Reclining in their rocking chairs, the brothers Beau and Cletus gazed despondently out
Past the final farm toward the convergence of the worn highway
And the fritz horizon. Cows paused their chewing; an ashy sun
Obscured in incongruous fluffs of cloud; it grew
Greyishly chilly. "Shame the kids're movin'," Beau squeezed out before a deep belch. Cletus only
Mumbled, his voice lost in the light drizzle rapping on the milky sheet-plastic roof. The
          porch

Was unfurnished, save the chairs, one ashtray, and a novelty sign reading: "Get off my porch."
Cletus took a long, pensive drag off a cigarette before stubbing it out.
He coughed a raspy croak wetted with sixty-six years. Besides Cletus' sporadic coughs, the only
Distinguishable sound to be heard in Moody Creek wafted in from the highway:
Rattles of the day's final Spokane- or Boise-bound semi-trucks grew
Inaudible as Beau transiently  murmured, "Purtier than a string of fried trout, that there
          sun-

set." "Whaaa?" Cletus wheezed. "It's settin'," answered Beau, loosely gesturing at the sun.
Fractaled-orange-shafts webbing manifold shades of yellow – amber, belge, stil-de-grain – grew
Plumply stout upon the farmland, edged between properties and crumpled on the porch.
"I'll tell you what Beau – I'm glad they got out,"
Cletus uttered with assurance, his eyes scanning the reaches of light upon the highway.
Beau fixed his cap, musing over Cletus' words. He cleared his throat before beginning, "If
          only..."

Then stopped and itched his belly-button. Cletus turned to his brother. "I know one thang only
Beau: they'll do good in California. They'll be livin' high on the hog. Yer son n' my son
'll 'ave secure futures." Jack nodded somberly. He hated the highway.
He hated its ability to isolate everything. It had been his original revamp, the now-rickety porch,
His first project on his fixer-upper after marrying Dorothy West. They'd wed out
In his father's corn field; bought a house a mile or so down the road. Kids were born. Love
          grew,

And in its growing all things tangible and gorgeous – like tangrams piece together – grew:
The farm, the house, savings account and family. They ate hearty; drank canned beer only –
Living was smooth – but it changed when Dorothy took Little Dale and got out.
She wanted what the farm couldn't give or grow, leaving tiny Moody Creek with their son
As the last moon of May, 1955 went up. "*****!" Beau had yelled from the porch.
He'd woken to his Buick's rev and watched its taillights wane upon the
          highway.

And though he remarried, this was, in truth, mostly why Beau never squarely looked upon highway.
The light drizzle grew
Heavy, intensifying. "Gosh **** rain might near knock the coverin' off the porch!"
Hollered Beau. Cletus looked up and blew a cloud of thick grey smoke. "It's only
Rain Beau. No need gettin' ornery." That morning they'd seen off their youngest sons as the sun
Was just rising. One left to work for a dairy ******* in The Valley, the other went to figure
          out

Himself and his career. The porch shuddered. Beau absent-mindedly repeated "If only..."
Daylight died; black inked upon the highway. Cletus lit a new cigarette. Moody Creek grew
Dense, compacted by the darkness. The sun inched away. Cletus hacked and put his cigarette
          out.

Leave it to 2015 to transform the slip dress into, well, something other than a slip dress. No longer was the slinky, curve-skimming frock the evening-only pinnacle of sensuality; instead, it found its footing as a functional layering piece. It was worn on top of T-shirts, under sweatshirts, and over pants. And it wasn’t just the runway that inspired the nouveau way of wearing the piece: Everyone from Orthodox Jewish women to Rihanna put their spin on it. Here, see the best ways the slip dress was worn in 2015—and the cues to take when you sport it post–New Year.

Try an Orthodox Line of Thought

Turns out it was a Brooklyn enclave who managed to make the sexiest trend of the year—the slip dress—the chicest. And no, it wasn’t Williamsburg hipsters. So how to master modest layering like the Orthodox? Try a men’s blazer over the silk number, adding sleeves, or extending the neckline.

When in Doubt: What Would Kate Moss Do?

Feeling cold this winter? Make like Moss and combine the best of two worlds: The cozy turtleneck and the body-clinging slip dress. The simple pairing is the peak of insouciance—while keeping you warm.

Grunge Goddesses Still Rock

With the addition of a stoner-style hoodie, the slip dress got a major dose of grunge-forward flair. On the Vetements Spring 2016 runway, a hunter green hoodie thrown over a lavender slip dress gave an instant too-cool-for-school effect, while Ursina Gysi turned heads in an orange lace–trimmed swath of silk and a blue oversize pullover on the street during Fashion Week.

