Blue jeans are the most beautiful things since the gondola.
quote by Diana Vreeland
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jeans On
When I wake up in the mornin light
I pull on my jeans and I feel all right
I pull my blue jeans on, I pull my old blue jeans on
I pull my blue jeans on, I pull my old blue jeans on
Its the weekend, and I know that youre free
So pull on your jeans and come on out with me
Oh cause I need to have you near me,
I need to feel you close to me
I need to have you near me, I need to feel you close to me
You and me, well go motorbike ridin in the sun
And the wind and the rain
I got money in my pocket, I got a tiger in my tank
And Im king of the road again
Ill meet ya in the usual place
You dont need a thing except your pretty face, alright
I pull my blue jeans on, I pull my old blue jeans on
I pull my blue jeans on, I pull my old blue jeans on
Aw, here we go mama
You and me, well go motorbike ridin in the sun
And the wind and the rain
I got money in my pocket, I got a tiger in my tank
And Im king of the road again
When I wake up in the mornin light
I pull on my jeans and I feel all right
Hey I pull my blue jeans on, I pull my old blue jeans on
I pull my blue jeans on, I pull my old blue jeans on
I pull my blue jeans on, I pull my old blue jeans on
I pull my blue jeans on, I pull my old blue jeans on
song performed by by Keith Urban
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Blue Jeans I Remember
the blue jeans i remember
after a very cold season
in that coconut farm
tight blue jeans
smelling my swelling
legs
and dirty with saline
taste
unwashed in the corner
of my room
i always see your
warm hands
sliding
inside them
damn blue jeans
spare my sanity!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Venetian Night
Her eyes in the darkness shone, in the twilight shed
By the gondola bent like the darkness over her head.
Softly the gondola rocked, lights came and went;
A white glove shone as her black fan lifted and leant
Where the silk of her dress, the blue of a bittern's wing,
Rustled against my knee, and, murmuring
The sweet slow hesitant English of a child,
Her voice was articulate laughter, her soul smiled.
Softly the gondola rocked, lights came and went;
From the sleeping houses a shadow of slumber leant
Over our heads like a wing, and the dim lagoon,
Rustling with silence, slumbered under the moon.
Softly the gondola rocked, and a pale light came
Over the waters, mild as a silver flame;
She lay back, thrilling with smiles, in the twilight shed
By the gondola bend like the darkness over her head;
I saw her eyes shine subtly, then close awhile:
I remember her silence, and, in the night, her smile.
poem by Arthur Symons
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Tiger eyes
Beautiful blue, tiger eyes,
You’ll reign on me once more.
For your heart I will remain,
‘til you forget what came before.
Beautiful blue, a cloudy blue,
A smoke screened, lazy stare.
I beg that you just look at me
I need to know you care.
Beautiful blue, a brighter blue,
I see it in your eyes.
As you stand there, in front of me,
Stripped naked are the lies.
Beautiful blue, a soulless blue,
So much is lost inside.
I fear that when I find you
Fear and loathing shall reside.
Beautiful blue, a complex blue,
Life threw at you a twist.
You won’t feel that things are changing,
‘til you believe you should exist.
Beautiful blue, my baby’s blue,
We lay still on the floor.
For your heart I will remain
Until you reign on me once more.
poem by B. Sheldrick
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Blue Jean
Blue jean-i just met me a girl named blue jean
Blue jean-she got a camouflaged face and no money
Remember they always let you down when you need em
Oh, blue jean-is heaven any sweeter than blue jean
She got a police bike
She got a turned up nose
Sometimes I feel like
(oh, the whole human race)
Jazzin for blue jean
(oh, and when my blue jeans blue)
Blue jean can send me
(oh, somebody send me)
Somebody send me
(oh, somebody send me)
One day Im gonna write a poem in a letter
One day Im gonna get that faculty together
Remember like everybody has to wait in line
Blue jean-look out world you know Ive got mine
She got latin roots
She got everything
Sometimes I feel like
(oh, the whole human race)
Jazzin for blue jean
(oh, and when my blue jeans blue)
Blue jean can tempt me
(oh, somebody send me)
Somebody sent me
(oh, somebody send me)
Sometimes I feel like
(oh, the whole human race)
Jazzin for blue jean
(oh, and when my blue jeans blue)
Blue jean can tempt me
(oh, somebody send me)
Somebody sent me
(oh, somebody send me)
Somebody somebody
(oh, somebody send me)
Oh, somebody send me
(oh, somebody send me)
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Along the river
Water bends, rolls down
to fiind a place to banks,
waves break by stones
and curl up around them,
yellow poplars,
that watch the river, tremble,
drooping willows wash their locks
in hesitating water.
I remember how I was fishing
under shaded banks
with my friends.
Fishes were avoiding my fishing rod
and were inviting me to the competition with them.
From the river that winds tremblingly,
I hear melancholic verse of the natives
gone to the fishing with the boat.I have felt asleep.
It has seemed to me that a beautiful gondola with a miraculous fairy
has crossed the river.
