"stopper" poems
She was a hellaciously hard hittin’ heart stopper
A semi-sophisticated mother/daughter
My complex candy coated no-LSD dropper
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 9:55 PM UTC
'Kabali' and 'Badlapur' actor Radhika Apte will be the show-stopper in the upcoming Lakme Fashion Week in the ‘Gulzar’ collections of a prominent Kolkata-based fashion designer.
“We have been working with Radhika since 'Majhi the Mountain Man' days (2015) and she will be flaunting our fabrics as show-stopper in India’s premier fashion show which is keenly followed by Bollywood," the well-known city-based woman fashion designer told media after a fashion show in a city hotel last Friday night.
The Lakme Fashion Week is a bi-annual fashion event with the summer-resort show taking place in April while the winter-festive show is held in August.
This year the winter-festive show will be held from August 24 to 28.
Radhika will be wearing bright-colored lehenga since the show will be focused on beautiful India, it’s colours and contours, choreographed with the poetry of nature by Amir Khusro, the designer said.
“It can also be termed our tribute to a great name like Gulzar saab who has brought our lyrics and poems to a new level,” the designer Saroj Jalan said.
The signature style of the designer, whose works adorn Bollywood actors like Radhika beside well known models Lisa Sharma and former Miss Universe India winner Ushoshi Sengupta, is delicate floral patterns along with the use of Zardozi and array of hand-woven tusser silk and velvet enhancing the experience of the garments and “we will project the same in the Lakme week where the accent is on ethnicity,” designer Saroj Jalan said.
Supermodel Ushoshi, having recently debuted in the Bengali film 'Egoler Chokh', said “Lakme show reflects the different tastes of all leading Indian fashion designers who are still rooted to Indian heritage.”Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 12:29 AM UTC
not since nor silk.
Mother's milk for the generations.. yes she was .
Greeted Lindbergh on touchdown.
Society clone. Rich ************* could not leave her alone. Tall tale teller.Paperback
construct. Stepping into the ball with no invitation and stopped the music and conversation.
Pale skinned poser.
Gettin over.
Her daddy was a man of means.
Hired by the Majesties to count jellybeans.
He loved the local **** to the tune of
Poppa was a rollin stone.
The magistrates and potentates in the republic of bananas. Pinkys up tea sippers .
Could not get hold of collective zippers.
Faded portrait. long dead poser.ball buster. Pretty as crystal.Tough as pig iron.
She was high flying flapper. Cutting a rug. Charleston,Jitterbug. Short skirt flirt. Grandma ?
Smokin hot and smokin when women did not dare. C.O.P.D. and a hacking cough came the pipers toll. The Wages.
Just keeping it real.
Slip sliding away.
Drove a Jalopy.
Aiee Pahpi chulo. Bestin May West with a smaller life jacket.
Turn the century.
Trench warfare.
Over the top.The war to end all ? shiiiit. Great Grandma
was a show stopper. To the very end.
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 12:41 AM UTC
Vi lovede hinanden hele den store verden dengang
Tiderne var anderledes, klokken var 22 når den var 17.
Vi havde stjerneregn af kæmpemæssige følelser
Som vi åd af hinanden, slikkede og fik kuldegysninger.
Lange aftener, som fik det hele til at vare dobbelt kort.
Jeg er ikke engang sikker på at jeg savner det
Eller dig. Eller noget af det vi gjorde sammen
Men en del har bidt sig fast. Jeg er blevet ramt
Af en virus. En fejl i mit liv, som du har plantet
I mig og min indre globe og færden, når jeg søger
Efter ting, som jeg umuligt kan få, finde eller fjerne
Jeg er syg, og mit immunforsvar svækkes, men
Jeg går i skole. Jeg lever mit liv videre, med
Tanken om at jeg ikke ved hvornår det stopper
Jeg vil lukke følelsen af dig/det/os ud af mig selv
Du styrer alt det du ikke må og du får alt så let
Så jeg lever livet videre, jeg lærer at ignorere det mave
Sår du har plantet i mig. Jeg sover det væk.
