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Tailor
TAILOR
Many men were ‘made to measure’
when they led a life of leisure,
while working women wept at home
and sowed their fingers to the bone.
Silken suits were deemed a pleasure
and of all things seemed a treasure -
but times have changed, I’m left alone
with only memories to moan.
It is undoubtedly a fact,
despite my stylish taste and tact,
that only ‘ready-made’ and racked
can current customers attract.
Yet should someone special come
select a suit of cashmere greys,
flannel trousers finely spun,
camel blazer, mohair maze,
should some young lad look out for fun
in lilac slacks – the latest craze –
like all the trade I suffer from
skilled labour shortages.
It puts a strain upon income,
Cutting cloth that never frays,
for when the weekly sums are done
as my accountant rightly says, ...
’custom’, as a custom,
no longer really pays.
27 July 1975
robi03_0102_robi03_0000 XXX_MXX
poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Cloth of Time
The concept of time is
Like a cloth
Waving in the wind.
The wind collides
And bounces,
Causing the cloth to sway.
We are the specks
Of dust
Nestled within
The fibers of time.
This cloth is where
We sleep and wake.
This wind is the result
Of our existence.
When the wind is still
The cloth of time
Hangs
Like a man
Whose time has run out.
poem by by unknown author
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Words Dressed
A tailor of your words has dressed you up
And your old speech, to make you better for it.
The release of relics is sacred, all this completion
Seems to question the authority.
My tailor has clothing so pure, and words so pristine,
That everyone respects, holding their hair on the head.
The answer to the thoughts posed by certain educated men,
Reflects the whole issue of grandeur and importance.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Fakin' It
When she goes, she's gone.
If she stays, she stays here.
The girl does what she wants to do.
She knows what she wants to do.
And I know I'm fakin' it. I'm not really makin' it.
I'm such a dubious soul,
and a walk in the garden, wears me down.
Tangled in the fallen vines,
Picking up the punch lines,
I've just been fakin' it, Not really makin' it.
Is there any danger?
No, no not really. Just lean on me.
Takin' time to treat your friendly neighbours honestly.
I've just been fakin' it. I'm not really makin' it.
This feeling of fakin' it. I still haven't shaken it.
Prior to this lifetime, I surely was a tailor
I own the tailor's face and hands.
I am the tailor's face and hands and I know I'm fakin' it,
I'm not really makin' it.
This feeling of fakin' it, I still haven't shaken it.
song performed by by Simon & Garfunkel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You cannot tailor-make the situations in life but you can tailor-make the attitudes to fit those situations.
quote by Zig Ziglar
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Art of Cloth
From fiber, to spinning wheel
From thread, to weaving mill
From textile, to sewing machine
Cloth is continuous ceremony
Whether knitting, whether embroider
Whether patchwork, whether bead work
The beautiful batik, the intricate songket
Cloth is concentration lesson
The strata symbol, the politeness norm
The body art, the cover part
Wedding dress, black tie suit
Cloth is human civilization
From skin, to fabric
From corset, to mini skirt
From blue jeans, to legging
Cloth is history record
Classic style, replied fashion
Color play, motif trend
Mismatch mode, big bang accessories
Cloth is social adaptation
Conservative nerd, ethnic vintage
Religion veil, punk rebel
Costume play, Gothic Lolita
Cloth is identity crisis
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Racism man wearing white
No stop pushing me becos
of the colour of my cloth
if nothing is done my cloth
will torn
i cann't put on white to please
you
my cloth is n't white
so leave me with my
own colour
if you do n't leave me alone
i will be force to shout
for help and if nobody help
i will be force to fight
and if i fight i will fight
to the last
so stop this racism of white
and black cloth.
poem by Senator alufalism
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Wankers
Being born Ignorant; in America
it feels strange to know nothing.
And of this your secret most will lie
never to be so sure, safety.
I walk into a store; out over there
next too that place out yonder,
that same chamber of commerce,
billed as your next heart of America.
Of what is red and white or real,
blue some what like you, when I smile.
I ask the old balding tailor who speaks
with a fake french midwestern accent
I'm sure he is wankers and the worst of it.
I see the empty Rosetta stone case empty
But forced to prequalify again or so I feel,
Or Well, it does seem so: some where out here,
Someone must know about it so I ask the tailor.
In America so full of wankers, and if you ask them.
poem by Is It Poetry
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The Position
Appear too flashy...
they will gun for you.
If you try to look that trashy
they will run from you.
The more you try to hide
the more you'll stand out
the more you want, fighting to have
the more it is you'll do without.
All of it is superficial
aside from select, intuitive ones
who have done the math
crunched the numbers and
quality baked our 'sensory' buns!
Select ones...selected ourselves
bravado never assumed or intended.
Humility here in the message
we quietly make the transition..
turning it down just once, for effect
we have qualified to run the position!
poem by Robert Scott Cohn
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Cherry Stones for Kate
Tinker, Windsor castle,
Tailor, Savile Row,
Soldier, head of regiment,
Sailor, Heave-ho.