Rihanna Put a Bad Gal Spin on Hers

First, she took the hoodie and slip dress trend and gave it a go on the street. Next, she threw on a pair of sky-high cuissardes to pair with a short, baby-pink number. Then Ri-Ri topped a shimmering bronze slip with a baseball hat! Whatever the move, the singer deserves major credit for giving the ’90s throwback a modern bite.

And About the ’90s . . .

The revamp of the ’90s on the runway also brought back memories of a very throwback way to wear the slip dress: Seen on Spring 2016 runways fromCourrèges to Emilio Pucci, the boudoir staple was layered over a long-sleeved shirt or a simple tee to counter the sexiness of the slip and cut the sweetness.

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses

www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-sydney

Lights trailing-
time exposed before the infinitesimal eye.

As the taxi stops before the almighty red,
the city echoes with the hype
of high life.

As thousands of macrocosms
collide in resounding style,
her violet eyes breath euphoria
into adrenaline filled veins.

In such a colossal juncture
of youth and maturity,
evanescence and immortality,
virtue and vice,
this broken and disfigured world
assumes transparency.

The moment reigns supreme
in this purple city.

So once more he appears before my eyes,
And I am well aware he is no friend
Of mine, but a companion that I do not wish
To view; a companion that hovers around
In a reluctant mist; although never fails
To reveal his foul breath, his harsh whispers,
Together with his depressing stench of odour.
For I did not summon his deeds;
Never sought his favour; nor offered prayers
Nor burnt incense; nor gave from out
My own batch, the warm gift
Of wine to his altar; never in song
Have I praised his pale face,
His rotten black teeth; never bathed
My bare ankles, nor quenched my thirst,
In his poisoned waters. Yet he found weakness
Within a humble heart, an equally willing mind;
For he latched upon my soul, bearing
Fierce claws; and now, with his stealth clasp,
Arm in arm refuses to grant me space;
Feverously denies release.

Oh! How I do pray I could banish him
From my daily thoughts, my woeful strife;
For he seems present more recently
Than ever I can recall from drifting memory.
Be sure, he does not reside
On one of heavens branches; he would,
With all his deceit, be not allowed
To even graft upon the blissful airs
Most lowly of roots. His dulled stare,
Adamantly pierces through any desire
I have for the light ahead. A grey
Dusty cloak, that he wears draped
From his shoulders, like bitter winters
Shortened sun which shrouds the heavy leaded clouds,
And plunges the sky into deep sodden colour;
Saps any inspiration, which my dreams,
With kindness, revamp anew in sweet slumber.

My mission I do know sincerely, to be
Holy honest, is not entirely a struggle;
And shown before my sight appears
Respectively clear, is however, weighed
Toward the earth with added pressure
By his ****** presence alone. A strategy formation,
Delved from battlefields past, is a want
That seems out my grasp. Shall I
Soothe him with tender lyre strokes,
And with kind words may he leave my side
Willingly, at his own leisurely pace,
In unhurt peace? Why does he have such
Effect on me? How do I relinquish
Him from my sight? Shall I guide him
With me to fresh slopes of pastures green,
Showing his cruel appetite, the beauteous feast
Which bountiful Nature banquets? Do I
Attack him with all force at my disposal?
Unsheathe the sword? Balm protection
Around my clench fists? Do I ignore
His embrace which rivals a death-grip
Engineered from a lioness’ jaw, breathing
Smoke from her nostrils, clasping down
On her prey- unyielding, prey essential
To subdue pains that torment her hungry cubs?
Shall I believe him foe? How do I proceed?

I do realise with no barren shadow,
That he must be nursed into a corner,
Trapped, and halted, for if continuation occurs;
I fear Happiness, a fleeting sense,
Will never approach with ease, nor greet me
With a wave of her snowy hand, nor ever
Blush her lovely pout lips, and settle
Her most welcome custom, within my heart again;
And though my pathway be tedious,
Raised to the brim within a golden goblet
Of questioning; let my last task be this:
With a calm prayer to relight fading embers
From my *****. Kind souls, delicate muses,
Come to me, come to my aid,
Help relieve me of his burden.
Heap upon him glittering song,
Bow his cowardly head further down
From whence it came, and place
The dying mournful strains of the Swan within;
May dark unveil an ebbing stream
Of wondrous hue; let summer sun
Break through thick woods; may no shade
Shield me from intense light; let notes
Resound aloft upon high peaks;
May you pour nectar down my throat,
Place fragrant rich petals from perfumed flowers
On my tender tongue; and therefore,
Knelt before you, sister maids,
With submissive eyes gazing the hallowed ground
Beneath your feet; bathe me in tuneful grace
Once more; assist a humble servant,
Hear one solemn slave voice; for you
Will be praised within my lily-scented verse;
Forever will you be fed on my gentle honey-dew
Measure; if I only be granted solace
Within your flowing spring, deep
Between your sacred gardens fruitful caress.

