make more sense let me add those here the first was Fathers story
What you read here is her hearts knowing and the undying love that it created and that continues.
His precious hands were removed from earthly things. A great and gentle man his greatest possessions his family. I only knew him from his business and the fact that one of his beautiful daughters married a classmate of mine. Then much later by error I made acquaintance with another of his daughters you can tell a lot about a person from the actions of his children. She told me that he passed away and that he was the light of her life. With God’s help I would like to pay tribute to him.
A light did shine it was magnified by the eyes of a daughters love. He took his journey he went above his ship was the care they shared he the captain made the course straight and true he didn’t slow her run until heaven was in plain view they would have cheered but it hard to see through eyes filled with tears. All the wonderful years seemed to be eclipsed by the sickness that came it seemed an angry wind from their lives this stalwart precious soul it did rend. It left the greatest empty hole it took the longest time to fill and then with the sweetest cooing the grand babies made the hole enlivened not the terrible twisted knot that had the family bound but without being able to speak a word grampaw was found. If you looked in their faces his smile is bound to bundles only heaven can design. I’m not saying they asked him how to work these miracles yet this is true he watched with intense interest and was happiest since his departure he knew that back through time and space healing was for all time secured. Their stoic acceptance could now be laid aside the family could run in softer climes know the sweetest of times that were thought to be forever gone.
Love spills down from heights distance is only on a map in peoples heart its no farther than the end of your finger tips. Images are so strong not because we have great minds it’s easy to make these rich finds when your love and its power shake the foundation of the universe is it not said that love is the greatest power. Oh how so many in dark shadows cower when they possess the power to ignite the world on fire. From heart to heart it does dart the wildness of the spirit is told blotting out all of the cold. Yes there is winter but also the spring. The light spoken of is no longer beholden to earth and so the family is free by love he joins his light to the Christ the all glowing light
Life force by haldenton
To all who have lost heroes
This was written to Eva’s son Bill to help him at her passing. With this writing I took him back thirty years when he was in the truck wreck that killed his dad his recovery saved his mother I hoped by him being reminded of that now it would help him the same way.
Tribute to Eva Wafford Life force
For all who lost heroes
In your soul freshly the wind of death did blow.
Cold eerie shadows marched against your tender broken heart.
What defense could this onslaught repel agony’s volcanic flow.
Ominous well filled with grief from this weight no relief.
The child the grim reaper did spare.
Only after leaving the body bruised and in despair.
From this broken body drops of mercy started to make the mother well.
I held your trembling frame today this memory rings sweet as a bell.
Streets and houses without number fill the land.
I can’t help when I look to recall memories grand.
Now they are but dreams that ache in the night.
Images that over ride the present in their glory I take flight.
Brush aside caution raise your voice as a trumpet.
They live only in yesterdays even so indelibly they wrote their stories.
We hold our children we cling only a moment as mist on the summit.
Your life Eva continues to build the next generation.
Your voice is heard in the breath of your grandchildren.
Wonders they spin from golden thread, now that you have gone ahead.
Your spirit glows in the fire that warms the house against winter.
Summer’s cool breeze not sent by chance she doe’s tenderly incite.
Death silently said what I already knew.
To me you were always immortal you were bigger than life
Many were the days when the wind of storms blew
those who know us feel the calm; this is only your life on review

One more
Simply Jim
Old Abe said it right ‘It is right and fitting that we speak these words here to honor these lives so honorably lived. I can say that about Jim and this also he was a prince among men if I do this right the words will convince you.
He had a gentle way and nature he spoke softly but a softness that flowed to you like ribbons that bounced in a little girl’s hair how delightful. He should have been a doctor his hands his mannerism was ideal for that job. I guess thats what made him stand out so strongly like a gentle calm breeze if you came in a panic his soul would float down around you like a parachute first it safely brings you from great anxiety and exaltation to a graceful landing then gently envelops you in its silken embrace. I had this privilege of watching him inter act with his wife as I said and truly he was a prince and I was the beggar that benefitted richly from the sidelines God knew my needs.
He was called from this life but all the days he filled before his home going are the sustaining force noticeably seen felt with keen awareness you know that a gentleman passed this way. In the lives left behind there is a blend of sadness and astonishment you realize you are looking at the work of a master workman who left behind a tightly and perfectly fitted family this unfortunately is sadly rare in this society that boast of its accomplishments.
As a friend his breadth and depth was sufficient you weren’t a burden he had a way of dispelling trouble making you understand with wisdom and unerring judgment then with ease you could extricate yourself from the problem. His heavenly father filled him with tenderness it stood him and others well in a somewhat crabby world. If you’re pressed and anxious about life take from this life expressed. A portion of the good will you need use it as a defense Jim couldn’t be everywhere but God saw fit to make an original that you can duplicate benefit from and be a part of his ongoing legacy. Thanks friend for a life lived well

Well hurting one in the earlier part of a writing I said I am God’s battle field reporter and medic
These writings are my bandages and gauze God gave me great big hands and I fill them with
Salve with all the love I know I gently apply it to your broken hurting wounds mingle it with
Tears that are not always mine alone but His mixes with mine one day He will abolish all tears
Until then this is our duty your heart we hear and we can do no other God bless you Addy and
Your nephew and all others who find this helpful

Mirrored Pool


Wonder for all the hurts

First I knelt just to see my reflection then the depths started to reveal first the flowing thoughts were
Restrained and then a bubbling seemed to dislodge from greater depths hard truths churned with
Violent twisting but the motion made it impossible to turn away there were great large white clouds
From depths then even above the pool they rose fourteen stories high the sensation was you were
Standing outside clear air intoxicating views the pulse of many were throbbing in your ears their
Thoughts and dreams were known and their sorrows were weights that pulled you from the heights
It was a colossal game of tag and you were it first reaction fear then the appearance of bundled gifts
Broke down the fear it was promise in different sizes that met the required needs it was like a divine
Warehouse had just made a delivery there were cards with names and writing gave clarification tears
And smiles intermingled then the outer knowing postulated the difficulty the puzzle an enormous
Streaming that was now congested and it was beginning a vortex all was understood now human thought
With doubts was pulling the answer into this destructive hole where was one to find the lever to stop
This action that would disallow was the answer to touch the water bring the finger to my lips possibly
A blazing thought would occur that would strike the mind no all that brought was words that had the
Letters jumbled they made no sense unless there is a special book that is alive in it the letters and words
Are already set but they cover every act in the human condition the broken can pour over the pages
You won’t find thorns to repel your efforts there are thorns but they will speak and assuage your hurts
At the most basic and needed levels the points of your hurts will begin to dissolve from your eyes to
Your mind this inward rush and power will dislodge even spears driven deep by enemies carried for
Years you searched in vain over sad and lonely paths and days now you journey is at an end thorns of
Suffering for another produces profound power and mercy go in peace beloved one another bears your
Burden now maybe words cut you at depths you can’t even identify what if there is an antidote in a
Book you pick it up with trembling hands your body tingles from the knowledge that this is ancient texts
It will have a revival of appreciation in this world of texting but with gentle fingers and eyes that glow
With respect as you see the wisdom and the love cannot be denied you leave the world you know and
With total abandonment you swim in this sea of words until the your tears spill on this rich world of
Words those cruel barbed words that pierced tender skin and have bled internally all of these years
Begin to dissolve with stories and accounts of betrayals then the swells love and mercy you read about
Restoration not always found after apologies are given but the teaching of forgiveness strikes a cord
You have been made free from your prison the tangles of life are great as a great black cloud it hangs
Over head many are its troubles this isn’t mild but the disruptive made to strike and pierce deep the
Hidden that steals the morning blessing while other feast your hunger and unrest only enlarges a
Tormenting unquenchable fire a slow burn this is a forest being burned at the thermal level the hidden
Roots a slow process destructive but not so visible agony torture I have seen men crawl in war or fire
Fighting that where all else is lost you will know greater thrills than any other living soul with the
Desperate and those heavy burdened unable to stand a word will flow it puts out fires and gives
The luxurious buoyancy heaviness changed to joy the bouncy laughter every outward blast attack
The enemy launches is within its pages they are repelled overwhelmed by love you suffer unduly
If you don’t hold this fortress this informative book of stratagems that have made everyone a victor
Who has ever found themselves at their wits end no place on earth has a contingency plan though it
Will make the greatest claims all is just empty air when life as it too often does ***** the very air of life
Out we practically are unconscious but this help this rescue is activated by one name it’s not just a book
But the word is a person what a pool you will find what a reflection will engage you beyond your hope
To imagine just say Jesus all will be total peace your heart will know no more sorrow peace will surpass
Sorrow love will disallow the specter that was once a constant it will disappear it will return to the
Darkness from which it came stand in this newness totally free abide by still waters as the good
Sheppard stands by bless you



