"twiggy" poems
Ballerina stance leaner
porcelain poised demeanor
lined up for a chance at that old 500 gram repeater.
Yeah, a little firecracker,
a little fire eater.
Twiggy figure, ****** fire dome where her little wires teeter.
Excellent muse material
my ***** optics viewed ethereal
Beauty, and she knew it.
Arrogance.
Noted, duly.
Pittsburgh's resident fire ant, with a grace to match her face
And a whole crew of troglodytes racing to get a taste
So thanks Angela Chase;
I prefer the fantasy too.
And thanks to you my chickens won't be sleeping easy in their coup.
Loop Jabberwocky with Calligraphy
and dabbled in polygamy. purpose:
****** cyst bubbles to the surface.
Misinterpret the tongue touching and hand clutching,
you were baby girlie thumb-sucking
But thought more than twice about it when it came to dumb-fucking.
Pretty face: check
Depression: not yet
Appreciating phonemes, but still a nervous wreck
false carrot tops to bed, awkward with the ***** work.
Near waif redhead. Pittsburgh Boys. the city lurks
It's been a minute since the girl scouts got at me, I bought it.
Hop in the DeLorean tell Lauren that I'm off it.
Mar 16, 2010
Mar 16, 2010 at 2:47 PM UTC
I've recently put on some weight
after being 95 pounds and twiggy for years.
I hate myself for the weight.
I see the past me and not even recognize myself.
I feel like I weigh too much to be beautiful, that the clothes I love to wear were made for 95 pound me.
I've morphed into someone I do not know yet.
My chest too big
My stomach the shape of a cereal box instead of an hourglass
My big hip-dips
My scars and my stretch mark.
I'm not beautiful to the modeling agencies
Or the people that run the tv.
I do not see people that look like present me,
only ones that look like past me.
I'm healthier now and happier,
but I cannot help but envy the skeleton,
The lost me.
The sad me.
The past me.
I hate that I envy her.
I wish I could accept the new me,
The alive me.
Aug 30, 2021
Aug 30, 2021 at 11:14 AM UTC
Pugsley snugs
on ugly rugs
and smugly shrugs
at Beak
But Beaky's peaking
and tweakily tweaking
while squeakily speaking
to Pink
And Pinky thinks
they're rinky *****
with stinky sinks
and ***** winks
Then Twiggy giggles
and jiggly wiggles
her wiggly jiggles
at Mister Higgles
And Mister Hig-g-l
Wait a second
Who's Mister Higgles?
'Undercover CBPP,' says he
(Crazy Bad Poem Police)
'Okay, let's break it up!
Enough of this stupid poem
Let's go, let's break it up!
Stay off bad poems people,
this stuff'll rot your
brain!"
©2011 Lyn
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 10:26 AM UTC
My mother once told me I was adorable.
She said so with a light smile and a soft voice.
I was young and impressionable,
And forever thought -I was adorable.
My friend once told me I was pretty.
She said so with a wide smirk and a sour tongue.
I was young and somewhat twiggy
And never thought -I was pretty.
My love tells me I am very beautiful.
He says so with a caring grin and a loving tone.
I am young and quite suitable
And often think -yes, I am beautiful.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 3:56 PM UTC
i waited there. i waited for hours. i waited for days. no one ever came.
seasons changed, leaves fell, the ground hardened and snow caked every treetop. and still no one came.
one day a woman with a child walked by. they were not who i was waiting for. they crunched along the leaf-strewn path, nodded a greeting toward me, and continued on. so i kept waiting.
it rained hard and often that spring. the path was unclear, and the trees were bent in exhaustion. flower buds wrapped themselves in blankets of green as they reached toward the soft, muddy ground, trying to find a bed.
one great tree stood tall on the edge of the forest. it was split down the middle, into two distinct twin trees, each competing to reach the top of the surrounding canopy first. the bark peeled as the twins stretched and grew. as the years passed the twins became tired, and so they stopped racing and waited instead for something new to come into their lives.