What do my memories taste like? There lies on my tongue—
An atomic bomb:
a purported speck, with no chicken pox skin situated upon such.
I spat it out; I wobbled on and on, stomping the microscopic intensity into the sludge.
No one sees; how pleasant…

My shoe’s underside slit it— a paper cut broiled to the infinitude degree—
Preposterous conundrum! Slam!
I fulminate! I screech, the needy baby I am!
My guttural heave strews in the wind:
deformed limbs on the newer generations, an abysmal thread.

Supposedly bland, but then: a guzzling bleed from you and I gushes on and on; but oh, was it needed!
Listen to my writhing! Soak in my curdling roaring!

I am the mafia mastermind, but I plead to guilt!
The vandalism cannot be grated, but I will
revamp, spot clean, and hunt for a vaccine.
I cannot cure a scored scar, but rest assured:
I will endeavor to solidify the clot.

Killer boy, crawling through life like a caterpillar, yeah I work hard but get under appreciated like a water boy. Cute & Dangerous like a panda, waving my native pride like it was a banner. I'm not interested in slutty broads; yeah I don't waste my time on those frauds. Never been to London, but I am stunting, roasting haters in my oven. Girls be looking at me with panda eyes, but I am wise for not replying, because all though good in the moment, I know it will lead to my demise. Just let me versify and revamp the bounds of rap, yeah I'm about to cross the transversal line. I sometimes internalize my hate and fear, while critics are quick to crucify, it's fine because society has begun to blur. Let's prioritize our animal instincts, get what we want in an instance, who needs to care about logistics.

Hunter like tactics; we are so polarizing; praising meaningless merchandise; even if it's gimmicky and unappetizing. Just keep on pandering to propaganda, keep on working to help the great scandalized top banana.  Everything looking black and white, can we bounce back, and once again thrive in the sunlight? The inner blackness is ready to come out, the sinner that creeps in my dreams like Freddy, is there a way for me to get out? The white light of hope tries to stay strong, but how do I do that when it feels like I'm an anomaly that doesn't belong? Inner clash, inner turmoil, feels like I'm going to crash, is there time for us to unwind this coil? Deception is this addiction, struggling with affliction that sparks some friction. Sitting on the floor with a bottle of Gibson, only one more stop till I reach destruction. Sip after sip, as I start to drift, wondering if I am just a small blip, starting to question if life really is a gift.

Blackness keep on bearing down, just a canvas of blankness trying so hard not to breakdown. Searching for light to give me might, to give me motivation to continue on to fight. Just a panda; vicious but vulnerable; precious but endangered; wondering if my soul can be recoverable. How do I transition, how do I change my position, how can my intuition help me avoid this oppositional demolition? How do I carefully plan my mission, how do I clear my vision, how do I deal with this condition? Do I go to a hospital, do I dig deeper psychologically, do I become an apostle? Do I go to an intervention; do I take pills for suicidal prevention? Black & white, despite these attacks, I will bridge the gaps, and destroy the traps. Good meets bad, bad meets evil, forget the prequel; time to move on to your sequel.

a quart of tequila,
still no feelings,
spinning ceilings beneath me,

in my venomous state,
we went to comedy night at the viper room.

torn to shreds in the front row,
of a gung ** americanised show.

i came because the river still flows,
with depp and the stageshows from the whiskey a go go,
directly opposite the pavement.

the boulevard was full of cars,
and homeless superstars,
that made it far,
but not past the stars on the walk of fame,
Holly would never be the same again.
*******, *******.

we walked past the cast of a bottomless flask,
cast in the shadows of the sorrows of rodeo drive,
staying alive is easy,
follow,
the yellow brick road and wish for a dollar.

tomorrow is another day.

i seen a man of my same age,
he was a traveller,
vocabular immaculate,
hair cut ******, dindn’t shave much,
one of the same touch.
grubby hands and unfinished plans.

his sign said, were ******.
i teared up,
he looked up and stood up and we hugged.
i could see me in his weird look.
just another rhyme in my page book.

i gave him a bag of survival necessities,
i hunted him down after 24 hours.
i was worried to go back,
and finish what i started.

i consider the concept as an artist,
but the truth is this,
the humanist within,
could never miss that appointment.

he sat there in the same spot,
and if i didn’t come,
he could of lost faith in the promise of a circumstance.

i took a certain stance,
he said he was a traveller,
a poet with grubby hands,
i held him with open arms.

i don’t worry about him,
i worry about you,
a ***** and the truth,
trumps and mansion and no use.

i’ve read between the lines,
and wrote this motion on tightropes and suspended emotion.
they want a showman,
but when we show them the ocean,
the don’t want to know the deepest minds inclined.

absolutley,
mutiny in the ranks,
my heart sank when you decided to revamp,
your opinion of me implicitly.

minor to me,
skeleton key to multiple routes.
i never gave a **** about your opinions then,
and I certainly don't give a **** now,

nor have i ever,
stared the gift horse in the mouth.

