"westwood" poems
please give to me a proper job
otherwise I'm on the rob
me tummy hearts n me eyes are poppin
as around the shop i go hoppin
gonna steal new shoes, leave the old ones behind
security .... I'll blow ya mind
aberdeen angus, 21 day steak
come on tesco's give me a break
gonna nick whiskey, and fine wine
I'll be popular come tea time
gonna get the dress of my dreams
a vivien westwood, with tailored seams
lingerie, make up, and perfume
i'll get some attention .. in my living room
(c) msrigs 07/10/2014
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 9:06 AM UTC
I was fit and feisty at fifty
It was no big deal,
Because that's how half a century
Is supposed to feel.
In my sixties I'll take stock
Start making great plans,
Ignoring all the "you cant's"
And embracing all the "I cans".
Can I be **** at sixty?
And try all the fashions and fads,
Wear stockings and suspenders
And Joan Collins shoulder pads.
I can deal with **** at sixty
And wear Vivienne Westwood clothes,
Dress up and go out on the town
Wearing all my buttons and bows.
I'mgoing to be **** at sixty
I'll wear Gok Wan lingerie
Find myself a Toy Boy
Then maybe lead him astray.
Swift and **** at sixty
When I get my Jimmy Choos,
Dancing the night away
To the sound of rhythm and blues.
Oh! I want to be **** at sixty
'cause age is a state of mind,
I'm preparing my body at keep fit
So as not to be left behind.
But, first I have to deal with
Old Skin, Bad Teeth and Grey Hair,
Then remove the unwanted growths
From just about everywhere.
Then I'll definitely be **** at sixty
And undoubtedly done it all,
The only problem is that most
of it I simply won't recall...
© Hazel
Aug 5, 2012
Aug 5, 2012 at 3:05 PM UTC
A boy in jeans,
A boy in trousers,
A boy in braces,
A boy in blouses,
A girl who smells like summer sweat,
A girl whose makeup hasn’t set,
A boy who swears,
A boy who doesn’t,
A girl’s shoulder,
A second cousin,
A girl who smells of **** and beer,
A tattooed boy with a silver sneer,
A skinny girl who’s got T.B,
A boy who daintily sips his tea,
A girl’s left leg – bare or stockinged,
A boy so cold his knees are knocking,
A nasty ****
A suede-head killer,
Kate Moss,
Sienna Miller,
Vivienne Westwood’s crazy teeth,
Bow-legged loons on Hampstead Heath,
Blue eyes, brown eyes, grey eyes, green,
Cold eyes, big eyes, sad eyes, mean,
Darling sweethearts in flirty skirts,
City-Boy ******** in well-pressed shirts,
Elbows, throat, wrists, knees,
A consumptive girl’s chainsmoking wheeze,
Blonde girls with their hair in plaits,
Skinny boys, short boys, muscular, fat –
Girls with pink lipstick like strawberry frosting,
I’m telling you man,
It’s ******* exhausting.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 8:16 PM 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
Vivienne Westwood
Always wears Chinos
By Moschino
When making Cappuccinos
And insists all that drink
The aforementioned fare
Wear clothes
Adorned with safety pins
And have blond spiky hair.
Vivienne rarely makes Cappuccinos.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 4:51 PM UTC
I will be dead
and become posthumously insane
and I will remember Suzanne Vega
every time I hear your name
I will take that look
of Vivienne Westwood's
and I will sing and sing and sing
and sink and sink and sink
and I will not think
of the appropriate things
Because I will be dead
and become posthumously insane
Even though long scarf does not suit this neck
and gas oven does not fit this head
and .38 caliber revolver is not
something a 17 year old girl would own
there is no need to worry
because now I know what loves me
It is not the explosion, not the oxygen
Not the carbondioxide, not the cyanide
It is the water, any kind of water
the tears, the saliva, the seawater
And I learnt from Haruki Murakami
that even a plastic bag would do
Mimicking the deepest sea
The sensation is true, is true ----
I remember; you liked a lot the word drown
You liked a lot the word drown
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
Leaving well enough alone
I go home
where only your words serve to burn me
remind me to learn that to be free
is to be one with
oneself
And alone very selfishly I turn over another leaf.
Oh thief, come then and take me
and let us not tarry
marry me into your night.
Out of sight out of mind
the wallpaper lines the drawers in the wardrobe
and mothballs like meteors
flash warnings to creatures
do not enter
and the scent of her lingers
I lick my fingers as if I could taste her
as if I could paste her to the walls.
On the inside of life where I fall into tomorrow
where yesterday lives in the crook of the hollow
below my cheeks and today sneaks a peek but decides to return
to a place I would spurn
Oh if only I could.
She is still here or there
somewhere in the recess wearing that Westwood creation
I station and anchor myself to this point
and at the point of a pin
where the needle grows thin
I jab it into and under my skin and I blunder
along wildly
in panic, but that's nothing new
to a fool who would do such strange things.