Disgrace

This land void of devotion gone is the church steeples.
Replaced by voices and shadows of drug dealers on each corner.
Now they are the keepers, lost cities, death stalks its peoples.
Nothing is sacred in this polluted and diffused land.

No longer hallowed be thy name, it’s as if he never came.
Forgotten is any standard of moral excellence.
The once high ideals only represent a fool’s parlance.
Man declares I throw off these restraints only to find darker chains.

The book that once guided this great land.
We now betray with each waking day.
Our hearts and mind it did ignite, now it’s word we can’t stand.
Powerless and feeble we stumble, anxious ever moment.

Just to remember is not enough, best confess our pride.
Make sacrifice with our lips, to burn on altars on high.
There is a short season for all to make amends to regain our stride.
March on to glory with it burning on the inside.

You don’t have to be astute in business to see the sound investment.
Bring your poverty of spirit leave with the riches of his last testament.
It offers the greatest rate of exchange.
Light for darkness, life for death, selfless love for selfishness.


Streaks of Jefferson


In freedom’s blessed glorified sky through streaks of immortal gold his visage we behold
He looks upon the fields of liberty that he and the founding fathers sowed he sees the

Richness America has become he also beheld her struggles catastrophic wars abroad
And the most painful the one that divided the nation marred it with southern and northern

Blood saw the affable the sad giant Lincoln take the reins of discontent hold them by
Shear will and with uncommon sagacity guided it back in line to fulfill its destiny as the

Powerful fount that would always pour forth waters of freedom for all of earths peoples
Total unconditional acceptance of liberty and all the fruit it bears to establish a

Government like no other this golden grain has waved under bluest skies and brightest
Sun light its rich harvest has gone to darkest prison cells Mandela was sustained by it

For twenty nine years and by its moral purity it fed the lives of those that over threw
Apartied and Mandela finally freed by principals it avows rose from prison clothes

To wear the mantle of president of his country and the honor of the man instilled
Quality that transcended political office Jefferson not to be disrespectful to his progeny

Whispers today’s politicians could do well to look on this African model of good
Stewardship of public trust with that Jefferson faded back into the mist pray that’s
Not the fate of this country






--------------------------------------------------------------­------------------
Tony Scallo Nov 2014
Into
a body
 of water
  we fall
                                                            ­                                      Much
                                                            ­                                   b i g g e r
                                                                ­                               than our
                                                             ­                                      own
                                        We
                                      fall in
                                   all shapes
                                    and sizes                        And
                                ­       carry                         with us
      The                                                     ­   ideas that are
    fused                                                    ­    together and
  make up                                                        what we
   are on a                                                           grand­
    scheme                          Of                          ­  
                                        things,
              ­                      we splatter
                                     and splash
                                      spreading
                                          what                                                  We
                                                              ­                                     carry
                                                           ­                                    to become
                   One                                    ­                                    within
              the bigger                                                           ­          body
          that we make                             Up
               what we                               were a
                  part                               of all along,
                                                          ­  we are
                                                             dro­ps
                              We
                           fall for                                                            An­
                        eternity it                                                        feels
 ­                      until finally                                                  we're at
                         the place                                                  we call home
                                                            ­                              in our ocean
                                                           ­                                   at peace
__________________­
             To become one within what we've been a part of all along
Read from left to right
Karen Alexander Oct 2009
There’s no other choice but to wear them,
The drawer offered nothing but these.
An odd pair of socks might be quirky,
Odd sizes don’t normally please.

The one at my ankle was spotted,
The other was striped to the knee
The latter two sizes the smaller,
The former quite large by degree.

This mismatch I thought to keep secret
And cover the dissonant pair.
I chose from the wardrobe some trousers
And shoes, with considerable care.

My ruse would conceal the divergence
From prescribed social standards of dress
And none would be any the wiser
My discomfort I’d have to suppress.

Now, it’s harder to mask discomposure
When physical pain has attacked.
The small sock had cramped my toes tightly
That blood didn’t flow, was a fact.

My colleagues regarded me strangely
For they could see nothing amiss
But I could feel cold perspiration,
Anxiety I couldn’t dismiss.

It was then that I felt a strange itching,
The striped sock began to descend
And round my right ankle it wrinkled
And bulged at the trouser leg end.

Dismayed at my great consternation
But clueless to what was awry
My friends made comforting gestures
Need of which I could only deny.

The moral of this story’s transparent
Socks are always best worn as a pair
Their nature is in the relationship
Which provides a well-balanced air.

And take the trouble to remember
Be congruent in all that you do
For disparity will often bring discord
And that path, you’ll certainly rue.
Martin Narrod May 2014
Ashley,

     Your blues inspire me, insipid triangles, walking cold, sweating more and wetting the bed your lips the sizes of gods that I married through hidden video cameras, I caught bias in bliss, racism in slow disasters, tornado sirens and just sirens, and justice on the horizon. My eyelids the sizes of your little *******, the party of tomorrow, the starting sounds of scarred and stripped *** sounds. Caught in a drift, my bottom lip stuffed with lift-lust and jolting up and down your porcelain rift. Messed up and round the back to the buttons, the clasp too heavy to drop your ego down, the cold too swift to catch me as I fell. The heavens too burdened to beat me with your god. I just wanted to me smacked in the face with your flaws. Hips the sizes of doorknobs, hurdles that I caught one weekend sipping slow gin with granddad and papa and Tootsie, your evils carnivorous, your mess much more than your message. Your koo-koo voodoo and big bad red frock. Tuesday's made me the man I am today. The Slayer made me the hate I stuffed into my **** ****-strap to puff out my chest and make prisms in kitten litters and furrow the night clauses to match stick the pumped-up bypass of hazmat and heroism, I was won and didn't know it, you were one and now you're all one.
She,
     came to me in French class holding straws. I picked swiftly and came, all staled and stiff, lock-jaw and threesomes one moonlit night the fourth of July.
Love Letter to An Ex-Girlfriend
Sara Kellie Jul 2018
Ladies, ladies, ladies,
in all shapes and sizes.
Some like no other
in malesque disguises.
There's more if you know
where to look down below.
From a soft,
sausage snake,
long and hard,
you can make.