Drømmer mig væk fra realiternes smerter. For jeg kan
Ikke klare det hele. Jeg ser ikke klart. Jeg mærker ikke
Det lys som alle siger kommer, og når de andre fortæller
Mig at det hele er hurtigt glemt. Tvivler jeg på mig selv og
På mine følelser. For jeg har ingen følelser, ingen tanker
Ingenting. Jeg har ikke noget og jeg er fortabt. For alt hvad
Jeg vil have og eje er fysisk kontakt med dig. Jeg vil se på
Dig se på mig. Jeg vil have at du fortæller mig at jeg er smuk
Og så er det det, efter vi har kysset. Så er det det. For man skal
Ikke sådan noget. For det spil vi spiller er farligt. Med et hug
Bliver man slået hjem. Hvis ikke man lander på stjernen eller
På verdenstegnet. Så er det hjem, uden noget som helst.
Vi er en tikkende bombe. For hvor mange sekunder går der
IKKE før du egentlig finder ud af hvem jeg er, vi er, du er.
Til du finder ud af at du er bedre. Jeg kan ikke. Jeg tænker
Jeg kan. Men det hele er forkert. Jeg er kommet til at bruge alt
For mange kræfter på ting man kan få kræft af. Jeg er styret af den
Kraft du har. Jeg bliver ved med at bryde mig selv ned, selvom de
Andre nogle gange prøver at få mig op og stå igen. Det (s)eneste
Som jeg ikke har, er alt det jeg ikke kan få. Og jeg ved ikke
Engang hvad det er, eller om jeg er sikker på at jeg ved det på
Et tidspunkt. Jeg løber en tur væk fra mig selv. Jeg prøver
At eskapere fra verden. Jeg er flygtning fra mig selv.
Så kom her. Læg dig sammen med mig. Lad os lytte til din stemme
Bare et par mange gange, så jeg kan høre på alle de kloge ting
Du gør og siger. Ligesom den gang jeg gjorde det før.
Dengang det hele var godt.
Da vi to ejede verden, og hinanden. Men det gjorde vi ikke.
For du er helt ny, opstået så pludseligt, men sådan er det bare.
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 11:55 AM UTC
What is he buzzing in my ears?
“Now that I come to die,
Do I view the world as a vale of tears?”
Ah, reverend sir, not I!
What I viewed there once, what I view again
Where the physic bottles stand
On the table’s edge,—is a suburb lane,
With a wall to my bedside hand.
That lane sloped, much as the bottles do,
From a house you could descry
O’er the garden-wall: is the curtain blue
Or green to a healthy eye?
To mine, it serves for the old June weather
Blue above lane and wall;
And that farthest bottle labelled “Ether”
Is the house o’ertopping all.
At a terrace, somewhere near the stopper,
There watched for me, one June,
A girl; I know, sir, it’s improper,
My poor mind’s out of tune.
Only, there was a way… you crept
Close by the side, to dodge
Eyes in the house, two eyes except:
They styled their house “The Lodge”.
What right had a lounger up their lane?
But, by creeping very close,
With the good wall’s help,—their eyes might strain
And stretch themselves to Oes,
Yet never catch her and me together,
As she left the attic, there,
By the rim of the bottle labelled “Ether”,
And stole from stair to stair,
And stood by the rose-wreathed gate. Alas,
We loved, sir—used to meet:
How sad and bad and mad it was—
But then, how it was sweet!
2.4k
This is for the residents who remember
And for the transplants who
Have yet to be informed
But have got an inkling
Burque has gone from
Bustling to busted
And back again
Growing up in the 80’s
I learned about the
Varying degrees of “sick”
As my dad pointed out
The pekid pachucos perusing
Pharmacy isles
Attempting to purchase
Cough syrup with codeine
In the evenings
Driving home down Central
I would ceremoniously
Count hookers
My parents would
Precariously pack heat
In the trunk of our car
Or even in my mom’s special ***** pack
With the hidden compartment
For her .38 snub nose
Because you never know
Who will be in your home
When you arrive
That’s a given
When flop houses are
Interwoven with prime real estate
And barrio boundaries
Border the bourgeois’ bungalows
And Huning’s Castles
And residents rarely recognize
Or realize
That aside from the locals
The European Jews
Was the only group gutsy enough
To settle here
And create commerce
Despite risks of being raided
By Apaches
And they reaped the benefits
Off Roma and Marquette
Because the rewards
Turned out to be greater than
The risks
And up North
Where Sephardic turned Crypto
Conversions to Catholicism
Kept the Messiah’s spirit alive
But in basements
They still did Chi fives!