Rich man - very rich man,
Poor man - more's the pity.
Beggar man, beggars belief,
which of you will be the thief?
Tinker Tailor Soldier Sailor
Every marriage is a failure
yet marriage is a common fate.
These are cherry stones for Kate.
Poemcatcher Royal Wedding book, poem collected at StAnza in St Andrews
poem by Sally Evans
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Old scar, new scar
Old scar, new scar
Stitched together by excellent tailor
Old scar on the hand
New scar on the head
Same pain, different trouble
First came shock
Then hurt became blue
Blue’s gone leaving scar
Old scar, white scar
New scar, hidden well
When morning’s gone, nights always come
Craving old scar, leaving new scar
Old scar, new scar
Stitched together by excellent tailor
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Budget
It is alway not right to say cut
Your cloth according to your coat.
It is right to say cloth be collected
keeping in view the size of the coat.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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For A Poet
I have wrapped my dreams in a silken cloth,
And laid them away in a box of gold;
Where long will cling the lips of the moth,
I have wrapped my dreams in a silken cloth;
I hide no hate; I am not even wroth
Who found the earth's breath so keen and cold;
I have wrapped my dreams in a silken cloth,
And laid them away in a box of gold.
poem by Countee Cullen
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The Mirror in the Hall
The rich house had in the hall
An enormous mirror, very old;
Bought at least eighty years ago.
A very handsome boy, assistant at a tailor’s
(On Sundays an amateur athlete),
Was standing there with a parcel. He handed it
To someone of the house, and he took it inside
To fetch the receipt. The tailor’s assistant
Was left alone, and waited.
He went up to the mirror and began to look at himself
And put his tie straight. After five minutes
They brought him the receipt. He took it and went away.
But the old mirror which had seen, and seen,
In the many years it had been
In existence, thousands of things and faces;
The old mirror was glad now
And was proud to have received upon itself
That entire beauty for a few minutes.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Sizzling
Sizzle the cloth of its fibres,
To cut a razor you are unable to,
But it burns your fibres and the cloth,
As an open weapon of warfare
Like the fighting and the bands of people
Who die in war,
Who liven the place with guts and glory.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Ballad Of Tailor Nils
If you were born before yesterday,
Surely you've heard about Tailor Nils, who flaunts him so gay.
If it's more than a week that you've been here,
Surely you've heard how Knut Storedragen got a lesson severe.
Up on the barn of Ola-Per Kviste after a punchin':
"When Nils heaves you again, take with you some luncheon."
Hans Bugge, he was a man so renowned,
Haunting ghosts of his name spread alarm all around.
"Tailor Nils, where you wish to lie, now declare!
On that spot will I spit and lay your head right there."--
"Oh, just come up so near, that I know you by the scent!
Think not that by your jaw to earth I shall be bent!"
When first they met, 't was scarce a bout at all,
Neither man was ready yet to try to get a fall.
The second time Hans Bugge slipped his hold.
"Are you tired now, Hans Bugge? The dance will soon be bold."
The third time Hans fell headlong, and forth the blood did spurt.
"Why spit you now so much, man?" -- "Oh my, that fall did hurt!"--
Saw you a tree casting shadows on new-fallen snow?
Saw you Nils on a maiden smiling glances bestow?
Have you seen Tailor Nils when the dance he commences?
Are you a maiden, then go!--It's too late, when you've lost your senses.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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The Angels Above
Select the right action and thought,
To revel in nothing but divinity.
I have movement of the mathematical mind,
Of the blessings from an angelic man.
He is again in my heart as well as my head,
Like the ringing of wings, and the life of an animal.
He, the angel in question, is against my closure of philosophy,
In that it seeks ample pride in my scholarship.
You shall rid it of the wings when it has earned your pride,
For this pride is not the right action and thought
That you select. Choose it, and that which exists.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Serene
A sea of cloth on an early morning
A wooden boat afloat
The cloth of blue and gray clouds
Still touching
Hands and Lips
A man wearing a straw hat
A woman on green skirt watching
Him sail back,
A child cradled on her arms
Serene in sleep
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What Seemingly Is Vis-a-vis What Really Is
at the shop all the while what you may see is that
the two are merely haggling on a piece of cloth
a woman customer quite long asking for the right color
always asking the man that she does not like this and that
she feels the cloth silky on her hands above the man's hands
between the sheet as their mouths keep talking about the price
their eyes are speaking about something else hidden beneath
what she is really after all, she at her 40's widowed for 2 years
he at his 20's looking for a a sugar-coated mama.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Twixt And Between Ideals
Twixt and between ideals.
With a wish to select those most appealing.
And give a toss to the ones...
Many will not welcome to approve them done.
Some ideals are too complex.
Especially those that connect,
To self reflection and accountability.
They are the ones the most distasteful..
The ones more acceptable,
Are those with counterfeited empathy.
You know...that kind no one commits to,
But forges upon others to believe.
Twixt and between ideals.
With a wish to select those most appealing.
And give a toss to the ones...
Many will not welcome to approve them done.
At least not the ones,
Remotely associated with reality.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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