Fashion poestry
by
Fasean Line
SMASHWORDS EDITION
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY:
Fasean Line on Smashwords
Copyright © 2011 by Fasean Line
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
* * * * *
The red carpet
In private jets they cruise, on recliners over the weather
On low and high riders, they ride low and hidden, on leather
On touch down, along bouncers, they walk under umbrellas
From motown to coast town, they bring a show no matter the weather
A fuss’ of polish and makeup, down, opens, flats and heels
A hand in another, another a hand on feels
His in squares, stripes, labels, another in jeans and white
Shis in anything, everything and mostly nothing
One flirts with the media, another poses for the paparazzi
One talks of their jitters, another of their success in the bizz
One has a ring, she talks of a fling, and shows off a bling
They say they’ve a thing, but mostly, they are a thing
One in shades, shows off his latest bit of fluff
One cannot tell if he is the gigolo or she is the bimbo
anyway, today, no one cares, who cares
She thins like a vagrant and looks like a million bucks
Another is lithe and blithe, adorning haute couture
This one is amiable, she adores the fame culture
She drawls at the boom, fans love this feature
She flaunts at the paparazzi, cameras love the picture
In LA, anywhere and nowhere, the same stars, I guess
Journals look for a killer line, its a game of chess
Without a blink cameras witness to later confess
Of malfunctions, anything, mostly of nothing more or less
Fumes and sprays for a better stink
Fumes and sprays for a better stink
roll and spray for a sweeter stink
shake before use for a wetter ink
on a date or an interview better not stink
Fumes and sprays for a better stink
hygiene, a beauty, on a fashion sink
cologne, a duty with a passion wink
with liquor, and a booty, pass on the drink
Fumes and sprays for a better stink
in shapeless bottles, each for a week
A spray and a roll to the pits
an imbue and an array of scents all week
Fumes and sprays for a better stink
her scent lingers nigh and abound like a wick
like lingerie up high and around, it sticks
like her picture on hi5, with hits all week
A fashion poem
We’ve been born fashion, we’re here to stay
We have the flow, we’re here with frays
With a flow to a show, we catwalk with sways
With a know how, some dow, n a show to run, we’re to stay
Without strings attached, they run the show with strings and thongs
With strings attached, we suit in stripes and straps
Wake up with the make up, take-away make-up by the drive-in
From pedicures to manicures to ‘womancures’ all while driving
Handbags got paint and polish, to brush and to polish
From head to toe, it’s all sparkling, for a dent there is a tow
For a friend or a foe, it’s all for a sparkling show
For a clipped toe, there
is an open shoe, with a show
With bangles, earrings, necklaces, a ring and bling
With a dangle, a shake, a sway, a click and cling
With a handle, and a chain, and another, am zing
A tattoo, mascara, and a tan, am think, am zinc’d
The figure of beauty
Admire an artist when they start afresh on a canvas
faint trace lines that draw out the shape show their artistry
and from the beginning the shape captures your eyes
impatient to see the eventual piece, you fantasize
When everything was covered up it was a figure,
a figure of beauty, shaped by the overlying garments
draping gracefully, boldly outlining a monument
trendy a monument but not for a moment
The hour glass or if you prefer, the 8 or the K
has lost favor to a H, a svelte H
a shapely H qualifies you to be a comely
workout or fast happily ever after even for a homely
If its siliconed it is a P, with everything ironed out,
to tell the difference, look closely or look out
H defines you, not from the ins but out
irrespective of anorexia or a worked out
Like coffee it ages, once comely, a svelte letter
but when a hag wears it, no matter the letter,
it becomes Italic, one that withers to the letter
retiring in sorts and styles no matter the letter
As elusive
The young are wildly active to focus
the mature get restless impatiently
the old give up the fight too soon
a generation goes by,
giving none
Unnatural, but driven by innate forces
it is without an definite goal; evolution
it is difficult to grasp leave alone describe
today this, tomorrow that, after tomorrow what?
Its second nature
for those with a calling
an obsession when opportunities give
a necessity when mercury goes down
it melts like snow when spring gives
Its a race against
the mind and soul
none being everywhere and nowhere
even on a given moment or space
without these, its non existent
Hotchpotch
Penned, immortal
motif shapely patterns
related strangers
draping beauty
Slenderly long
innately inert
illusional shadows
poured and dried
Timely hands
dams of flow
reversible not
slaves of time
Orderly random
mix n match
colored rainbow
nick nacks of life
The tavern
A tavern or the other, the weather remains golden
Same waters flowing from kegs, bottles and glasses
To oceans though small never filling
Same people, same atmosphere, same lighting
Same music, there is even no need for a weather man
Dresscodes since there are none, are not kept
But everyone uses the wardrobe, few tip
No one is dressed for a special occasion
It rains everyday and today is not different
Tipsy, drunk, then awash by the floods
When the rain seizes and taps run dry
Everything is different, the view, the people
The mood, the room, the groom, the good
One in the hand of another, none in any
Thirst for a hand, a sip, a shot lingers in all
The minds are like beer glasses, brittle and longing
Easy to read, pick, lead, frisk and kiss
Everyone needs something, eyes are so telling
Yet all night they lingered and wandered
A horse you can take to the river the rest y’all know
Weather patterns and climates may change
But one remains steadfast, thirst and fashion
The music, the dance, the hand, the river
With water that quenches not, dams differ
Half, full or empty, after a bender
Made in China
We are all made in China
forget the ads and the packaging
check the tag that we come with
it reads ‘Made in China’
Faux or not, we’ve been designed
can you tell the difference?