Poetry by Kaydee.
A light hearted, fictional look
at todays ladies.
Written by a woman since her youth
who grew into her truth.
Stephanie Lynn Apr 2014
I wake up and eat some eggs, a yogurt, and a few slices of melon
in an attempt to change my life
after all it is that or death
I won't hold my breath

It's a beautiful day to head to the mall
with a friend
I really know where this is going

Hmm
I like that shirt
Oops, this store doesn't offer plus size
On to the next..
I really like these jeans..
Forty five dollars for sizes sixteen and up
What a mess!

Since I refuse to let Lane Bryant **** my wallet in the ***
I decide to head to Barnes and Noble instead
I accidentally bumped into a lady and her baby stroller as I walked past and she mumbled
"Fat *****" under her breath
Yes that's what she said
I didn't even turn my head
Because that's what the lady said
and that's what society says
and instead of trying to explain it's just
easier to walk away
it's the self hatred after I dread

So I buy a whole pizza and eat the entire ******* thing
and it is beyond delicious
though the guilt I feel afterwards wasn't worth it
and vomitting that **** up was viscous

Even when I was a little girl I dreamed of being thin
I dreamed of being a model
I dreamed of having a flat tummy
Just to fit in
I didn't like the belly I had
or the fat in my cheeks
I was the only kid in gym that could never climb the rope
and that began a string of anxiety attacks
that would last for weeks

The doctor calls it insulin resistance
which leaves me with the inability to lose weight
but I shouldn't have to explain to anyone my condition
I just shouldn't have to explain
not to mention the ovarian disease that cripples me to my knees
which so happens to be genetic
and mimics the blood of a diabetic
leaving me incurable
a medical mystery
not to mention infertility
so for me
children are just a dream

Although I tell myself
that I am beautiful
and that I am intelligent
and that I am funny
and that I am a hard worker
and that I am successful
and that I am caring
and that I am loving
and that I am daring
and that I am the best **** friend a person could ever have
To a stranger I'm just a "fat *****"
and you know what?
That makes me really ******* sad
Don't feel sorry for me, I am only speaking the truth.
(C) Maxwell 2014
Emily Marie Aug 2014
Society sells beautiful lies,
Emphasis on the beautiful,
They sell you the definition of beauty in
small pictures,
small ads,
small sizes.
Spinning the world on a string,
They've got us all fooled.
Telling teens they don't need to eat,
"Skip the food today,
be beautiful tomorrow".
Selling the idea that beauty can replace sorrows.
Society sells the idea that beauty is empowerment.
Society sells the idea that if you are beautiful,
then you could have the world on a string.
These lies lead our leaders of tomorrow into disarray.
Sell us the idea that if we are beautiful
today will be better than yesterday.
But the empty promises lead us all astray,
Abandoned on street corners begging for scraps,
because we didn't think we felt empowerment.

Society sells small,
Society sells beauty,
Society sells small.
Small models,
Small manikins,
Small sizes.
Spinning the world on a string,
Society sells the idea that the size of your waist,
defines how beautiful you are.
Society sells the idea that beauty
is empowerment.
Society sells small.
Society sells the idea that if you are not small,
you are not empowered,
ugly,
waste of space.

Society sells small.
Society says beauty is empowerment.
These lies lead our leaders of tomorrow into disarray,
Too many teens today are to prone to facings their problems with razor blades,
Because today was not better than yesterday.
Then tomorrow won't be either.

Society sells small,
small pictures,
small ads,
small manikins.
Society sells protruding plastic ribs,
ribs sharp enough to cut paper.
Society sells the figures of the sick and dying.

Society sells small.
Small enough to be drop dead gorgeous,
Emphasis on the drop dead,
Society sells women who are severely underfed.
Society sells women suffering from malnutrition.
Since when did this become tradition?
Since when was fragile stature empowering?
Society sells skin and bones.
Society sells so small,
**women are literally dying to feel beautiful.
Society has given the world un-realistic proportions to try and shape our bodies into, and it *****.
Tex Dermott May 2015
Pink bubbles
Flow from the bathtub
All sizes
Yet the same
Soaring like mighty eagles
Then they just go POP!
Najwa Kareem Jun 2018
They're chasing this dollar bill
even it means compromising their beliefs and morals
even if it means lowering the status of their souls
even if it means hurting and not really caring about their own children
even if it means abusing them

They're chasing this dollar bill and they like the taste of this dollar bill
They want to taste it every day
They like what they can do with this dollar bill so they chase it every day
They don't realize how much of a slave they are to this dollar bill, nor will they admit to their slavery

They don't care if their chasing this dollar bill means more single sisters in the world
They don't care if it means mostly sisters are running many civil, Islamic, and Muslim organizations even though their husbands' contributions are desperately needed
Even if their children need their strength and their sons need role models and need and want to look up to them
Even if their children do not know how to read Quran and understand its meanings so they grow up stable, on solid footing, and bullet-proofed from all of the dangerous threats coming at them every day
They're chasing this dollar bill

They imitate their fathers chasing this dollar bill
Some want to out do their fathers in pursuit of this dollar bill
Some want to out do their fathers who failed in pursuit of the dollar bill
Some want to out do their fathers who succeeded in pursuit of the dollar bill
Some want to out do their fathers who care less about chasing this dollar bill
They're chasing this dollar bill

The culture says if one is a man, he's supposed to be chasing this dollar bill
If he wants to be a man, he has to keep chasing the dollar bill
To be successful, have a perpetual plan on chasing the dollar bill
Advertisements, subliminal messages suggesting they need more things
They need more to be happy
They're chasing this dollar bill

They didn't get what they wanted when they were growing up. Now they can with this dollar bill
They had a frugal parent. Now they can be reckless. They're chasing this dollar bill
They had a cheap car in high school and in college. Not anymore. Luxury now only on wheels. They're chasing this dollar bill

Buying their children the name brand shoes they didn't have as children; Living vicariously makes up for a lot; Living vicariously fills up the holes
They're chasing this dollar bill

This dollar bill gets them the beautiful girl or so they think or at least temporarily
Finally they feel like somebody chasing this dollar bill

Their sons need to learn about chastity so they learn to respect God, themselves, and girls and to understand the value, beauty, and protection of experiencing *** and intimacy in marriage
Time is money. They're chasing this dollar bill

Young girls sitting in the classroom dressed looking like hookers and hoes and boys expected to focus on the teacher and their school work; Keep their eyes down and not call the girls, and not flirt with them, and not want to sleep with them or not go home with them. God on the other hand is covered up and no one is teaching kids who they are but the expectation is that they will know God and know themselves 
They're chasing this dollar bill

The oppressed need people to advocate for them. There are tons of homeless on the street. They're chasing this dollar bill

The ones around them who call themselves friends not really being friends to them.
Their friends don't ask them What's up with you? Where are your priorities? Re-evaluate your priorities man. What's really behind all this chasing? I want to see you in heaven with me hopefully. I want to share in it with you. I care about you.