i decided i would no longer wait. i walked along the path, kicking dead leaves out of the way, their arms curling around their bodies for warmth. i whistled, i skipped, i picked flowers and weeds to make you a bouquet. i wandered for days and found nothing. and so i waited again for you.
there was a patch of violet hyacinth flowers along the path. they sprung from the ground and surrounded an old tree stump, as if shielding it from harm. their leaves were an impenetrable gate that could wait all summer, protecting their beloved, lost tree. the stump would always be safe. no matter how long it remained there.
in the fall, a twiggy stickling of a tree dropped most of its sun bleached red leaves. one fell into my hood. i took it out and twirled it between my fingers. the days were getting shorter, and seeing the sun light the remaining leaves was like watching the branches start on fire.
i wandered toward the edge of the forest and sat against the largest tree i could find. the tree was split down the middle, and each half was just as tall as the other. i decided this was the king tree of the forest. i fashioned two crowns out of the hydrangeas and mountain laurel i picked on my journey and hung them on the lowest branch of each twin king. i laid the red leaf i picked out of my hood in the crevice where the twins split from each other, and bowed to the king of the forest. as i marched away i hummed a tune i can only describe as majestic.
i am still waiting. the daisies and dandelions dance in the wind to pass the time. although there are burrs on my socks and bug bites on my knees, i will continue to wait. i'll wait for days, for years. i will wait for you.
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 2:16 PM UTC
She was always a chameleon soul
Black Orchid
Eyes, shadows, vulnerabilities
Of heroine chic,
Juxtaposed with an embracing
Self
Of mutual
weirdness
Meshing voices from
The past
Nostalgic memories for
Behind the camera
A lady photographed
A younger self,
Mirrored reflections of
The lady she had graced
Into through the
Ages,
Where contemplative deliberations
Iconic wonders, flashed through
Her mind
With each click the metamorphosis
Click;
one
two
three
Twiggy, Edie, Kate
Transformations; a sorcerers magic,
Contradictions;
body
mind
soul
Mirages amidst reincarnations
Never a remnant of the same
For, the lady behind the lens
Unseen
A ghost veiled in black;
The Black Orchid.
© Sia Jane
Dedicated & written for my darling friend Cara <3
For she shall know love <3
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
My back hunches
Like a stuffed bookcase in a corner
Too full
My back laden with possibility
I find myself lost in a maze
Of what should be tranquility
Except you lurk there
Your eyes filled with miserable possibility
I've watched your pale fingers
Turn into twiggy claws
And your green eyes
The ones that look like the sea
Turn cracked and dark
Under the light of the grey sun
She clutches your shoulder
Cackling at how I search
For an exit
And exit from this maze
A maze of possibility
Her stature slouched and heavy
Her hands cold and grey
Stroke your thick hair
And I see the disgust in your eyes
And taste it on the air
I struggle through
Getting closer to you
Trapped in a maze of
Possiblity
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 9:51 PM UTC
My faith
is a great weight
hung on a small wire,
as doth the spider
hang her baby on a thin web,
as doth the vine,
twiggy and wooden,
hold up grapes
like eyeballs,
as many angels
dance on the head of a pin.
God does not need
too much wire to keep Him there,
just a thin vein,
with blood pushing back and forth in it,
and some love.
As it has been said:
Love and a cough
cannot be concealed.
Even a small cough.
Even a small love.
So if you have only a thin wire,
God does not mind.
He will enter your hands
as easily as ten cents used to
bring forth a Coke.