For the past five seasons, the New York-based designer Rachel Comey has forgone a traditional runway show in favour of a more intimate dinner and presentation at the Pioneer Works Center for Art and Innovation in Red Hook, Brooklyn. This season, she is taking her show on the road, stepping off the New York calendar altogether. Instead, she plans to present her Autumn/Winter 2016 collection in Los Angeles in late March to support the launch of her first retail store on the West Coast, scheduled to open in April.

Located at 8432 Melrose Place, the store is the second physical retail presence in Comey’s portfolio; the first opened in June 2014 on Crosby Street in Manhattan, New York. Editors and buyers who wish to see the collection during New York Fashion Week will still be able to schedule private appointments and the designer also plans on releasing a look book of images prior to the show.

Comey is the latest of several brands — including Burberry,Tom Ford and Louis Vuitton — to stage activations in Southern California in the past year. (While Ford and Burberry did shows in Los Angeles-proper, Vuitton took to nearby Palm Springs.) On February 10, the Hollywood Palladium will host what might be Hedi Slimane's last men’s show for Saint Laurent. Indeed, Los Angeles’ emergence as a legitimate cultural capital and growing fashion hub has been well documented.

The exact date and location of Comey’s Los Angeles event has yet to be decided. But the designer said it would be similar in format and concept to the dinner theatre-style shows she has preferred as of late, with a live performance and a guest list filled with creative class types who reflect the brand’s point of view. (Notable Spring 2016 attendees included NPR reporter Jacki Lyden, actress Parker Posey, writer Zadie Smith and artist Cindy Sherman.) “I’ve been showing for a long time, but how many shows did Cathy Horyn come to before we started doing dinners. Maybe two over 13 years?” Comey said during a recent studio visit. “I get it. Shows are ten minutes and really what are you learning about the brand? The collaborative effort between the environment and the music and models and the chef feels very honest for us and what we are trying to do. It's something we really believe in."

There will be one significant change to Comey's unconventional presentation formula besides the location. Instead of simply showing pieces from Autumn/Winter 2016, the designer plans to incorporate current-season pieces into the line-up, which will be available to purchase the next day. The idea is to boost interest in the opening of the Los Angeles store, which will sit alongside The Row, Chloé, Isabel Marant, APC and several other high-fashion retailers on Melrose Place. “We want to use the show as a way to introduce ourselves and connect with people,” said Comey.

Architect Elizabeth Roberts and interior designer Charles de Lisle, both of whom worked on Comey’s New York store, are collaborating on the interiors of the 2,600-square foot space. Additionally, Los Angeles-based architect Linda Taalman has been brought onto the team to consult on the design.

Both the Los Angeles event and store opening reflect the quiet transformation of the Rachel Comey brand over the past three years, as the designer's intellectual, arts-and-crafts aesthetic has grown more popular with a broader audience in the United States and beyond. (Comey’s dropped-hem “Legion” jean, for instance, has driven denim trends for several seasons.) Her decision to shift her presentation format from a traditional runway show to a seated dinner elevated Comey’s cachet on the fashion week calendar, while the success of her New York store has helped to drive a significant evolution of the business. Direct retail — both the physical store and e-commerce — now makes up 27 percent of the company's nearly $10 million in annual sales. Roughly half the brand's sales are still generated by domestic wholesale partners, while the other quarter comes from Comey’s growing presence at international stockists.

“The [New York store] was such a game changer for us because of the connection to the customer,” she said. “I think people didn’t realise the breadth of the collection. When you’re a wholesaler, people cherry pick it however they want. Which is nice, I like that in a way. But it’s also nice to have our own store, our own space and do things the way we want to do it.”

Indeed, Comey, who has been designing womenswear under her namesake label since 2004, has found that her greatest successes have come out of staying true to her vision. “I now have the faith and confidence that if you do things that are meaningful to you — rather than stick to the industry standard — [things] will probably work out,” said the designer, who is also working on a revamp of her e-commerce site.

