Quotes about vogue, page 6
The Whole Mess... Almost
I ran up six flights of stairs
to my small furnished room
opened the window
and began throwing out
those things most important in life
First to go, Truth, squealing like a fink:
'Don't! I'll tell awful things about you!'
'Oh yeah! Well, I've nothing to hide… OUT!'
Then went God, glowering & whimpering in amazement:
'It's not my fault! I'm not the cause of it all!' 'OUT!'
Then Love, cooing bribes: 'You'll never know impotency!
All the girls on Vogue covers, all yours!'
I pushed her fat ass out and screamed:
'You always end up a bummer!'
I picked up Faith Hope Charity
all three clinging together:
'Without us you'll surely die!'
'With you I'm going nuts! Goodbye!'
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poem by Gregory Corso
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In Answer To The Powers That Be
If we apply
the question
What are the
'implications of media,
in this epoch of time'
to Elizabethan England,
the age of Shakespeare;
to next King James the first,
you will agree,
a significant
period in history,
what would this phrase mean?
The answer
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poem by Terence George Craddock
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Malala-the pampered activist girl, the Anne Frank of Muslims
Damn the buster
who tried to kill
a defiant little girl
bearing their own genome
they say they shot her
because
she was all out for education
she was given charge of a school
she firstly appeared in an Ad.
She spoke against her people
then she was picked up
to puke poison words against her people
she was showered with awards
national and international
she spoke and spoke
like a programed robot
like someone pulling down the sky
by dint of Dutch courage
Backed by some invisible power
a power like Quixotic touch
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poem by mazHur Butt
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Prologue to the Princess of Cleves
Ladies! (I hope there's none behind to hear)
I long to whisper something in your ear:
A secret, which does much my mind perplex,—
There's treason in the play against our sex.
A man that's false to love, that vows and cheats,
And kisses every living thing he meets;
A rogue in mode,—I dare not speak too broad,—
One that—does something to the very bawd.
Out on him, traitor, for a filthy beast!
Nay, and he's like the pack of all the rest:
None of them stick at mark; they all deceive.
Some Jew has changed the text, I half believe;
Their Adam cozened our poor grandame Eve.
To hide their faults they rap out oaths, and tear;
Now, though we lie, we're too well bred to swear.
So we compound for half the sin we owe,
But men are dipt for soul and body too;
And, when found out, excuse themselves, pox cant them,
With Latin stuff, Perjuria ridet amantum.
I'm not book-learned, to know that word in vogue,
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poem by John Dryden
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For my aunt and cousins
Oh please
oh please
Just set me free
Give me some peace and humanity
Let me see my family
Love me like you did before
Oh please
Oh please
Give me some innocence
Let me go build blanket tents
And run around the house looking for stars
Riding a rocket to mars
Oh please
Oh please
Bring us all back
To that happy family
When we sat around laughing
You avoiding them is bringing me agony
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poem by Scarlet Shay
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Opportunism
opportunistic review case specific
an unprincipled resourceful person
or people taking advantage of situations
countries companies groups an individual
ripe for expedient exploitation in
devious unscrupulous unprincipled ways
a crime easily orchestrated a real operation
with real planning an orchestrated layout
with multiple in place mission objectives
selective application of choice control principles
of applied justice reveals opportunism hypocrisy
witness numbers selected members of the party
who have been are being purged
under clinical apex leadership with
no regard for innocence or guilt
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poem by Terence George Craddock
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Oor Rabbie's The Man For A' That
The Twenty Fifth of January 1759,
A talent was born who'll forever shine,
Though his life would be full of twists and turns,
There'd be no better writer than our own Robert Burns.
Rabbie Burns our national bard,
If you gave him an inch he'd take a yard,
His love of women caused a few stares,
As he carried on his illicit affairs.
He'd have loved to have been a man of leisure,
Surrounded by women that was his pleasure,
Contrary to what some people may think,
He was never that fond of the demon drink.
For the whole of his life he was forever in vogue,
A Jack the lad a loveable rogue
But one thing you can never take away,
Is the words he wrote will forever hold sway.
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poem by Bri Mar
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Curiosity Thy Name Is Ugliness
Those days,
The words and paths accompanied me.
Those days,
The words and insomnia were my companions.
How long and whereto
The carnal body goes along.
I am the every feature of mountains,
Oceans and wilderness.
My breath is the dew resting on leaves,
And Lo! Winds are busy
In wiping out my glistening foot-prints.
Look at my eyes,
They contain silence,
Of hundreds of extinguished grates
Once glaring bold.
I roamed bearing an inferno
In my breaths and thoughts,
Hauling my beacon of desire
Coated with blood.
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Finally got my just dues! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Heaving a sigh
Of great relief;
With reverence
I tied my manuscript
And wistfully
Smiled to myself.
Took it to a publisher,
Who had promised,
He will have a look.
As I knocked,
He peered, eyebrows raised
From his glasses resting
On his nose.
Cast a cursory
Glance, Hm… poetry,
This won’t sell.
I gaped
Incredulously,
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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You saw it here first...
Today the front page top spot in my upmarket morning paper
elbows aside war, crime, politics, famine, election bribes
with a manicured hand on an elegant arm, to bring you
the ultimate guide to your seduction scene or marriage-freshener -
the famous ball-player's plump chicken of a girlfriend
presented by Vogue, no less. Here is your Complete Jane Austen
Condensed Edition, the Jilly Cooper Omnibus, the Credo
from the Vatican of fashion. This is the stuff
that dreams are made on.
You'll need a chaise-longue to drape yourself on; and here
it's day-dress - of a sort; expensively revealing enough
to press all the buttons, but informal enough
to be ripped off; thus the zipped skirt, open
just above the panty-line, clearly awaits His pull.
The material of the blouse (I'm told it's silk-crepe) clings
as if it were but barely there; it's gathered slightly
between the breasts, just where (follow the dotted line) He
is invited to rip it. Or there's a loose tie below as well;
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poem by Michael Shepherd
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