2k
- Start by caaaaarefully removing your outermost layer of flesh - lather generously; rinse passionately; re-evaluate your life with a fine-toothed comb and carefully remove the parasites of your predetermined partiality
- String them up with clothespins to wither and flake in a badly scorched sky
- Acquire an ice pick of high quality, frosted on memories of all your ex-lovers and their numbing tongues. Begin to chisel at your own very delicate bone structure. Cease action only when the jawbone resembles the claws you disregarded in your 3 AM awakening punctured with crrreeeeaks and hazy in a soft red fog
- Dust your eyelid with arsenic until they're heavy enough to crush a small child. Tell a good joke, or two - which part of a vegetable are you not supposed to eat again? Might as well eat all of it, him, her, them - but not the wheelchair. In retrospect, pull all of your eyelashes out as well - no sense in prolonging the sought-after blackness
- Tie your lover's ruptured spleen around your waist to add a few pounds - god forbid you get too twiggy and crackle and fall into an inevitable pit of self-loathing. Stick straws through puke green nostrils and **** maggots out of gaping eye sockets. Line your lips in borrowed blood.
- Embroider your initials onto my skin and never forget where you came from.
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 11:01 PM UTC
there are loose leaves
at the bottom of my teacup
I rarely finish drinking the thing
- instead I stare through the dark transparent liquid
at barely-floating twiggy tea leaves that
escaped from the bag
I am forgetful
and unforgiving of myself
I am too easily entranced by
lights and thin branches that dance above muddy grass
my eyes see things breathe
like marbled floors and brick buildings
I am so enraptured by rabbit fur
and tree bark
rabbits prance along the neighbourhoods
and I love the game of seeing how close I can get to them
before they leap away
when I think of bliss,
I think of not knowing what is coming next
more even, not caring
when I think of bliss,
I think of running after rabbits
or petting a tree
I do these things when no one’s looking
so no one catches the crazy in me
there are loose coffee grounds
at the bottom of my mug
caffeine kills me
and I love the taste
of the cruelty
but my body is hurting
again
like last year
where fainting and falling and confusing my words in conversation
arose every time I felt an anxious feeling
nudge its way in deeper
maybe it’s just way of giving up
my body surrendering in complete so that I feel full effect
of how badly I’ve treated it
it’s hurting again
so much that sometimes I can barely get out of bed
or get off the bus
and walk the trek home in the nippy night
I see rabbits prance along the neighbourhoods
and oh look, I am repeating myself
again
I hardly notice because my head is hurting
like there are a million and one hurricanes
inside of it
less of a crash and more like a rush
there is a difference between headaches
and light headedness
both hurt though
still I’m ashamed I’m lightheaded all the time
there is a weakness in it
that only frail people can relate to,
the scatterbrains, the unconcentrated, the anorexics, the cancer patients
the sick-of-some-sort
what am I?
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 3:33 PM UTC
In ancient woodland
this child roamed,
lost in nature,
briar & loam.
Mapping clearings,
badger setts,
the places where
the deer had slept.
Picking berries
hops & flowers,
lying under
stripling bowers.
Until evening's
amber gloam,
with twiggy hair
racing home.
Jun 3, 2019
Jun 3, 2019 at 1:22 PM UTC
I look like my dad.
My mom looks like Audrey Hepburn,
with a dash of Twiggy thrown in
for good measure,
but I,
I look like my dad.
(My dad, for the sake of clarity,
looks nothing like Audrey Hepburn
or Twiggy.
He’s more the George Clooney type -
which is a great look for George Clooney
and for my dad -
but not
for a girl who wanted to look like
Princess Di,
or Cindy Crawford,
or Julia Roberts,
or Gisele…)
A woman now,
wiser now,
older now,
I look in the mirror and know that -
all things progressing as they usually do -
a time will come
when the mirror will be the only place
I will see his face.
And I hope,
when that time comes,
I can still remember
how to look at myself through those eyes
that knew I was beautiful long before I even knew my own name:
How to look
like my dad.
Sep 6, 2017
Sep 6, 2017 at 9:28 AM UTC
My whole life is numbers
Your whole life is numbers
It starts the moment you are born,
a size a weight.
They tell you have to have so many of this, so many of that
This milk, that milk.