I was saddened in middle school
When I realized
That many of our parents
Were too ashamed of our roots
To teach us Spanish
And our
Schools ****** so severely
That most of us
Didn’t learn English either
But hey –
All you need to
Communicate while cruising
Are cat calls
And the thumping boom
Of the bass in the tubes
And the hydraulic drop
When they hit
The hot spots
From Tingley, Kit Carson and
Central to Copper
Each kid dreams that
His ride
Will be the show stopper
I could rant and rave
And rattle off for days
But bottom line –
We have the most
Curious state
With mysterious qualities
And in-depth histories
But most of us are
More concerned with
Bud Light
And Biscochitos
Con Manteca
Because it just tastes great!
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 2:39 AM UTC
blood
blood patter and splash
leads us concrete toward
tracing back til the scene
i’ve flashing thoughts of the brutality
the violence that must of cussed
between persons
in fear fray and inebriation
down the steps
my four year old child and I go
the greasing bleed in bronze putters
growing and leadening
on stone labours
glowing citrus the refrigeration
of the underpass
‘flips the bird' at the summer blaze
grey dead coral bricks of urination
seasoned in deep beading now cold
the broke up weapon
candy slates of brittle teeth
glass / bottle / beer /brown
the neck its' hilt
and the main mud of the bleeding
the flies are the thing
that bothers my ‘little nipper’
usually a flapper of queries on repetition
no other queries are raised
just eager for the vibration
of train carriages gatling over our heads
i stopper any words i may have on the matter
he holds my hand with his hot hand
we progress under a port arms
procession of caged floodlights
and walled in by fresh graffiti
fingers dripping retching for the guttering
Dec 22, 2023
Dec 22, 2023 at 3:05 PM UTC
doomsday dreaming
child's play screaming
***** devil scheming
i could disappear
one-time saver
two-time stopper
three-time clocker
i should disappear
untied up
bottled down
freely bound
i can disappear
stand - ovation
people - nation
love - starvation
i will disappear
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 9:43 PM UTC
chaos has limits
honor: boundaries
what keeps them penned in is love
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 2:49 AM UTC
Could it be that, for every year since
the day you stopped knocking
I have noiselessly slid in
a stopper, a stone, a slipper
Mistaking your reaching for the key
as a challenge, not a warning?
I've patted myself on the back
for making it out (but with a foot by the corner)
Just in case you one day decide to swing wide
and that I'm worth a thank you, come again.
May 22, 2020
May 22, 2020 at 10:11 AM UTC
Twenty classless, eight cigarettes.
Fighting over the radio at the
Inpatient Mental Health Facility,
A broken sense of belonging,
And a dearth of veggie burgers.
Listless with his lists, of course.
Angst from the Anglophile, unable to
Put a stopper in the pouring,
Bleeding emotions.
Open hands
Stained red, and brown.
Three breaks a day, scarring his
Broken knuckles, they paint the walls.
Code Smoking Gun,
Code Smoking Green,
Manic man, loading his shoulders with his
Father’s burden, too big for Atlas’s arms,
Or his mother’s shunning palms.
Three breaks a day,
Knee, shoulder, hip.
The coffee’s decaf
But your calves? Well,
They’re just sore.
They dish the brick every
Other evening. But living, for
No light, only serves to lessen your
Love of life and make you
Light-headed.
Broken beds with rock-solid
Pillows. Three breaks a day to
Remind you of your regression. We
Want you here as much.
Why’re you whining?
Busy doctors bust the doors, thank
God for the freedom, the
Fluorescent finish to your odyssey. The
Flowers and grass greet you in
Shades of pink and green your
Greedy eyes hadn’t seen.
Exhale. Ghost out your grieving.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 2:18 PM UTC
Stopper allsh Chub forsh shrame Good Chinwag, yah?
Arsh sieve Combatibles posh Boys bare playe
Shaye, yay Share! Bar score thore Pieces me - bah!
Mayse Lion bare thine; Yare Deer-Berry splaye
Wot cot Beagle-Risen thorse Polliwog
Spout Arms dash Legs arsh instant forsh shore Sport
Water-Rouse, rebound! Spare Skin-Sherry shogg
Staple coach-wires faye John Tom's Report
Behave, tharne! Parallipparel Shape conduct
Pour-Pore noodlesee Six-Squares shrub contesse
Mare beere yorsh Chest torso-avenue locke
Reprodpress marsh baye Bub-Peppers finesse.