“We’ve never been championed by a celebrity or a powerful editor. It’s really always been by word of mouth, loyal customers and just keeping on.” Now, it’s time to test out that philosophy on the West Coast. As Comey put it, “California is the promise land.”Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com | www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses

She dresses in paisley
Wishes on daisies
Falls asleep to the televisions glow

Drinks Calamine tea
The tea she believes
Brings about memories only she knows

Wears perfume on her finger tips
So when she points it smells like this
Lavender with a hint of ginger

She has a yellow bird that talks
A pink and purple frog
She dresses in mink come winter

Her shoe leather is patent
The only way she will have them
Her tribute to the 70's

She herself is a secret
Hoping that she can keep it
As she floats across colorful seas

I wear my heart on my sleeve
Where it's easily broken
I'd rather be made of steel
Or just a girl sitting around tokin
So many emotions
And I'm bloated
Just full of ****
And a belief of something fake
But I'll revamp my ways
My precious heart to take
I don't need it anymore anyways


(Douglas Scheurn wrote this part)
Keep it,
Incase it deep within your soul.
Put the key in,
Make the latch whole.
Don't let someone steal it quickly,
They have to thoroughly plan the heist.
Now this is tricky,
But wait out to see the lines.


Doesn't matter much anyways
My heart ain't worth the fuss
I held on a long time
Even longer for the lucrative "us"
My hearts shattered
Not that it mattered
Pieces are too small
Not worth making whole
No body would want
This emptiness y'all call a soul
There is no need for a lock
And certainly not a key
The last one inside
Has proven me no longer worthy


If the last one who had a piece
Is reading this now
Give urself a pat on the back
And a raise of ur brow
Congratulations is in order
You finally completed ur mission
My heart is finally free
You, no longer in my vision
Emptied my soul
And cleared the fog
**** being a *****
I'll be the alpha dog
Chewing up smiles
Gnawing on hearts
Spitting back up tears
And unimportant parts
Then run away, still intact
Leaving the rest to the hounds
Never looking back
Smile on my face and hell bound

begin this life in a wordy
but wordly habit, daily,
father-gifted, though different,
in form and language selected,
‘tis the one and ‘tis the same

tally, a counting combination
of all that has been done, for both
better & worse, blessing/curse,
the key: revamp review reset
this day upcoming and welcome
all the major tasks, minor miracles,
that one can effect,  select, elect!
by choice, a freedom so great it
tenderly rips joy thoroughly into
and from my cells, and my body
is enlightened, uplifted in this,
now a preposition, a conjugation, a

state of composition,

for the tasks given, the granted,
those that must be taken, those most
difficult, when knowing their choice,
entails pain, untempered, and
requires establishing a two edged
position of composure…

this is a hard and an easy
new proposition I create,
hard for I write on a tiny
phone screen, in letters so
small. it keeps me humbled,
a reminder of having
lived a span well
beyond belief,
for one took\gave body a
careless comfort,
giving little
of the differring
kind of nutrition in order
to live life, well and purposed

hard too, for my body has wept,
a steady stream of silent tears.
unceasing as I scribe,
making vision difficult, the
insight salty but clear and the
words contained within them,
flood for easy laying-down

for this AM workout of counting,
lists up and down, so many items,
of differring nature, even now
noticing for the very fitting first time,
the subtle hint within
differring,
for it possesses a doubling
of the enormity, the division
of what has been already
accumulated and what yet,
needs accomplishing, the tally
needy for resolving looking past,
for seeing with yet more tears
fast-as-you-can-forward

the tally never ends, paused only
for a quick question/happy deletion
of, and a resolute immediate, moving on:

Where do I stand,
what is my position?

keep on keeping on,
tallying has no finale,
no sunning/summing up,
for another day
will yet follow,
for you, and
your own
tallying must
goes on, on
and
not even,
nor even,
odd,
when mine,
mine no long,
and the
and yets,
no longer
commence

i hate snow but i love winter
you always told me i was a
walking contradiction
but this time when you left
the snow covers the ground
and hides the footprints laid forgotten
when you walked out of our front door
without saying
goodbye
and now my hearts shattering
into a million tiny snowflakes floating
around the sky until it turns to a blizzard
because the more I think of all the fun we had -
the harder the snow falls
swirling around my head like
all the memories we created
just like the snowman in our yard
but eventually the sun came out and he melted
his nose and button eyes falling to the ground
as fast as I fell head over heels
for you
and now I remember why I love winter
but hate the snow

Let me place an indent,
Of my intent to the Supreme,
And plead Him to bless,
Latest version of life’s software.

My hardware turned soft,
Due to wear and tear,
And software hardened,
Long after ageing years,
I long to log in an indent,
For I belong to you for long,
Oh my dear kind life maker,
Take me with you along.