Eventually relenting
and I on repenting she brings me to her
here or somewhere each place names the same as the last
and each one disappears as fast as it came.
This is a round about big dipper,dip for a duck
childhood fair ground game that we play
we all want a coconut
but some don't want to pay.
She comes to me to say
'it's okay it'll be fine'
and each time I believe
until the mothballs remind me she leaves and I grieve
And the drawers remain shut
the wardrobe is but another reminder
a laughter at me
one day I will find her
again.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 5:12 AM UTC
Yesterday
Last night
And today
I recognized your face
fully for the first time.
I saw who you were
and you are beautiful.
You are a true soul
gravitating to all that is Good
all that is Pure.
Pulling me towards you
I become Good
I become Pure.
I am where I should be.
Happiness enters
me as I gravitate up to
You.
I am in awe of your face
I am falling for your hands
I am breathing you in forever.
and although this train selfishly slices through this humid July night and the long, tired miles that now separate us,
I smile--for I know the rocking of this train is nothing but you with your arms around me.
You will always be around me.
Jul 8, 2012
Jul 8, 2012 at 11:05 AM UTC
Britain's dame of fashion Vivienne Westwood wrapped up London Fashion Week Men's on Monday with an eclectic collection showcasing edgy designs that included dresses for men.
Westwood, 75, who is known for her eccentric creations and environmental activism, presented both menswear and womenswear for her autumn/winter 2017/18 "Ecotricity" line, putting men in dresses and skirts and ties on women.
Models wore colorful knits made up of jumpers and trousers as well as long dresses and arm cuffs, at times slit on the sides. Men's suits were deconstructed or had wide, ankle length trousers and sometimes were worn with long cloaks.
Women's jackets had asymmetric cuts or exaggerated shoulders. Shirts had large collars and colorful prints and patterns, including skulls and faces, adorned most designs.
"She and he are having fun with unisex and swapping clothes," shownotes for the collection read. "'Buy less, choose well, make it last' limits the exploitation of the planet's natural resources."
Outfits were often layered and looks were accessorized with face paint, paper crowns, colorful socks, tights and boots.
Westwood, who previously showed menswear in Milan, was the biggest name at the four-day London event following the departure of brands like luxury label Burberry.
"London is my home. I regret leaving Milan because they've been so kind to me," the designer said backstage.
"It's just easier and more efficient for us to be here."
Burberry will present its menswear collection alongside its womenswear line at London's higher profile women's fashion week next month.Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses | http://www.marieaustralia.com/red-formal-dresses
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 1:46 AM UTC
I met her in an alley
behind an alley
a sub-alley if you will
down the street from my apartment on Westwood
and 6th street. Unusually cool for spring, asphalt glowing green
beneath lamplights.
She was digging through piles of broken bottles,
discarded kitchenware, and palm fronds.
Her attention shifted suddenly, as if I were the prize.
Grasped my hand
her skin drawn taut exposing raw bone beneath
“Why? Why is it so far away?
truck drivers, the bed where I watched my father die
report cards, Here. why?”
“Sometimes things just aren’t as beautiful as they should be.”
We sat down on the curb,
amongst the grasshoppers
and did not speak for quite some time.
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 6:45 AM UTC
Girls Names
Hope stands eternal.
Faith is still lost.
Charity helps the needy.
El Liberte counts the cost.
Sophia my darling, you are simply charming;
Whilst Vivienne Westwood, is rather alarming.
Ruby Tuesday; Have you met Wednesday?
Fanny-Anne’s Mary Jane is of the highest quality.
Victoria Skinny; isn’t she a funny yummy mummy.
Posh? Oh gosh! No she’s not. She’s just interested in money.
Rosie! Oh **** you! This was brand new!
Now I’ll have to go and get changed thanks to Little Blue.
Pixie, Poppy, Penny and Missy,
Every single one of them a Jane Doe – Missing.
Serial Killer Cathy waits…
For Rachel and her friends, to bring Uma to their graves.
Charlotte is a harlot;
Emmanuelle has blown a pilot.
Suki ***** while Pamela just likes to ****
Demi is more than beautiful.
Holly is the curse of Christmas.
Go be jolly good Sally-Anne; get drunk and do a striptease.
Betty drives a Ford; insured of course.
While Jade is being a pain in the ******* ****
Veronica of ****** and Marilyn are snorting coke.
Senorita Angelina knows how to satisfy a bloke.
Dannii, Kylie; Kylie, Dannii.
Whichever way you say it; it still equals ****
Britney hit me, Christina slapped me
And I’m not telling you what Jennifer Low did.
Amy’s a drunk, she loves to whine.
Courtney’s a punk, like Skin Anansie.
To all the Girls who like to get high…
This is your final line… It’s simply Divine.