Staye-upon-staye bore thoose talkitook borough
Boy-ish-Boy-font-fare-Potiphar-although.
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 7:59 AM UTC
who are you, visitor?
who are you,
dream interrupter, time stopper.
An elongated second
drawn into tangible space
choking my heart on waking
weighted waiting (heavy) for that dream to come again.
Happy apparition take my mind from me
show your face.
I long to skip the waking world and reunite my soul
with that sweet slumbery dreamland.
I love you.
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 3:26 PM UTC
Dear Self,
You aren’t too kind to yourself,
You always feel like a hologram of skin and bones, a wasted soul.
Your mind runs ninety-nine miles per hour, yet you’re seated in place.
You’re locked in place, fighting off that weather of weapons, all on your own.
You smoke those cancer sticks, and BAM!
All your stress seems to flow away, like a rushing river across the land.
You stay up all night, you insomniac, you night owl, you can’t even bring yourself to get up in the mornings to slave away under those fat cats on top of society.
I hope one day, you can find the courage to go back to being a motor mouth.
I hope one day, you’ll go back to being that talented show stopper.
I hope that one day.
You’ll stop being such a dust kicker and get back on your feet.
Just know that every chapter comes to an end, but at least we’ve anticipated this one against all the other endings we have yet to face
Sep 11, 2021
Sep 11, 2021 at 11:36 AM UTC
Beside me, in this unforgiving November’s winter, is she…
My queen beside me, amidst this rotting debris gifted to me.
Daphne, the comforter sent from the highest skies of Elysia
And Daphne, my love, you put a stopper… on my withering
Never did the sounding of a name, here, blossom a magnolia
Daphne, yours made my hell, the eternal orchards of Elysia.
We were betrothed to each other in here, in this wasteland
I await; you at our wedding, in your wedding gown, oh…
‘Tis her, the beau sky wrapped around your gentle frame
In your adornments, gifted from the agents of light, oh…
They are sapphire stars plucked from that midnight blue
On the edge of the Aegean sea, we await, in this wasteland
I await; you at our wedding, in your veil and crown, oh…
‘Tis her, the clouds and her raindrops, adorning your face
I await our wedding waltz, in our deserted fields, oh…
Without our kin, persecuted and orphaned by the world
Alone we shall dance, on the edge of Ymos, our dwelling
Alone we shall be in our vows when our eyes rain in joy
I await your grand advent, beaming gleefully, towards me
Bringing me, serenity; being my succour, with your smile
I await your silhouette, irradiating the wide evening blue
Bringing me, release; being my soother, now I live anew
Daphne, your midnight blue eyes, your voice of mead…
My pen fervently gallops for words, as I just gaze in awe
Let the sands of time tick away in joy, ticking, grain by grain
The heavens merry till the penultimate hours of our union
Now, in these salty Aegean waters, I taste honey and wine
I await our pristine union; as your hand knots with mine.
Beside me, in this unforgiving November’s winter, is you…
Daphne…
Nov 30, 2020
Nov 30, 2020 at 5:35 AM UTC
A serenade to the crowd
The applaud white noise to my ears
As I perform to please
To tempt, to tease.
Divine indulgence
A guilty pleasure they seek
I undress myself with grace
I pout, I pose with ease.
Its only art
And baby I play a character so well
A show-stopper
They swoon, but they never tell.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 8:19 PM UTC
She glides in her glamour
Irresiatible like gamma
I gape in awe
eye candy
I am cornered in stupor
Me, the preyful master of the jungle
Me the systematic schemer
I encountered no stopper
In my predatory exploits
I persued
Ran like a breeze in the meshy thicket
To capture and feast
She saw me
She smiled with conspiracy
Geed me up...
so confusing
I roared ready to strike
But her smile ...it was mesmerizing
I forgot about my mission
The hunter became the hunted
I tell myself I am still in control
After all I got her, or did she get me?
I wonder
She should be my gala
I decide otherwise
To take that moment of temptation
To marvel at her fineness
She is the muse
turning out to be my luck
I might keep hunting
But her I will keep
Preserve and protect
It will be alot better
If see her tomorrow too,
And the next day
And the next day
So I will be her friend rather
Amanda
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 6:32 AM UTC
Love is both dangerous and safe;
It is the bullet and the bandage
It is the rain and the umbrella
It is the fall and the helmet
It is the life stopper - the heart starter
Love is the hurt and the heal
Love is our truth
Love
is
real.