daunting, aren’t we?
well, we have been made in china
You pay for us dearly or cheaply
you cherish our warmth, feel and look
you savor us for we are not eternal
we are loved foreigners from China
Because we do get not to choose
we are made a $ a day by coolies
the sumptuous and hobos own us
we are made in Asia, mostly in China
Our making warms and pollutes China
it keeps money machines rolling in China
our making creates jobs outside China
it will come around; it went around from China
Behold, in the eyes of the beholder
Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder
eyes, behold outer and inner beauty
an array of colors and emotions
formed, a beatific blueprint revealed
one like no other, eye rare intimacy
Eyeball, ogle, schmooze, dote and
court the blueprint, for in no time
at neckbreaking speeds it will fade
beauty, eyes, beholder, all blowsy
never again to look or be looked at
Behold, in the eyes of the beholder 2
Never again to obey laws of nature
or be defined by scientific theories
or to be depicted geometrically
a time shall pass and an a new beginning
will be, a new beginning to the end
and just like that it will become extinct
having not being appreciated,
or at least acknowledged,
like the warmth and personality
of an extinguished lamppost
Behold, in the eyes of the beholder 3
They say that..
if you ask a Minnesotan how
he feels on the day his comely
leaves him, he loses his job
or worse, his dog dies, the answer
remains unchanged; ‘fine’ he says.
Lets thus take note, and savor
times when beauty and paisley holds
a hotchpotch of life itself
lest we fail to notice it
lest we fail to notice its gone
Alice in a fashion wonderland
I see a lot of boots, but I see no horse riding
boots treaded like tires and no one’s going hiking
heels off the ground, so high, reaching for nothing
clicks carry away concentration fading it to nothing
Clothes are shrinking, from knee to thigh high deep
breathe, don’t hold your breath, the dive ain’t deep
I see what I am supposed to imagine, what I imagine
is no longer fantasy but a vivid hodgepodge, imagine!
I am in a world of my own, anything worth a red cent?
everything is nonsense, because nothing is nonsense
nothing’s a sin, everything is scenic after it has been seen
what a scene? Am Alice, am in a fashion wonderland sin
Project runway
Apprentice engineers hover doing last minute smooching
attentioned to detail, every spot and bump needs smoothing
an impatient tower control, always on time, now snoozing
the set is a makeshift, an aircraft carrier without a choosing
the runway runs away into the night marked in bright light
the first craft pulls out, thinned like a fighter jet, lit and light
it does multiple machs, outdoing sound, later maybe light
Houston we have no problem, runway clear, green light
the jet are more artful than air-ready, for the night, no take offs
this is an airshow on the ground, stripped down or taken off
some seem to bounce, like overweight butterflies unable to take off
or one that struggles to avoid a lift off from its flapping wings
The runway taxied more jets than an aircraft carrier lands
please don’t feed the models, please don’t fuel the jets lads
abhor, a shift in the throttle can almost be felt in the sound
However, neither a 747, nor an A380 has made a sound
The science and beauty of fashion
It is randomly random, unpredictable as the weather
It is made up of facts, but even more of the unknown
Assumptions are its face, somethings are not accountable
Yet it remains beautiful even in the face of fashion
Metrics are too primitive to measure whats out there
If we could tell how far it stretches we could rocket fiercely
If we knew its depths we could mount drills with pleasure
Yet without showing too much skin, we can’t help but ogle
It is not definite yet it is not infinite, we see and forget
We cannot tell the beginning or the end, this way up!
Are coming and going, or vice-versa, we can barely decide
Yet we fall in love, especially when we cannot decide
It is abundantly demured, it is a comely mother nature
Without holding back, it explodes, and burns nature
It is defined by laws but it does not abide to any
Yet despite its unfaithfulness, we reach out and caress it
It is has been there from time immemorial, can we tell?