Instead their friends compliment them on their chasing this dollar bill
Their friends admire them chasing the dollar bill
Their friends edge them on to chase harder, chase more
Their friends get puffed up being associated with friends chasing this dollar bill
Their friends copy them chasing the dollar bill so they too have a taste of the dollar bill
Their friends compete with them chasing the dollar bill

They want to keep up with the Jones's running after the dollar bill, tripping and stumbling along the way trying not to let others see
They're chasing this dollar bill

I don't understand
It makes no sense to me
Why they're chasing this dollar bill to such a degree

It's clear to me. They're out of their right mind. That's what chasing this dollar bill can do to thee

They are on a chasing-this-dollar-bill frenzy
Their daughters need them to teach them more about hijab. Some of them wearing no hijab leaving them more of a target for hungry boys and men...like a closet full of valuables with no sign on the outside reading "Private"; Not for you to touch. Not your property. Not your valuables
What does that matter. They're chasing this dollar bill

Boys and men tempted by their daughters without hijab to imagine what their daughters' private parts sizes might be; What the sight of their nakedness could be
What they could do with their private parts
Their daughters need to learn their value and their worth from their fathers, fathers who are chasing this dollar bill

A human life investment or a temporary monetary investment...Where do they invest their time
It's an easy answer - They have no time...they're chasing this dollar bill

The community needs building but their homes need upgrading
They're chasing this dollar bill

My heart is heavy. I don't feel well
I'll keep talking about it. Even if I puke
I'll keep writing

They say women follow men. That's exactly what they are doing
They too are chasing this dollar bill

And we're all weaker because of it

If money strengthens, why are we weak
Why are our men weak
Why are our women frail  

Why

They're chasing this dollar bill

They're chasing this dollar bill
Tatiana Jan 2015
Everything is so tight.
Jeans, leggings, dresses, shirts, skirts, jackets
and summer wear is even worse and more revealing with
crop tops, shorts, and even shorter skirts and dresses.
How are we all able to breathe?
Victorian fashion had corsets
and those made them faint!
So why does the fashion have to be tight?
Don't get me wrong,
I do like skinny jeans, and tight shirts and dresses
I am a girl after all,
we all give in to the status quo of fashion at times.
But, sizes are even smaller now than they were before.
I haven't gained or lost weight,
my waist size hasn't changed,
nothing has.
Except for the clothes.
Are we trying to make women smaller and thinner
by just shrinking the clothes?
It should not be ¨Survival of the fittest¨
in the dressing rooms.
That isn't cool.
Also, why are the pants so short?
I have long legs, okay,
and because my waist size matches someone who is smaller than me
then that must mean that I am short
according to clothes.
Therefore I have difficulty finding pants
that fit my waist
and my legs.
I am not blind to my surroundings.
Every single girl
Goes. Through. This.
We all have shopping woes,
some worse than others.
We all gain uncomfortable experiences
whether it be from something not fitting,
or from the attention on the streets
that we get for wearing it.
Then of course, don't forget the media!
Remember all those pictures of perfect people
being shoved down our throats
strangling us until we accept the fact
that we should be just like them.

Suffocation is the latest fashion,
and we are expected to wear it well.
You know, I would very much like to have pockets in my jeans...
 © Tatiana
Oliver Benjamin May 2014
Where do I see you my blue eyed mum?
In colours of rainbows lit up by the sun,
In the chair by the window with your tea and a crossword,
In the picture you drew of me when I was a young boy,
In the last birthday card you were ever to send me,
In the list that you gave me to help me get sorted,
The photo of you holding me as a baby.
The love that you showed never came with a maybe.

How will I remember you my blue eyed mum?
Thinking of others would name but just one,
Camping with children from near and far places,
Cooking meals in the kitchen for friends and for family,
Changing the subject whenever you wanted,
Asking me to speak louder because you could not hear me,
The eggs that you bought for me every Friday,
Making the dress for your youngest granddaughter.

What did I learn from you my blue eyed mum?
The list would be endless but here are just some,
The listener learns more than the ones that are talking,
Words spoken in anger may someday be regretted,
Hate towards others will only consume me,
The loudest voice heard may not be the wisest,
Happiness cannot be measured in coins or possessions,
Let beauty be seen in all colours, shapes and sizes.
This is the poem I wrote for my mums funeral.  I know it may seem a bit dissjointed but I make no appologies for that as it was and still is relevent to my memories of her .
The inspiration came from the song "A hard rains gonna fall"  by Bob Dylan as my family (especially my parents) have been involved with the peace movement for many decades.
Molly Nov 2014
Your car is a pressure cooker for sibling combustibility and
you sound pretentious when you call me pretentious so
I turn to look out the window and not at
your smug face but I know that
soon I will turn back and you will not be there.
In your mind
anything that isn't inherently evil
deserves a high five
and it always leaves my palm
stinging,
so I leave you there
with your hand raised
and know that
soon I will raise mine but you will not be there.
You say "I love you" every day
and it always sounds like a joke,
sounds like you're teasing me with the fact that
I have to love you back but even so,
on the days when I refuse to say it to you I know that
soon I will tell you I love you and you will not be there.

I have watched you changed
shoe sizes and
heights and
dreams and
hair cuts and
best friends and
priorities, and
You have been by me through
moving days and
funerals and
breakups and
marriages and
sobbing nights and
cheerful mornings, and
I know that
you are a part of me,
and I know that
soon I will look for that part but you will not be there.
Preemptive sadness about my brother leaving
Pierre Ray Mar 2012
Horrid and morbid, bitter, glittered and littered memories! Automotives, adaptive captives, movies, motives, Natives, locomotives, obsessive and possessive. Some awesome, brilliant, different, ignorant, persistent and resilient. ****** and exotic! Some memories are eccentric, fantastic, futuristic, magic, logistic, optimistic,

plastic, realistic, tragic or sadistic. Some random sizes with hidden prizes! Blameful, gainful, lameful and painful. Dreary destinies, diaries, inquires, weary rivalries, stories and theories in memory.
In theory, memories made from cheers and fears, jeers and tears!
Of amends, amens, omens, gems, hymns and stems. Memories

abbreviated and dedicated, deviated and medicated! Memories cased,
edited and erased. Evangelically, eventually everyone inherits! They’re like tiny merits! They spike the psych. They strike and are unlike. Memories of bites, defects, dislikes, effects, fights, flights, insects, logics, neglects, objects, plight, projects, protests, recollects, reflects

rejects, respects and suspects. Memories of fate and hate! Some are not great. Memories of schemes, screams or themes of dreams that seem. Memories of small, memories of tall! Memories in despise, memories
of lies. Memories of wise; beyond the skies, as I close my eyes…
Tex Dermott May 2015
Marshmallows
Float down the river
All flavors
And sizes
This gives the fish a sweet taste
Their ready to roast
Martin Narrod Apr 2014
I used to think that all of them were just bodies. She-figures, they came and went, facilitating infinite happiness and following with hellacious heartbreak, aorta explosions galore. They pass. I stay. She goes. I remain. We all take a trip, but she falls asleep while I follow the road, I sing the song, make the lyrics up as the 101 heads West, and I careen against the Pacific. I see silvery-white plumes of whale breaths spouting, they break the rocks of my rock and roll. When the levee breaks, we'll have no place to go- I'm going back to Chicago.