(C)2011 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 1:57 PM UTC
Ever since I started highschool music was and is my lifeline
It's what helped me get though it and manage life but with out Her music
I wouldn't be able to write poetry or even share it with people in my life
I didn't start writing poetry about my mental health until late one night
That almost fateful night that was until I couldn't get myself to almost be Hum Hallelujah
That night I was sitting on the floor listening to music
Then decided to listen to Her album Patient 139 and Her song Westwood on repeat
That's when I realized that I have can't give up on life now and not have a future
The one that saved my life is Tess Stevens and the song was Westwood
May 19, 2021
May 19, 2021 at 11:00 PM UTC
It’s been a year since I typed some lines,
probably cuz it’s stuff like this,
I want to get laid
and i want to get ******
but instead all I feel is sick
Kedgeree thats tumbled dried
from 38 minutes of bad Elvis hips,
while legs pop like rockets
my eyes sink in my sockets
saliva swells in my cheeks
as I drift in disappointment
swimming in icy air to catch my confidence lost at sea
but its too far gone, so i just stare
at a laptops glare
thinking about my spots
my unstyled bramble of hair
my polo, too garish?
MY SPACK BRAIN!
too confident in thinking I looked smart?
as i wish for another heart
one thing sticks in my mind
a girl, or was it a boy,
looking like Johnny Rotten,
in Westwood striped dungarees and flames of hair
flashes of the Public Image, King Krule and all that in my headphones.
Words that are all in my head
as my stomach is sick
oh yeah, they played the killers
I like them
now my head is bleak like Mike Skinner
I wish I’d chosen earlier to have my dinner
another music reference lost on you
but stuck in my mind in bed
as I picture a red head
oh my.
Nov 16, 2019
Nov 16, 2019 at 6:17 PM UTC
6 feet under,even I'm breathing
With your memories to long,
In midst of death in this hell
Haven is where my dreams belong
Emptiness of light in my eyes
I can see clearly the twilight
Beneath the earth,my body lives
Dark death,what my soul writes
I can feel the creep of dark
Feel the hallow of solitude,
My organs are melting in soil
In the cemetery of Westwood
My foots are so numb
And my hands left my grip
Bullet holes in my chest
But now I can't even shriek
But the dark is lovely
So lovely to love,
My soul is being fade
With the song of white dove.
Jun 30, 2018
Jun 30, 2018 at 12:21 AM UTC
Once was extro
But now I’m intro
And trying to invert it
Word is , I’m not perfect
Bordering being worthless
Born without purpose
But you make me a better person
Oct 15, 2020
Oct 15, 2020 at 7:19 AM UTC
On August 13, 1980, Streiston
fell victim to a special dealer.
Snyder used pump-12" pump with sub-advertising.
[3]...[5] In the evening, he spoke with his mysterious words.
And it actually ended when Snyder's
friend said that he once had a gun. [five]
During the first conversation in 12 hours,
Snyder could not do anything
and died in an unexpected series.
In particular, he spoke last year
with the actors and his former partner
Claudia Sedzaligati,
who in many cases died in a car accident.
Stander commented on the interpretation
of the train and, according to several publishers,
the lamp of the game was killed to solve.
Problems in ******* magazine,
and one participant died in the task [5]...[6]
According to West Schneider, the Streets
stated that Heliokonim installed 12-14 in Los Angeles.
Later, Straathen police gave $ 1,100
to the place where Schneider used to be,
and he could receive a salary.
If you try to simplify this process
and try Stretan Snadder, all your savings will be. "Live" [9]
In the morning
there were two
sets of black clothes
in two houses,
when they ran
for several months
with her husband
Straton. [10]...[9]
Continuum is a state in the living room,
which has been proven to be used
in Schneider’s palace and reaches
home for a while. [eleven]
At eight o'clock in the morning,
when two friends came home,
he stood in front of the car and
stopped to see Lieutenant Straighton
in the next house. The privacy
of their home was linked to husband and wife.
The tax from the personal detective
to the snow pile is sent to Stratin
and Schneider after 11 hours, calling
the number. [12] Each liter will
rotate in two turns. At this time, Stratan Snyder was shot.
The house of the governor Schneider
follows the hour of death. [14]...
Since mid-August, Cynthia Straten,
the special actor, has been murdered.
Hefner called Bogdanovich.
Bogdanovich heard that he was unconscious.
In the morning at the RCMP in Vancouver,
her daughter died in the house of God. [17]...
The body of Stratani
was burned in the cemetery
of the Memorial Park;
Westwood Village in Los Angeles.
[18] The magazine was buried
in the middle of Sophania Cynthia
(MM) and Marilyn Monroe D. 1962.
He chooses a place in chapter 34
of the Bogdanovich Straton, memorandum.
Notes to the memorandum
of the young Straton: "Mortal Stratan",
granddaughter of the writer Merrill
Hemingway. Starring in Star 80 three
years later biologists Diving and Bob
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 2:17 PM UTC