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 7:20 PM UTC
Og det hele er en umulig kamp,
FOR jeg ved at du kommer -
Kravlende tilbage, LIGE SÅ SNART
At jeg stopper med at tænke
På dig og dine grønne øjne.
Men jeg kan ikke holde mig
Fra alt det vi ikke fik gjort.
Dec 30, 2015
Dec 30, 2015 at 12:33 PM UTC
jeg husker ikke meget fra den nat
jeg husker blot
at s-toget
tog mig til et sted
mellem himmel og jord
hvor stjernerne vendte sig
og tiden stod stille
din station
der hvor alting gjorde
ondt men hvor solen
altid skinnede på februar morgner
selvom det regnede mod ruden
og håbet stod højt
med solen
det der gemmer sig
jeg sad på din sengekant
og kiggede på dine øjenlåg
jeg ved godt
hvor meget der foregår inde bag
de øjenlåg
en helt ny verden
som ingen ser
fordi du aldrig
holder dine øjne
åbne længe nok
følelsesløsheden
og jeg stryger din
kind og dine
skægstubbe
kradser mine fingre
du vågner og spørger
om jeg ikke
ligger mig ned til dig
hvor har du været
jeg smiler bare og svarer at
jeg har været der hvor stjernerne
vender
hvorfor er du kommet
spurgte du
fordi jeg fryser
du vidste altid
hvad jeg tænkte
og holdte mig tæt
i et milisekund
du er så smuk,
ved du godt det
dine øjne
de lyste altid en
lille smule op
og jeg kunne mærke
varmen sprede sig
til mine fingerspidser
og duften af dit
nyvaskede hår
mindede mig om
tusinde somre
jeg beundrede
dig længe
du var verdens partikler
samlet i en
hvorfor havde jeg aldrig set det før
hvorfor lukker du øjnene
hviskede jeg
det er stadig koldt
fordi det er meningsløst at tænde
for varmen
du bliver her jo alligevel kun til i morgen
svarede du
der var en verden imellem os
og dog alligevel var der ikke
mere end en centimeter og
et forgyldent spinkelt håb
... da du vendte dig om
og lukkede dine øjne igen
glastårer ramte din
pude
den pude du havde lånt
mig i et kærligt
øjeblik
der var koldt i værelset
igen
og i natten kyssede jeg dig farvel
og strøg din kind og
undrede mig for sidste gang
over hvad der sker bag dine lukkede
øjenlåg
da jeg gik ud
i februar natten var der varmt
og der vidste jeg
at det var bag dine øjenlåg det frøs
for varmen kom indefra
men altid kun når
du mistede kontrol
og når jeg tager s-toget
nu, idag
mellem himmel og jord
der hvor stjernerne vender
og tiden står stille
så undrer jeg mig
men det af dig
der svæver om mig
det får mig stadig til at fryse
fordi jeg aldrig fandt ud af hvad der
skete bag dine øjenlåg
... fordi du altid lod
mig fryse
men det varmer stadig lidt
helt inde bagerst
når toget stopper
på din station
måske fordi jeg aldrig
fik lov at mærke rigtigt efter
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 6:00 PM UTC
i suppose not even a door stopper could stop you from walking out,
as the fabric of time always goes: every single thing that has lived will/has die(d).
but thoughts, feelings, memories, silver rings, sheets with familiar scents, non-living things - these are the things in which dead things live on, for non-living things are non-dying things, as well
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 7:01 AM UTC
In my sleep I see a hummingbird
Initially it seems a bit absurd
However it to me it is speaking
Of a peace that I have been seeking
As it hovers over the flowers so peacefully
It seems to have a message specifically meant for me
To what end I cannot tell
Every emotion begins to swell
Stopper of time
Is this my moment to shine?
Nectar taken in order to nourish
Will this flower continue to flourish?
The message it’s trying to tell me has me in a trance
It is not here without happenstance
Is this dream my new reality?
One can only hope to see
Yet to be here only for the here and now
Perplexes me somehow
Stopper of time lands on my window sill
Happiness, peace, contentment if time stands still.
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 10:16 AM UTC