California. Line 5. Verse 1. She is born in Arkansas, in Denver, in New York City, in the back of a taxi cab, her parents waiting for a table at Earth Cafe, 1989. There are concerts, balconies, elevator shafts, and on benches. The gain rises, the volume up and up and up, I offer her a cigarette, I ask her if she likes my dress, I show up with two palms full of a flame, and I say hello. Browsing in high-definition, the water is warm, my feet are planted and I have everywhere to go. Classical emporium of light fill me with ease, greatness, and belief. She asks me if I'm gay. Every great confusion can be proven to be fortuitous with enough time on hand. I kiss in cars, in bathrooms, and barrooms, in hallways, on staircases, on beds, church steps, and legs. I touched a leg, ran my fingers through her hair, my thumbs curved to the height of two ears alongside a size B head. I love art *****. i burn candles, and I swirl the wax around until the walls wear masks of white. I check-in to a hotel. I stop to buy wild flowers on the side of the road, or to climb down a ravine, we open a page into an enormous patch of strawberries, wind-surfers, and the golden Palo Alto beaches. I am in Bronzeville, on my way to Bridgeport, I am riding the train, browsing magazines, and singing new songs in my head. My lips are wet with excitement and the musings of the Modern Art Museum and the gift of a first kiss; behind the statue on Balcony 2, near the drinking fountain, the Eames couch, and two lips meeting anew. Bravery in twos.

Chapter 1, Verse 2. The chorus is large and exciting. New plastic shining coats. Smocks patterned with the Random House children's stories that we played with as children. We didn't wear gloves, or hats, or pants, or our hearts on our sleeves. I was up to my knees in hormones and very persuasive. My fifth birthday was at the Nature Center, you chased me into the boys' bathroom and kissed me with your wet and four year old lips in the second stall from the door. I eased up maybe 2% since then. The speakers are a little bit fuzzy, it's like listening to the spit of someone's tongue cascade the roof of their mouth while they pronounce the British consonants of the 90s. Said and done and saving space.

I am saving up for Grace. A crush in the mid 2000s, black hair, long legs, and the only brunette for a decade before or after. We played doctor, with the electric scalpel we turned our noses red with Christmas time South American powders. A safe word for an enemy, the sun for an enemy too. You bolted out and took my early Jimi Hendrix Best Of compact disc case too. While we're at it, you took my Michael Jackson cassettes as well. I go mid-range, think Kiri Te Kanawa in the whispers of E.T.'s Elliot. Stuffed-animal closet party for seven minutes in heaven. Your family came with butlers while mine came with over-educated storage. A blue borage sky in the intestines of life, a splinter in the shanty-town of invincible daily struggles- both of us were born again in O'Hare Airport's Parking Level D. Too many nonsensical arguments in two-tone grayscale ripping open the packaging of a course about trysting in your twenties.

Your stomach's history is overpowering. It is temperamental, mettled by spirits and sleepless nights, borborygmus, wambles, and shades of nervousness you were never comfortable speaking openly about. The history of your ****** was privatized, in options and unedited films shot over and over candidly by a mini DV desk camera, nine months to read you wrong to weep in strong wintry walks back and forth from The Buckingham to the Dwight Lofts, Room 408 without a view. All of your secrets in a little miniature of a notebook, bright cerise red. You captured teardrops in medicinal jars meant for syringes. You tied strings to your fingers, named your field mouse Ginger, and introduced your mother as Lady Darling. Captain with stingray skin, the hide of Ferris Bueller with the coattails of James Bond, dusted with daisy pollen, and clearly weakness. You ate me like bitter herbs on Thursdays, and like every other woman I've ever met, on Tuesdays you always kept me waiting.

I have wings for everything. Yellow wings for a woman in a yellow dress, Red, White, and Green wings for Bernice from Mexico City, Purple wings for  Mrs. Doolittle the doctor who worked at Taco Bell, the Jamaican priestess who was traveling through Venice Italy- we smoked hash with the grandchild of James Joyce on the Northern pier against the aurulent statues of Apollo and Zeus, Cupids' collection of malevolent tricks, SleepingB Beauty's rebuttal in fending off GHB attackers, my two dear friends who were kidnapped in clothes, abandoned in the ****, and only remember eating chocolate donuts with sprinkles and the bruises and dirt on the insides of their thighs. Nothing clever. Nothing extraordinary. Everything sentimental, built to withstand soot, sourness, and early female bravado.

You know how to play the piano so you've said, but i only have the CD you gave me to prove it. I do have evidence of your addiction to men and *******. I have your collection of dresses with tags still on them (but every woman has some of those), there is the post office box in Kauai, the Halloween card from last November and the two videos I have stored on an external drive in a nightstand adjacent to the foot of my bed. You sleep atrociously, talk too quickly, and **** like your father abandoned you when you were five. Your talent for taking photographs is like your skill-set for playing the piano, but I don't have the CD to prove it. You don't believe in social media, social consistency, friendships, or hephalumps and woozels- with the exception of the classes we shared together in college, I've never seen you outside of the most glamorous of fashion. You hate flats, hats, and white wine, and for as sad as you can seem to be at times, I've only had you cry on me once. While we were on the phone, three days after your mother hung herself. That's when I last left California, and I haven't been back yet.

I love a Kristine, but once a Britni, a Brandi, a Joni, a Tina, Kristina, Kirsten, Kristen, and a Katherine and Kathryn too. I know rock stars who are my dearest friends, enemies who I share excellent taste in music with, and parents who've always had my back but show it in lashings of the tongue and of the belt. It's been two years and three states since I was two sizes smaller than I am now. I've never considered the possibility that I was the main character and not the supporting actor, but due to recent developments in antipathy and aesthete, reevaluation, and retrospective nostalgia. All of this is about to change.

I am me still evolving without my usually stolid and grim ****** features. i bare brevity to situations existing that would **** most or in the least paralyze a great many. There is one for every hour of every day, and one for every minute in every hour, second in every minute, and more than the minutes in every day. No one has a second chance, shares a different time, or works off a different clock. I have been called the master of the analog, king of the codependent, and rook to queenside knight. I share a parabola for every encounter, experience, and endeavor. I am three minutes from being a cadaver, one drink away from a drunk, and one thought away from being completely alone. I think upright, i sleep horizontally, and I love infinitely. I am the only finite constant i have ever known. I am the main character, the script, satire, sarcasm, and soundtrack are mine.