My memory space is too short,
To live long and prolong,
Please upgrade my motherboard,
From megabyte into gigabyte,
With a backup chip to guard me,
From bothering risk of data loss,
Oh lord! It is time to revamp,
My life’s biometric system.

Empower me to recall,
The memory of my past life.
Let me learn from the lessons,
Of my past to avoid future strife.
And use my yester skills,
For the rest best of life.
Let there be no sinning and sinners,
Wind up the office of hell as well.

Develop and telecast bio-software,
With multiple options to live or leave,
Sign up, sign in and sign out,
Cut, copy, paste and delete,
Log in, log out and log off,
And more such touch skin tabs to press.

May you install ante virus software?
To bind body and soul at will.
For soul is the sole software of physics
Of thy creation and recreation.

Can I have a rest,
for I am very tired.
of usual beings, come and go,
made us weak and little blind.

You're all over me,
thus, can I rest?
Everywhere I look,
You have proven me the best.

I am exhausted,
Will you let me be?
I cannot move forward,
on the the things I see.

Squeezed with the happenings,
I want a revamp.
release me from the past,
wicked sinked in swamp.

Sour flavoured outings,
did took a toll on me.
I want you to take charge,
Please let me be.

I want to relax,
my tired soul.
would you let me to rest,
or in pain come let me howl.

Can I have a rest?
Please let me so.
With you I found,
a partner to call.

Are you allowing me now?
please let me fall,
Down in questions,
sheered in a roll.

Are you allowing me now?
I hope you really do.
Can I rest?
..My eyes on you.

A vessel with some water,
The proverbial impasse.
‘Tis often seen half empty,
Yet it seems a half full glass.

Who drank the last swallow from the half full glass?
Is optimism on the brink?
Will our pessimistic present pass?
So we can fill the glass and drink!
For all in optimistic camp
Can we insure the world's survival?
Can we, other gloomy souls revamp;
Stage a miracle revival?

Like a prophet or evangelist
Laying hands upon the crowd
A *****’s lips, once shunned, now kissed,
A beggar not too proud
To ask the rich to share some love
Or a grain of understanding.
Would manna, sent from Heav’n above
Restore belief in those demanding
Proof.  A sign or something else
To kindle hope and quench the fear
That our half full glass has shattered
And the end is drawing near.

And for those who suffer in the dark
Is Armageddon on its way?
Has the Devil gone and lit the spark
That precedes our judgment day?
There are cops committing ******
And crazies killing cops
Are the pessimists so positive
That the killing will not stop?
What then, could be life’s purpose
For those who have this view?
It seems that all the pessimists
Are a suicidal crew.

Is there then a cure for pessimists?
Or are they the smarter folk?
Are the optimists so blind
They cannot see the joke?
For what, if not a joke
Is a world without control
Did God put all he had on ‘odd’
And then say, “Let’r roll!?”
Every gambler has a system
‘Guaranteed to win’
God says, “Goodness conquers evil
Compassion conquers sin.”

But is His system failing,
As the pessimists believe?
Should we all fold, throw in our cards
Rise from our chairs and leave?
While the optimists are calling
Saving wealth they cannot spend
For you cannot take it with you
When you finally reach the end.

I have not the answer,
Though I’d opt for Half Full Glass
I want to believe in something
That gives us half a chance.
But speak out loud ye poets
If you think the same or not.
All entitled to a voice.
Our voice is all we’ve really got.

A vessel with some water,
The proverbial impasse.
‘Tis often seen half empty,
Yet it seems a half full glass.

Phil Lindsey 4/20/15

In the spectral mausoleum
Wherein the human's left me deserted;
I still wilt writeth transcendent poesy
Mine blood as the word's to be posted.

An anointed omnipresent
To luster her anticipation of mine proclivity;
She awaiteth me, behind the benevolence
As her optical's art painting's in Renoir relevance .

I revamp mine apparition
To maketh mineself to her more known;
She seeith mine black suit, unbuttoned shirt
She feeleth mine flesh, and strokes mine old bones.

All mine bad misgivings, she erases like as if at school
She's the teacher, I'm her student, though tis I breaketh rules;
Yet I do payeth attention, to this queen whoever she is
Yet thou must remember, this is all a dream, spurious wish!

Though tis just an illusion, I still hath highest Hope's
Because I'm not the other men, proudly others seeith that most;
As tis I shalt continue on, writing amour for one not around
Whoever she is, and who she might be, please release me from..

The ground................