This food, that food a balanced diet
You have to comply
This is the myth they would have us believe
But once past 12 the system leaves
It leaves the model nutritional path
Instead becomes a media plan
When a young girl diets to a size 10
The numbers they play with are nothing more
But some can't see they are just right!
OK correct a pretty sight
To some poor young minds it is so much more.
An 8 a 6 or maybe a 4
How far do you go to be just right, till it kills you?
Your born complete with all the parts
You are unique, special, a one off
Then as you grow your life it changes
As the numbers start to re arrange it
To look like her to walk like another
You sell your soul, fashion becomes your new mother.
Oh that dress only goes to 10 but I'm a 12 so diet again
That perfect body you had at birth
Is now elastic and shrinks to a skirt
You don’t eat the food you need
This new mother has you on your knees
Face in the bowl they sold you this
But its ok you’ve just been sick
You don’t have to eat the world; for a size 16 is an average girl
Look around at models galore, I wish they would smile a little more
So if someone says too fat, to thin what’s it really to do with him
If he wants twiggy or May West the go find her you total pest!
For I’ve seen the fat the tall the thin the small the black the yellow the pink
It’s just one thing that makes me smile
Yes it’s the woman who’s inside
So if you’re a guy and don’t agree
You will never deserved the woman your'e with
Aug 2, 2012
Aug 2, 2012 at 7:55 PM UTC
Cut open
a gaping wound
cross sectioned for examination
imperfect circles of a lifetime
jumped in both feet
now stone
cold
cannot grow in unearthly soil
the twisted knot
of my gut
Gone are the graceful branches
once dancing in breezes
swift, bitter winters
unforgiving
twiggy branches withering
A hole, my heart once
of flowing honey
now stillness
only winter
ice
Jun 8, 2012
Jun 8, 2012 at 4:22 PM UTC
We are
the creatures
of the night
no tears for us
as we soar
taking on
such glorious
heights
up through
trees, up
through the
invisible threads
between stars
in silvery wefts
I will bring home
the nourishment
to my little ones
nestled in their
warm nesty twiggy
holes safe curled
in lairs
we are
the protectors
of the light
that starts
in darkness
and arcs
like a flare
we ride alone
but when we give
we yield
completely in
full thrusts and
curlicues,
glow-in-the
dark patterns
as leaves
cascade and
comets fall
around
the shadows
then, in the
morning's first
sun peeking
I land and find
that peace
a kind of
proximity to
that love
I'm
seeking
'
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 6:49 PM UTC
to lift a canopy of shrubs
its best to trim
otherwise Twiggy
with her own violatile techniques
will become rampnant
and may need airier handling.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 1:54 PM UTC
I come home to the darkest it’s ever been.
Every light choked off; there’s a cinch somewhere in the hose.
It’s the stillest it’s ever been here, for ten years.
The last time it was this still the trees grew a different way:
not all twisted, sideways and flat
not planks and sheets.
They grew straight up and down,
but with branches going left to right,
but with leaves swallowing sunlight.
They were spindly, fat, twiggy and thick.
not stapled, smashed, ground or shaped
not nailed, glued, pressed into place.
I come home to the quietest it’s ever been.
Every sound gagged; the fan’s gummed up.
It’s the most silence this place has heard for ten years.
The last time it was this quiet Forest ruled the place.
The ground below will never grow
green or brown extensions of carbon earth
-not since the concrete took up hearth
-not since ten years ago.
Oct 14, 2010
Oct 14, 2010 at 3:09 PM UTC
The Alert
says I
should take a shower
now
but
the spray comes thin
like Twiggy from
the 70s
like Kate Moss from
magazines that can't turn a
profit like David Lehman's
warm shower trickling down
a cold April back
but
now
it's the tip of March
and the thin rain
comes
like my Blood loving
into mist memories
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 8:55 AM UTC
Some people can't keep their opinions to themselves.
Have you ever noticed what an *****
that girl in the bathroom mirror is?
.
.