"I don’t care if you believe it. That’s the kind of house I live in. And I hope we never leave it.”
There's A Wocket In My Pocket by Dr. Seuss
Rohit Rohan May 2014
We are like two guitar picks
They are all so unique
Different shapes
Different sizes
Different textures
Different smells
Different feels
Different beings
But we
We are identical
Just like each other
And we play music that is so different
No one gets it
No one figures it why
But so it is
And only we can get what flows out of it
Strumming along in dischord
And harmony too
You’re just like me
And I am just like you
But we have our own guitars
And that is where our melody flows
The music all so complete
All so perfect
That it makes you just not believe
Coz things cannot be perfect
For nothing ever is complete
For beauty lies in incompleteness
And imperfection
And we with our guitars
Are just so ****** perfect
That it bleeds me to see us that way
If only guitar picks like us
Were left alone with each other
And never touched or disturbed
We wouldn’t get around to do anything
For the two of us
Are of the same kind
We can’t get music out of us
Or each other
Coz we are no guitars
And we won’t have them
Or anything else
But just each other
Two guitar picks
With the same lives
Touch
Smell
Shape and design
The only two unique
That no one else can match
That no one else can get
And there we lie together in the corner
No one to ruffle us
Just left to ourselves
And we lie there
By our sides
And we can’t play no music
And we can’t strum a song
Coz we are two guitar picks
Without nothing else
Without no guitars
But only ourselves
Which is just so ****** incomplete
And so imperfect
So mighty beautiful..
Hal Loyd Denton Jun 2013
This time for Oklahoma



I re-post this for our last battel field Boston these words are nothing but as you read you will find the one who lives in them and He is everything all the comfort and hope we can ever want


Sorry if this seems at first confusing all my friends on facebook and Redbullble will get it right away as
I asked them to use their love and caring to pray for my hurting distraught friend at her time of great
Loss if you are hurting it will help to at least a degree or it will help at times of future loss

Well dear sweet precious Addy this brutal day is at an end I hope you sleep well I prayed for you and
Kathleen’s son way into the night at first I was terrified you weren’t going to get my post and you would
Enter as I told my wife you would enter the lion’s den the lions all have familiar names pain sorrow
Grief and many others and they maul with cruelty without pity I didn’t want ether of you to take those
Fatal steps without your armor not to be to descriptive but reality waited with a blast I tried to diffuse the
Coffin the grave and headstone never could I do it immeasurably my fight for you could only be in the
Smallest victories comfort mined at times like these is like uranium white silver metallic with almost
A power that can’t be harnessed the same as loss of a love one what blow back again the same as a
Nuclear test one problem you don’t get the protection of a bunker no just suffer the blast in your
Body mind and heart you are stepping in to the shoes the same as young woman who lost her father
That as she described him he was the light of her life our paths crossed on line when I thought she
Was a classmate’s wife her story of her dad touched me deeply I’m going to add that piece here plus
The comfort I tried to write for my friend that was more like my brother when his mother died I will
Include a small background so it wail make more since let me add those here the first was Fathers story
What you read here is her hearts knowing and the undying love that it created and that continues.
His precious hands were removed from earthly things. A great and gentle man his greatest possessions his family. I only knew him from his business and the fact that one of his beautiful daughters married a classmate of mine. Then much later by error I made acquaintance with another of his daughters you can tell a lot about a person from the actions of his children. She told me that he passed away and that he was the light of her life. With God’s help I would like to pay tribute to him.
A light did shine it was magnified by the eyes of a daughters love. He took his journey he went above his ship was the care they shared he the captain made the course straight and true he didn’t slow her run until heaven was in plain view they would have cheered but it hard to see through eyes filled with tears. All the wonderful years seemed to be eclipsed by the sickness that came it seemed an angry wind from their lives this stalwart precious soul it did rend. It left the greatest empty hole it took the longest time to fill and then with the sweetest cooing the grand babies made the hole enlivened not the terrible twisted knot that had the family bound but without being able to speak a word gram paw was found. If you looked in their faces his smile is bound to bundles only heaven can design. I’m not saying they asked him how to work these miracles yet this is true he watched with intense interest and was happiest since his departure he knew that back through time and space healing was for all time secured. Their stoic acceptance could now be laid aside the family could run in softer climes know the sweetest of times that were thought to be forever gone.
Love spills down from heights distance is only on a map in peoples heart its no farther than the end of your finger tips. Images are so strong not because we have great minds it’s easy to make these rich finds when your love and its power shake the foundation of the universe is it not said that love is the greatest power. Oh how so many in dark shadows cower when they possess the power to ignite the world on fire. From heart to heart it does dart the wildness of the spirit is told blotting out all of the cold. Yes there is winter but also the spring. The light spoken of is no longer beholden to earth and so the family is free by love he joins his light to the Christ the all glowing light
Life force by haldenton
To all who have lost heroes
This was written to Eva’s son Bill to help him at her passing. With this writing I took him back thirty years when he was in the truck wreck that killed his dad his recovery saved his mother I hoped by him being reminded of that now it would help him the same way.
Tribute to Eva Wafford Life force
For all who lost heroes
In your soul freshly the wind of death did blow.
Cold eerie shadows marched against your tender broken heart.
What defense could this onslaught repel agony’s volcanic flow.
Ominous well filled with grief from this weight no relief.
The child the grim reaper did spare.
Only after leaving the body bruised and in despair.
From this broken body drops of mercy started to make the mother well.
I held your trembling frame today this memory rings sweet as a bell.
Streets and houses without number fill the land.
I can’t help when I look to recall memories grand.
Now they are but dreams that ache in the night.
Images that over ride the present in their glory I take flight.
Brush aside caution raise your voice as a trumpet.
They live only in yesterdays even so indelibly they wrote their stories.
We hold our children we cling only a moment as mist on the summit.
Your life Eva continues to build the next generation.
Your voice is heard in the breath of your grandchildren.
Wonders they spin from golden thread, now that you have gone ahead.
Your spirit glows in the fire that warms the house against winter.
Summer’s cool breeze not sent by chance she doe’s tenderly incite.
Death silently said what I already knew.
To me you were always immortal you were bigger than life
Many were the days when the wind of storms blew
those who know us feel the calm; this is only your life on review

One more
Simply Jim
Old Abe said it right ‘It is right and fitting that we speak these words here to honor these lives so honorably lived. I can say that about Jim and this also he was a prince among men if I do this right the words will convince you.
He had a gentle way and nature he spoke softly but a softness that flowed to you like ribbons that bounced in a little girl’s hair how delightful. He should have been a doctor his hands his mannerism was ideal for that job. I guess thats what made him stand out so strongly like a gentle calm breeze if you came in a panic his soul would float down around you like a parachute first it safely brings you from great anxiety and exaltation to a graceful landing then gently envelops you in its silken embrace. I had this privilege of watching him inter act with his wife as I said and truly he was a prince and I was the beggar that benefitted richly from the sidelines God knew my needs.
He was called from this life but all the days he filled before his home going are the sustaining force noticeably seen felt with keen awareness you know that a gentleman passed this way. In the lives left behind there is a blend of sadness and astonishment you realize you are looking at the work of a master workman who left behind a tightly and perfectly fitted family this unfortunately is sadly rare in this society that boast of its accomplishments.
As a friend his breadth and depth was sufficient you weren’t a burden he had a way of dispelling trouble making you understand with wisdom and unerring judgment then with ease you could extricate yourself from the problem. His heavenly father filled him with tenderness it stood him and others well in a somewhat crabby world. If you’re pressed and anxious about life take from this life expressed. A portion of the good will you need use it as a defense Jim couldn’t be everywhere but God saw fit to make an original that you can duplicate benefit from and be a part of his ongoing legacy. Thanks friend for a life lived well

Well hurting one in the earlier part of a writing I said I am God’s battle field reporter and medic
These writings are my bandages and gauze God gave me great big hands and I fill them with
Salve with all the love I know I gently apply it to your broken hurting wounds mingle it with
Tears that are not always mine alone but His mixes with mine one day He will abolish all tears
Until then this is our duty your heart we hear and we can do no other God bless you Addy and
Your nephew and all others who find this helpful