I was charmed by the beauty of the fairy
that has glittered on the lustre of the water.
On the bank, I have done token to the gondola
and the oarsman has brought the gondola near the bank.
At the light of the torch, I have caught the hand of the fairy
and I have invited her on the bank.
A spark has died out in her heart,
bugle of silver has blown long
the disappearance of the gondola.
The fishers from the village have woken me up:
„ It was getting late.You have to go home”.
poem by Valentin Gabriel Cristea
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Envy Looks Restlessly
blue jeans, yes, the blue
in the jeans, the jeans
i claim that it is all that i see,
but i may go on a deeper
exploration of this
introspection, there was
something fleshy
under the blueness of the jeans
something dark
like the color of the night
filled with
desires that one wants
to spell correctly,
there is the hand there
resting
and with a permission
since it stays there for
a longer time
unhampered
their eyes are smiling
and they were telling me
about
the art of letting go
and sending out the doves
free finally from their
decorated cage
at the end i always
ask
what did i feel?
frankly, i may say
nothing, but let me explore
the secret room inside my house,
envy is there
wide awake and wanting to go
out of itself
towards the darkness of the night
and the coldness
of the typhoon air
envy looks out of the
window
and it is very restless
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Azul....
Shades of blue confronts the
man in blue, so blue, but not
electric blue, the blue in faded jeans
saddening blue, the blue in marble,
glossy, but sadder still, the faint
blue of a heavy sky, laden with rain
some restraints, falling suppressed,
the blue in that deserted lagoon,
those blue Spanish eyes gone,
the navy blue without an address,
the blue lips, lesser in oxygen
content,
the bluebird perched upon a twig,
kingfisher blue without a fish,
a blue heart, pastel blue shirt
torn blue, blues, blue bruises....
the puerto azul....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Meandering
Meandering
The moon tonight looks like a golden gondola sailing on a black sea
only casting anchor at dawn. I remember a gondola trip in Venice
grey water, cabbage, onions and apple peels, I wished the gondolier
had been quieter. I sailed across the Black Sea once, from Georgia
To the Dardanelles, and sea was frosty white.
We anchored just outside Istanbul waiting for clearance, small boats
came sold us sweet wine and liqueurs. After an endless journey on
an old ship we drank too much and got sick, but for a few hours we
forgot about the poverty of our wretched life.
An endless voyage to Reykjavik, Iceland, the sea around the island
was dark blue. But the beer there was so insipid that we had no chance
to forget our misery. Moon, it has no business looking like a gondola,
it is a balloon. So bring in the empty horses; suave was David Niven
you couldn’t see he was acting his socks off.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Beautiful Blue Eyes
Blue eyes so full of life
A wonder all of their own
So beautiful and precious
Oh to see those eyes smile
Such a beautiful sight
How I love to look into those eyes
When I look into them
A kind of peace comes over me
Beautiful blue eyes
Always haunting me
...teasing me
Reminding me of what I want...can't have
Why do they haunt me so
When will I be free of them
Constantly held captive by those blue eyes
Beautiful blue eyes
Always there
A reminder of what I want...can't have
Such beautiful blue eyes
Beautiful blue eyes...
poem by Grace Hays
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Beautiful Blue
Those true blue eyes
as cool as ice they freeze my poor heart
yet warm as skies whem stormclouds part
Those beautiful eyes
remind me of beaches I've only seen in dreams
and vast as the reaches of the purest streams
Those beautiful blue, blue eyes
are as deep as any ocean
but calm, with friendly notion
All these things I see in you
But can they see inside me too,
Those beautiful blue?
I wish I knew...
poem by Jason Cline
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O’ Woman In Jeans
O’woman in jeans
you are modern
you are not bound in chains like
that one in saree
O‘ woman in jeans
you work and work
you don't need that multitude of suits with dupattas
few pairs of top and jeans is enough
O’ woman in jeans
you look more curvy more sensuous
even when you are fully covered
your hips your bust is far more powerful
than one in saree, in stiched suits
O’ woman in jeans
you can move you can run
you need no excuse like
that head covered women
you can thwart the attempts of rapist
O’ woman in jeans
you look sensuous
you look commanding
you look proud
you need not to play submissive
O woman in jeans
poem by Pawan Sharma
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Objectified
All beautiful things meet their demise
Flowers in bloom surely will die
Frozen are the wings of the dead butterfly
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
Clouds of gray spoil the light of the skies
The ocean must fall in order to rise
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
I knew I was doomed when you first said, “Hi.”
Two ships in the night, we were bound to collide
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
Four months can pass in the blink of an eye
We lose ourselves without having to try
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
The simplest words become hard to define
You can’t see the truth when you cover your eyes
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
Your pay the price to take this ride
Slowly, you find that you’re living a lie
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
Pictures of us will fade over time
We become strangers in a world so wide
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
You’ll keep on searching for what you won’t find
You’ll lose your faith while I lose my mind
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
Sometimes your morals get left behind
It will be too late when you realize
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
poem by Vaida Marea
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I have jeans with holes in them and I have nice jeans. I have casual and I have dressy jeans. I've got all kinds.
quote by Amanda Seyfried
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lookism
Black hair,
Blonde hair,
Brown hair,
And blue,
Earrings,
And nose rings,
And belly rings too,
Skinny jeans,
Baggy jeans,
Purple checkered and
Colored jeans too.