It is the alpha and the omega, the beginning of the end
the end of the beginning if temperatures were to rise
Yet for short lived pleasures we exert extra strain on it
We reminisce of memories we love with wishes
We imagine of worlds unknown, fearfully and excitedly
We are beautifully and wonderfully made, only if we cared to look
Yet believe it or not we look into it when nothing else gives
Red
Under bright and blinky neon lights, in the watch of bouncers
Long queues are formed at places of luxury, fun and some
One cannot tell the dresscode, there doesn’t appear to be some
All in all, all are well dressed, well some are flaunting some
If you were to judge, they’d all look good, well, at least some do
In places like this, more paper changes hands in the night
than in broad daylight, from greasing the doorman to avoid a lineup
to buying the most expensive, and sparkling drinks and cigar line ups
Forget the cloak room, by the time you are tipsy, it flows faster than red
And you start thinking they all look good, at least now most of them do
Check them out, now that your eyes are bold and turning red
They wink at you and mostly look like they are dressed in red
Wink back but you ain’t tipsy enough to follow the red
Out of pity, the waiter drops you more shots of red
They all look good, at least because they are dressed in red
Now that your vision is blurred, images form mostly from imagination
One in a mini appears naked, and you visualize, what a creation
Another on heels, makes you look for tips, what a temptation
One looks at you and smiles, you think she likes you, what a sensation
With more reds, in your brain, even without imagination, they all look good
If wishes were horses, beggars would ride, drunks would walk without a stagger
He chats titbits to those who pass by, follow he cannot for he will stagger
Interestingly one walks towards him, red lips, a deceitful smile, and a swagger
She pulls out a red, signals to the waiter, he is caught up in her confident manner
But she looks good, time for reasonable judgement has passed, she looks great
Too many reds, in glasses, around you and on the dance floor,
He makes a toast, it will bring the red closer, the reds give a whim
He wants to play polka with this red, but the reds have played tricks on him
Lights blink red and out and she inches closer, the reds are overwhelming
This close, they look good, they cannot get any redder, they are great
The music dies and the reds stop flowing, the river has dried up
This red looks good, with red eyes, red lips and on red heels
Not much was said, not much inches in between, only red feelings
Hand in hand they make out, a blind leads the other to a world unknown
Since none can think straight, they all look good, a surprise awaits
A fashion passion
You see radiance in me like no one else,
in a sphinx-like manner, you adore us
adding radiance without eking it out
your are abundant of all I need
You and I are acquaintances, more or less
yet, you wear the warmth of my heart
with pride and without holding back
I saw no warmth in no other, thus
I sought warmth from none other
I saw fashion in no other,
you were all the fashion I needed
I am picky, I never chose you, but you did
you cuddled me reaching out to worlds unknown
vividly I reminisce our first time, simple yet enough
I wish that the hands of time punch endlessly
For you, I will go to space, a place only for you,
I will wait to embrace your body
drape gracefully on you, hug you with my heart
and when all gone, I will never let go
The way I am
Somethings just exist
for a reason
others just exist without reason
darkness falls on
daylight
shadows fall in light
Today, I don’t know
reason
I guess its too late to reason
the coming and going of
seasons
now slowing down for no reason
If I seems to have
lost it
style, preference, class or taste
its not because I do
not care
at crossroads I am, seasons seem not to care
A proposal turned down
Behind the blinds, on a young night, hides the brides
Besides, amass of immaculate garments hang aside
Litters of posh makeup line the dresser
Jitters in the overhead lights are lesser
Sitting snugly, the grooms impatiently awaits unhammer’d
Music in the background accompanies a silent murmur
Backstage, the brides’ hearts are beating drums
Lights dimmed, curtain fall, anticipation and excitement hum
Into the aisle the first bride walks tall with a lot of pizzazz
Into a far, her kohl’d eyes focus drawing attention with a buzz
A barrette holds her hair neatly exposing a polished face
Abet-ting her elegance, her fountain dress drapes with grace
Her phlegm holds under the brightly lit ceiling as she poses
In refute of a proposal, a hand akimbo, and another poise
Heels matching her deluxe buckle show off pedicured toes
Her lustrous hair dances as she sashays away without a flaw
One after another, brides walk the aisle, all refuting the groom
Like the first one, they are dressed exquisitely, some to the tooth
Inked, dabbed, and fauxed, the show’s an assorted mixture of peels
Unlike the first one, one with jinx totters away in snugly fitting heels
Organizers and designers, in a shower of confetti, bow without refute
Applauding grooms accept the proposal successfully refute’d
Backstage, the brides celebrate an amassing mess and their refute
Grooms wander into the night in search of a tavern, what a refute
Fashion forsaken
Our word is evil, but the devil is beyond, our eyes are sealed for things that are behold
Our extravagance is beyond measure, our ignorance is beyond leisure
Our obsession of worlds beyond exceeds the concerns of our own
We are at ease in paying respect to our fallen heroes than in chatting out enmity with our foes
Our world is materialistic, possessions overflowing but deep inside we are empty and lacking
We fight wars for humanity but in reality the wars bring disparity
Our pride may just be for now, for we are definite of our fall, in the future
Our selfishness is without a cause, we stir at the slightest stir
Our response is detrimental, without sacrifice, it’s a full scale massacre
The life in the aftermath is in ruins, tatters and shattered
For there stands beautiful houses in a row, filled with broken families inside them
Where everything living thing and issue goes unspoken of, yet we wonder of worlds beyond
For I may be your best friend but in reality I am your worst nightmare, your worst enemy; the reality.