Mirrored Pool


Wonder for all the hurts

First I knelt just to see my reflection then the depths started to reveal first the flowing thoughts were
Restrained and then a bubbling seemed to dislodge from greater depths hard truths churned with
Violent twisting but the motion made it impossible to turn away there were great large white clouds
From depths then even above the pool they rose fourteen stories high the sensation was you were
Standing outside clear air intoxicating views the pulse of many were throbbing in your ears their
Thoughts and dreams were known and their sorrows were weights that pulled you from the heights
It was a colossal game of tag and you were it first reaction fear then the appearance of bundled gifts
Broke down the fear it was promise in different sizes that met the required needs it was like a divine
Warehouse had just made a delivery there were cards with names and writing gave clarification tears
And smiles intermingled then the outer knowing postulated the difficulty the puzzle an enormous
Streaming that was now congested and it was beginning a vortex all was understood now human thought
With doubts was pulling the answer into this destructive hole where was one to find the lever to stop
This action that would disallow was the answer to touch the water bring the finger to my lips possibly
A blazing thought would occur that would strike the mind no all that brought was words that had the
Letters jumbled they made no sense unless there is a special book that is alive in it the letters and words
Are already set but they cover every act in the human condition the broken can pour over the pages
You won’t find thorns to repel your efforts there are thorns but they will speak and assuage your hurts
At the most basic and needed levels the points of your hurts will begin to dissolve from your eyes to
Your mind this inward rush and power will dislodge even spears driven deep by enemies carried for
Years you searched in vain over sad and lonely paths and days now you journey is at an end thorns of
Suffering for another produces profound power and mercy go in peace beloved one another bears your
Burden now maybe words cut you at depths you can’t even identify what if there is an antidote in a
Book you pick it up with trembling hands your body tingles from the knowledge that this is ancient texts
It will have a revival of appreciation in this world of texting but with gentle fingers and eyes that glow
With respect as you see the wisdom and the love cannot be denied you leave the world you know and
With total abandonment you swim in this sea of words until the your tears spill on this rich world of
Words those cruel barbed words that pierced tender skin and have bled internally all of these years
Begin to dissolve with stories and accounts of betrayals then the swells love and mercy you read about
Restoration not always found after apologies are given but the teaching of forgiveness strikes a cord
You have been made free from your prison the tangles of life are great as a great black cloud it hangs
Over head many are its troubles this isn’t mild but the disruptive made to strike and pierce deep the
Hidden that steals the morning blessing while other feast your hunger and unrest only enlarges a
Tormenting unquenchable fire a slow burn this is a forest being burned at the thermal level the hidden
Roots a slow process destructive but not so visible agony torture I have seen men crawl in war or fire
Fighting that where all else is lost you will know greater thrills than any other living soul with the
Desperate and those heavy burdened unable to stand a word will flow it puts out fires and gives
The luxurious buoyancy heaviness changed to joy the bouncy laughter every outward blast attack
The enemy launches is within its pages they are repelled overwhelmed by love you suffer unduly
If you don’t hold this fortress this informative book of stratagems that have made everyone a victor
Who has ever found themselves at their wits end no place on earth has a contingency plan though it
Will make the greatest claims all is just empty air when life as it too often does ***** the very air of life
Out we practically are unconscious but this help this rescue is activated by one name it’s not just a book
But the word is a person what a pool you will find what a reflection will engage you beyond your hope
To imagine just say Jesus all will be total peace your heart will know no more sorrow peace will surpass
Sorrow love will disallow the specter that was once a constant it will disappear it will return to the
Darkness from which it came stand in this newness totally free abide by still waters as the good
Sheppard stands by bless you



Disgrace

This land void of devotion gone is the church steeples.
Replaced by voices and shadows of drug dealers on each corner.
Now they are the keepers, lost cities, death stalks its peoples.
Nothing is sacred in this polluted and diffused land.

No longer hallowed be thy name, it’s as if he never came.
Forgotten is any standard of moral excellence.
The once high ideals only represent a fool’s parlance.
Man declares I throw off these restraints only to find darker chains.

The book that once guided this great land.
We now betray with each waking day.
Our hearts and mind it did ignite, now it’s word we can’t stand.
Powerless and feeble we stumble, anxious ever moment.

Just to remember is not enough, best confess our pride.
Make sacrifice with our lips, to burn on altars on high.
There is a short season for all to make amends to regain our stride.
March on to glory with it burning on the inside.

You don’t have to be astute in business to see the sound investment.
Bring your poverty of spirit leave with the riches of his last testament.
It offers the greatest rate of exchange.
Light for darkness, life for death, selfless love for selfishness.


Streaks of Jefferson


In freedom’s blessed glorified sky through streaks of immortal gold his visage we behold
He looks upon the fields of liberty that he and the founding fathers sowed he sees the

Richness America has become he also beheld her struggles catastrophic wars abroad
And the most painful the one that divided the nation marred it with southern and northern

Blood saw the affable the sad giant Lincoln take the reins of discontent hold them by
Shear will and with uncommon sagacity guided it back in line to fulfill its destiny as the

Powerful fount that would always pour forth waters of freedom for all of earths peoples
Total unconditional acceptance of liberty and all the fruit it bears to establish a

Government like no other this golden grain has waved under bluest skies and brightest
Sun light its rich harvest has gone to darkest prison cells Mandela was sustained by it

For twenty nine years and by its moral purity it fed the lives of those that over threw
Apartied and Mandela finally freed by principals it avows rose from prison clothes

To wear the mantle of president of his country and the honor of the man instilled
Quality that transcended political office Jefferson not to be disrespectful to his progeny

Whispers today’s politicians could do well to look on this African model of good
Stewardship of public trust with that Jefferson faded back into the mist pray that’s
Not the fate of this country
J A M Aug 2014
PIE
The answer to life's problems
Is in front of your face
It is pie indeed
Make no mistake

Pies of all sizes
Take your place
Delightful to gaze upon
If even not so great

How can you mess up
Something in a round plate?

Meringue or not
They are all so yummy
Just thinking about them
In your tummy

The thought alone is
Oh so yummy!