©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry

we attached a meaning to life,planted peace and uprooted the strife
we had pleasures, we enjoyed our life we took no measures
risked falling off the cliffs gladly faced them dangers
but that was the point ,it wasn't living if we weren't believing
we could successfully turn the pages, make memories walking on the edges
we faced the challenge, we had to manage,
trekked through the sun till it was orange
You'd appreciate for we had the courage
we was buried in beating the current, we were hurried
to define our ambition, the mission was reaching the mirage
it was illusive,we were incisive, brothers fell out we were inclusive
we kept fighting and biting,made laws but we weren't abiding
mistakes we went on citing,tough choices we weren't deciding
the higher the ladder, the more life was harder
expected to lead by example,we had to sample life, at times lost the tempo
danced to beats affected the cardiacs, hit the streets mistaken for maniacs
evading defeat propelled to take cover for we were rebels,
running from criticisms coming at us harder than pebbles
we weren't famous but they knew us,ambassadors for the new earth
we were the weight,we were the scales, our actions were the bells
the story that everyone tells,we guided their trains for we were the rails,hickory dickory dock
we were the ship and yacht at every Dock,
the movies to watch and the stories to talk,
for we lit avenues from where they would walk
so the shines went interstellar,the inspiration to every fella
for we rode on luck and provided to many who lack
we were a drug to every dealer, some thought we were Rockefeller
took nothing for granted for we were hunted,
life was a charm so many enchanted we couldn't forget we were wanted
we stuck to the guns, saw it till the end, it was a fire to which we would fend
we had an entire generation and a legacy to defend
persistent to resistance,so much it defined our existence
we fought monsters and didn't give up,so that our world would get a revamp
we were peaceful warriors,we were notorious

A day off from school, and nothing to do.
So here goes nothing, another letter to you.

words uttered and regretted
but silent still-
just ghosting by,
leaving no kind of trail.

a series of letters,
you somehow bother to read.
a lack of responses,
to which I have "no need".

A dull sort of pattern:
lines and spaces-
ink and not-
yet with so much meaning,
that the world has forgot.

still, they drift off
some grow heavy, and sink straight in.
reluctantly fleeting,
cover blown.
Whispers heard.
All senses now, on full alert.
Wanting a reply, but not at such a cost.
Knowing I am undeserving,
yet deserving of all the loss.

A dull sort of kindness.
an unsugarcoated truth.
I can't help but wish,
I wasn't a disappointment to you.

I can't help but bother,
wishing you wouldn't even dare.
giving words such meaning-
even words such as "care".

I am a sad kind of poet-
yet most never know it.

Just that kid in the corner.
dark room,
never known her.

Others, how they claim to know me-
But my sculpted facade,
hand designed-
by the clear streak of tragedy.
that is all they see.

Center of attention.
laughed at, and never with.
Respect my form of hiding.
It is all I have left.

Shape me, & mold me.
ground me down-
stand me up-
Dusted remnants standing still.
Blinks and stares,
tear through the silent air.

A shake of annoyance.
A twist of my neck.
"can't you see this isn't you?"-
"how dare you think like that."-

You're right.
It's not me.-
As cliché, as that may be.

A puppet at your service-
Fix the outside.
Top performance so they say.
But just one look inside,
and not a single light of day
rusted metal, grit, & oil.  

Fix the strings,
of most importance.
Once broken, soon brand new.
Nice firm tug.
just to Test Performance-
Aesthetics
Appeasing Quality
Of course, Don't you see?

Why of course not,
I would never hurt you.

Tug 'n tighten. Pull the cord.
until the collar stills no more.
Too numb to feel it, Tired & Tried.
Drug back against my will-
Fighting just to close my eyes.

One door closes, another one opens.
keep them both closed.-
Can't you listen?
Too much noise.
I can't stand it.
The door stills. Oh, for a moment-
but is yanked free.
The laws of nature,
so kindly ignoring my only plea.

Reality's firm grip on that cold handle.
Never giving.
Never quelling.

The only note of my existence,
forcing me to note such memories.

They flood back in,
through hidden doors.
Seeking refuge,
from places once stored.
The door always locked-
.. oh so long before.
Now open, mocking.
Here to settle the only score.-
The only thing bothered to be accounted for.

Revamp this puppet,
play my strings.
Gears groan from overuse.
Oil thinning, straight to thin.
Disappearing from existence,-
getting lost too deep within.
Gears grind in dissatisfaction.
Angrily forced to play along-
with such a sad,
unheard,
unforgiving song.

Giving in. Giving up.
Finally, to the abuse.
Just my luck, so lost and alone.
Doing this all, on my very own.

Don't touch me.
I can't take it.
Dizzied from the noxious fumes-
the memories spit back,
toxic to my wounds.

Never resting
always scared
of what lurks "right over there".
Childish fears never quite disappeared.
Gruesome company.
to one already so lonely.