A song for this:
Twiggy Twiggy by [re:jazz]
Apr 2, 2025
Apr 2, 2025 at 5:56 PM UTC
Spring And All
By the road to the contagious hospital
under the surge of the blue
mottled clouds driven from the
northeast -- a cold wind. Beyond, the
waste of broad, muddy fields
brown with dried weeds, standing and fallen
patches of standing water
the scattering of tall trees
All along the road the reddish
purplish, forked, upstanding, twiggy
stuff of bushes and small trees
with dead, brown leaves under them
leafless vines --
Lifeless in appearance, sluggish
dazed spring approaches --
They enter the new world naked,
cold, uncertain of all
save that they enter. All about them
the cold, familiar wind --
Now the grass, tomorrow
the stiff curl of wildcarrot leaf
One by one objects are defined --
It quickens: clarity, outline of leaf
But now the stark dignity of
entrance -- Still, the profound change
has come upon them: rooted they
grip down and begin to awaken
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 5:49 AM UTC
His charcoal black eyes seemed slightly near,
A twiggy grin spread from ear to ear,
A light frost covered his carrot nose,
With his branchy arms in open pose.
A red coloured hat sat on his head,
While a soft rope was his belt instead,
A yellow wool scarf lay on his chest,
The snowman did look his handsome best.
But with the hot sun he would go down,
And his melting face would wear a frown,
Then one evening he would soon be gone,
Turned to a bundle of snow forlorn.
Jan 9, 2023
Jan 9, 2023 at 3:21 PM UTC
AFTER THE ROW
Built an over large
snowman
on your front doorstep
&
hid behind it.
Rang your doorbell
until you were annoyed
by it.
“Yes...yes! ”
you flung open the door
to be confronted
with a snowman
telling you
he loved you
until slowly
your heart
began
to melt.
****
SNOWBALL WARS!
Use a shiny blue megaphone
to magnify the menace
in my voice.
My snarl barks curt commands
as authentic as
any movie scene I've seen
with a Rod Steiger fat ugly cop
tone.
'We know you're in there! '
'We've got the house surrounded! '
'You don't stand a chance! '
'Give yourself up & come out with
yer hands up! '
And, it's true:
I have ringed the house
with an army of snowmen
(some better trained than others)
others a little shaky
nothing more than half-made rookies.
Their nasty little coal black eyes
trained on the door
a snowball in each of
their twitchy twiggy fingers
more for effect than
actual firepower.
I command
from behind the line.
My little pyramid
of snowballs at the ready
waits eagerly at my right hand
longing to be thrown.
A tense suspenseful
second that seems to last for ever
then suddenly
you emerge
a human blur
dashing from the door
like the last freeze frame from
BUTCH CASSIDY & THE SUNDANCE KID.
My army of snowmen
are caught on the hop
frozen to the spot
not expecting the unexpected.
'What now...boss? '
they scream
losing their nerve.
You are armed
to the teeth
with snowballs
frozen from the fridge
one or two snowmen
have already lost their heads
another has his snowball
shot from his hand
as you break through
the cordon
determined to take me
down.
Get me
(you reckon)
& all the snowmen
will just cave in
turn
& run.
Your lipstick
yells redly
(voice made visible)
I take a snowball
to the heart
fall in almost
slow motion
as you leap upon me
kiss me
...to death!
Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 11:13 AM UTC
Omens.
A twiggy brown deadness
Is tapping my window.
A flowerless wisteria
Waits sighing for Spring.
Small underskin budlets
Are ready for bursting.
Winter's end omens
Means greening draws near.
New underground movement
Starts wrapping the sightless.
White rootlets are marching
Towards their new year.
Spring's deadly invasion
Starts killing wind's eastness
Bloomless persuasion
Begins new petalling.
An underneath breathing
Sighs silent yet thirsty
For first taste of lifeblood
That Spring's "Hello" brings.
Nov 15, 2016
Nov 15, 2016 at 5:50 AM UTC