For now I will retreat
To something not so grand
But soon I will rejoice
With pie in hand
Silly, I know. For my son who loves pie! :)
'But that was nothing to what things came out
From the sea-caves of Criccieth yonder.'
'What were they? Mermaids? dragons? ghosts?'
'Nothing at all of any things like that.'
'What were they, then?'
                                    'All sorts of queer things,
Things never seen or heard or written about,
Very strange, un-Welsh, utterly peculiar
Things. Oh, solid enough they seemed to touch,
Had anyone dared it. Marvellous creation,
All various shapes and sizes, and no sizes,
All new, each perfectly unlike his neighbour,
Though all came moving slowly out together.'
'Describe just one of them.'
                                        'I am unable.'
'What were their colours?'
                                        'Mostly nameless colours,
Colours you'd like to see; but one was puce
Or perhaps more like crimson, but not purplish.
Some had no colour.'
                                'Tell me, had they legs?'
'Not a leg or foot among them that I saw.'
'But did these things come out in any order?'
What o'clock was it? What was the day of the week?
Who else was present? How was the weather?'
'I was coming to that. It was half-past three
On Easter Tuesday last. The sun was shining.
The Harlech Silver Band played Marchog Jesu
On thrity-seven shimmering instruments
Collecting for Caernarvon's (Fever) Hospital Fund.
The populations of Pwllheli, Criccieth,
Portmadoc, Borth, Tremadoc, Penrhyndeudraeth,
Were all assembled. Criccieth's mayor addressed them
First in good Welsh and then in fluent English,
Twisting his fingers in his chain of office,
Welcoming the things. They came out on the sand,
Not keeping time to the band, moving seaward
Silently at a snail's pace. But at last
The most odd, indescribable thing of all
Which hardly one man there could see for wonder
Did something recognizably a something.'
'Well, what?'
                    'It made a noise.'
                                              'A frightening noise?'
'No, no.'
              'A musical noise? A noise of scuffling?'
'No, but a very loud, respectable noise ---
Like groaning to oneself on Sunday morning
In Chapel, close before the second psalm.'
'What did the mayor do?'
                                      'I was coming to that.'
Lost Soul Oct 2018
Eat
sometimes i dont eat
the longest i've gone
is three weeks
i lay in bed ,my stomach in knots
cant stand up too quickly
dont wanna see spots
my body failed me again
bile came, hunger left
i cant quite remember when
water is my only friend
it soothes the hurt
acid reflux temporarily ends
water runs down my throat
when i move, it sloshes in my belly
sound like waves against a boat  
heartburn comes at night
my body and brain are at war
im kept awake while they fight
headaches come back
it hurts to open my eyes
i know its from the calories i lack
when i can handle a taste other then bile
i eat and eat , i'm called a pork chop
i know its a joke so i hide the pain with a smile
if only they knew
how i hate my body
and the pants sizes i blew
but its something i keep to myself
no need to bother someone else
its not like am a fragile doll on a shelf
....or am I ?
Christian Ek May 2015
Hell no, you don't want to be compared to one of those models idolized in magazines.
True beauty lies outside the fashion industry’s visual constructions.
Fall in love with what you never expected to love, imperfection.
Brand-less self expression.
There are no cameras or flashing lights there
or visual effects.
We come in different range of sizes.
Shame on shallow marketing.
A pretty face can have nasty vices.
Hearts of Gold, now those aren't sold.
- C.Ek
Autumn Stott Mar 2014
Someday, I’m gonna live in the big city;
The glow of Manhattan lights and
Chatter from the streets of the
city that never sleeps will
be my lullaby as
I close out a long day well spent
in my high-rise studio
apartment.
My picture will be in lights with
“Up and coming author”
tacked to my name.
I will sign copies of my latest novel
for young girls with dreams as
big as mine once were
in a quiet little coffee shop downtown.
And when those girls tell me
“Autumn, you are my inspiration”
I will tell them,
“No, you’re mine. Keep dreaming, honey.
never give up on whatever
pushes you through those loneliest of nights.”
I will buy grapes from a farmer’s market
and share them with the little girl
sitting in the cart in the next isle over and
I will smile lovingly, knowing that someday,
that little girl will have dreams
and fears,
struggles and
heartbreaks, but for now, the sweet taste
of ripe fruit and friendly smiles is enough to
keep her satisfied.
I will wear flowy dresses and
hats ten sizes too big
and I won’t care if my lipstick has smudged
onto my teeth
because I will have nobody left to impress.
Someday,
I will be somebody.
But for now, I am just a small town girl
with friends that I love, a passion for beautiful words
and an undying ambition.
And for now, that will have to be enough.
John Ryles Jul 2011
Little bits of litter blowing everywhere,
Is it that we are carless? Or maybe we don’t care.
Bags and bottles ******* of every kind,
A simple picnic our ******* left behind.
Bottles of all sizes floating on the pond,
If left on the beach will travel far beyond.
Polystyrene boxes used for burgers or chips,
Are float on our ponds like little litter ships.
But worst of all the dreaded carrier bag,
Hang from wires and trees like a kind of flag.
Just to make sure we spread it far and wide,
Cars are used to carry debris to the countryside.
Now that we have spread it from coast to coast,
We are a famous nation because we litter most.
Fish and chips were sold wrapped in newspaper,
You could say part of a natural recycling scheme.
Pop was bought in bottles with a paid deposit,
Kiddies for pocket money collected to redeem.
Litter is not pretty it will not go away,
Soon we will have nowhere clean to play.
Maybe if we learn to take our litter home again,
We would see the trees and flowers,
Down our English country lane.
Amy Perry Jan 2014
A fruit bowl,
Adorned with colors,
Red, yellow, orange, green;
And shapes,
Round, oblong, curved, curvy;
And sizes,
Large, medium, small, smaller,
Create a beautiful image,
With their contrasting differences.
Inspire an artist to experiment
Colors, shapes, sizes,
And inspires the poet
To see communion and beauty
Between those that may be different.
Write what you see.
Bus Poet Stop May 2015
"Many a physics graduate student has gnashed her teeth in frustration over the mathematics of general relativity. Perhaps she should try envisioning a flat, boundless desert, with rocks of various sizes scattered across its surface, whose mass creates dips of various depths in the sand. A sturdy canopy looms over that desert, stretched tightly over a skeleton of tent poles linked by bars, matching the rises and dips in the sand beneath it. The desert is all the matter and energy in the universe, while the canopy is the geometry of space-time. The poles and bars are the equations of general relativity, connecting the stuff of the universe with the shape of the universe. As Halpern writes: “Mass and energy warp space-time, telling it where and how to curve. The shape of space-time, in turn, governs how things move within it.”
-------------------------------------------------------
My mass and my energy are both warped, so the where's and the how's and the eyes of my curves are the poles and the bars of behind which I relentlessly cease to exist, only to seize what lies beyond the constraints of time and space, as eye wait for the bus to stop in the No Standing zone
The Bus Poet
Stop!
http://www.nytimes.com/2015/05/03/books/review/einsteins-dice-and-schrodingers-cat-by-paul-halpern.html?ref=review
Red-Writing-Hood Oct 2012
What is beauty?
Is is the piles and strokes of powder and paint we slick on our faces each morning, evening and night because we think it makes us look better?
Or is it our white, black, or yellow skin, maybe clear, covered in pimples or freckles, round, thin or a shape with no names?
Is beauty the so called 'perfect' women we see on the runway and on magazine covers, the women who starve themselves?
Maybe it's the women who weigh a ton or have to shop in the plus sizes, break a sweat when they climb a flight of stairs or order more than one main course at a restaurant?
Is beauty our skinny, chubby or obese faces, stomach or limbs, is weight merely just a number and what really matters is what we think of ourselves? What we see in the mirror every time we stare at our gorgeous bodies and faces no matter the appearance?
Is beauty the blue, green or brown in our eyes? The price of the clothes that we wear or the quality of our material possessions homes or cars?
No
For beauty is in the eyes of the beholder and if you let that beholder be someone that cannot really see what truly is inside of you...they don't matter
That beholder may be hard to find but someday you'll find someone that's kind and kind enough to say to you what everyone should hear once, twice, twenty times a day
They will say, baby you were born this way so stand up, be strong, smile that straight, crooked or brace-faced smile because it's the smile I dream of waking up to everyday
They will say, bat those beautiful lashes to show me those breath-taking eyes that I want to stare into for hours on end no matter the color
They will say give me a hug time and time again because I love having my arms around you no matter if I can feel your ribs or if my hands can't clasp together on the other side
You ask why?
Because you're beautiful

— The End —