So she slips down the hallway,
hair covering her eyes.
Nervous & skittish,-
Her hearing on overdrive.
One last glance over her shoulder
before slipping just inside
Sliding down,
echoes resound.
Cold tile, sniffling nose.
Vaguely aware of the chill spreading in her toes.

Arms crossed tight, protecting what's left of within-
Reminiscent, barely so
of just one missing, true friend.

Finally safe, my breathing escapes.
paper full,
pen in hand,
smears of ink-
just some peculiar squiggles.
Lines stilled, spaces dots
Dashed & Dotted.
Ink & Not.

My mark on this world,
One that can't be forgot.
Time frozen in place-
A gift for me, that you can't seem to see.

You walk right on past.
Reluctantly so,
sneaking glances through the glass.
Everknowing of my presence,
& that I hide myself away.
To you it is a dark corner.
Not a haven, a place to gather my thoughts.
Sorth them out & string them along-
until I reach the coherency of a single thought.

Peace at last,
my mind can rest.
Demons at bay,
no silent regrets.

Oh me?
I'm just that kid in the corner.
Dark room,
you've never known her.

A sad poet I may be-
But sad to you, isn't sad to me.
A mere relief.
My saving grace.
Just one of the pieces, I choose to embrace.

But that is that.
And I am me.

not quite as wrong, as the world fathoms me to be.

Two young lovers lie facing the moon
As they read lines of my muse passion
In other to discern the secret of my heart
Air of warm kisses kissed their thought
For they never parted not like we're fated to part

As petals of rose withered from my heart
Yet I am sorry to say I love you
For my mind is hungry and wait to devour you
as storm choruses your name into my heart
Maybe dead will be one to separate us at last

As the lilies attract so my love for you shine
jealousy flown away your love for my shrine
No deception for I filled your dream with kisses
As spinning ***** you reoccurred in my heart
I decide to go for the tree of passion will bear no fruit

In my heart I solely love you as a decorated thorns
Running still as water towards a turbine
Generating bewildered lights in our souls
As the energy continues to revamp our love
The springtide will make us fly as doves

Written by
Martin Ijir

Grow,
Good morning, get up, get going, get out, get it?
Get giggity, giggly,
Great, get in, get quite, real g's move in silence, and gesticulations get goons gone,
Go ahead, go forth with great care, go far, go out, get lost, go back,
Grasp green garments,
Go on,

Respire,
Read rhetoric, read rhythm, read rhymes,
Read people,
Respond resplendently, require resolution,
Realize, rain rains, read rain rain gauge,
Risk rewards, run rapidly,  run rampantly, run triumphantly,
Rise up, rise on, ride horses, ride waves, ride on,
Red letter days,

Irked?
Inhale, intake, insure, inhibit,
Intuition informs insides,
Imitators idolize, I irk, irritate, insist Immaculate
Inspire innovation, incite celebration,
Inner id ingests infestations,
Ideal installed,

Move,
Make much of it, make mistakes, make mends, make merry, make cheer, make love, make peace,
Mind, mind manners, mind time, mind love, mind peace,
Move, move over, move up, move in, move out, move on,
More so, more smiles, more laughs, more life, more understanding, more peace, more love,
Marvelous magenta muse moves me,

Exhale,
Exhibit excellence, energize everyone,
Eat east, eat in, eat out, eat everywhere, with everyone,
Exhale, exit anger, exit stress, exit breath,
Enters euphoria, enters energy, with ease

Need,
Need no one, need nothing, only neo Nazis,
No, need necessities, need neurons, need Nutella, nourishment,
Now know knowledge, know profound power found in numbers, now know nothing

Restart
Reduce, reuse, recycle,
Reproduce,
Re-energize, refuel, revamp, repeat,

Let me place an indent,
Of my intent to the Supreme,
And plead Him to bless,
Latest version of life’s software.

My hardware turned soft,
Due to wear and tear,
And software hardened,
Long after ageing years,
I long to log in an indent,
For I belong to you for long,
Oh my dear kind life maker,
Take me with you along.

My memory space is too short,
To live long and prolong,
Please upgrade my motherboard,
From megabyte into gigabyte,
With a backup chip to guard me,
From bothering risk of data loss,
Oh lord! It is time to revamp,
My life’s biometric system.

Empower me to recall,
The memory of my past life.
Let me learn from the lessons,
Of my past to avoid future strife.
And use my yester skills,
For the rest best of life.
Let there be no sinning and sinners,
Wind up the office of hell as well.

Develop and telecast bio-software,
With multiple options to live or leave,
Sign up, sign in and sign out,
Cut, copy, paste and delete,
Log in, log out and log off,
And more such touch skin tabs to press.

May you install ante virus software?
To bind body and soul at will.
For soul is the sole software of physics
Of thy creation and recreation.