Looks and more looks
Are everywhere you look.
Their on TV
And in real life.
They are in church
And on the street.
We’re always concerned with our looks cuz they are all around.
They define
Loser
And punk
To preppy and
Rich.
What you look like describes your personality.
But why?
If you where tight jeans why must you be skater?
Of if you wear your hair black,
Why must you be punk or Goth?
It is all just in our heads,
You can wear tight jeans and be Goth,
Or black hair and be prep,
Why are looks so defining?
Because we make them so.
Why do people do this?
Hell if I know.
It is all just a mirage.
None of its real.
So why are looks such a big deal?
Why do we try and make believe,
If you look like that then you must be this?
There is no point to this strange behavior.
So lets stop this lookism and just get to someone despite how they look.
poem by BlackXWhiteFeathers Raven Mendez
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Ignorance Is Beautiful
She taught me two things,
‘Ignorance and Beautiful.'
One day, she told me,
'Let me tell you,
The meaning of Beautiful.
God is beautiful,
Nature is beautiful,
Life is beautiful,
Love is beautiful,
Care is beautiful,
Share is beautiful,
Understanding is beautiful,
Trust is beautiful,
Faith is beautiful,
Passion is beautiful,
Compassion is beautiful,
Air is beautiful,
Water is beautiful,
Earth is beautiful,
Fire is beautiful,
Energy is beautiful,
Here is beautiful,
There is beautiful,
Everywhere is beautiful,
Everyone is beautiful,
Everything is beautiful.'
I had to intervene,
'Looks the universe is beautiful,
But what is most beautiful? '
The reply comes full and straight,
'Ignorance is awesomely beautiful.'
Copyright © 2012 Sanjeev Kumar
poem by Sanjeev Kumar
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Forever In Blue Jeans
Written by: neil diamond and richard bennet
Money talks
But it dont sing and dance
And it dont talk
As long as I can have you here with me
Id much rather be
Forever in blue jeans
Honey is sweet
But it aint nothing next to babys treat
And if youll pardon me
Id like to say
Well do okay
Forever in blue jeans
Maybe tonight
Maybe tonight by the fire
All alone you and i
Nothing around but the sound
Of my heart and your sighs
Money talks
But it dont sing and dance
And it cant walk
As long as I can have you here with me
Id much rather be
Forever in blue jeans
And honey is sweet
But it aint nothing next to babys treat
And if youll pardon me
Id like to say
Well do okay
Forever in blue jeans
Maybe tonight
Maybe tonight by the fire
All alone you and i
Nothing around but the sound
Of my heart and your sighs
song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Personal History and Mythology of Blue Jeans
In the old movies,
The women wore
Skirts and dresses.
Marilyn Monroe,
In “River of No Return”,
Had on tight blue jeans.
Mom wore dresses.
(Did women have legs,
Or were they
Like mermaids under there?
And why did they leave
a toilet full of blood, sometimes?)
In the mid ‘50s
She got some tight pants,
With green, vertical lines
And some kind of flower pattern.
She had legs, and an ass.
(toosie, she'd taught us to call it,
A word that sounds like a cushion.)
I felt embarrassed when she wore them.
Then she got a denim skirt.
“It looks like blue jeans! ”
Said my brother Fred.
It did, with stitched, white
Pockets on the rear.
I felt I’d die, that eyes,
My own included,
Would rivet on Mother’s ass.
Blue jeans were for boys.
(Our mythologies, they say,
Determine how we dress—
In this case, how our parents
Dressed us, after the War,
In cities and in suburbs,
Little cowboys everywhere,
Kicking soccer balls
And sliding slides,
Who’d never plowed a field
Or herded cows.
I fantasized of boys, back then,
For blue jeans x-rayed bodies
With their pockets
And their rivets
And their stitches.
“This is beyond
Naked, ” I’d say to myself,
Wondering “Why isn’t it
Against the law? ”
Of course, I never asked aloud.)
And then, in junior high,
One shapely girl
started wearing
Tight blue jeans.
She found the secret first.
(Maybe she’d seen
“River of No Return”.)
Today, half the women
Who walk into the coffee shop
Are clad in that blue intrigue.
After 40 years of contemplation,
My mind still cannot penetrate
The intrigue and the mystery
Or dethrone the mythology
Of those streamlined bodies
That help to bring my world alive,
though clothed
In its illusions.
Euonia For Blok
things beautiful
some things,
beautiful things like
blooms of booms
flumes of flames in fumes
things beautiful, of all
things beautiful, so beautiful
so near, yet
so untouched, you look around
for things so beautiful
bloomings of boomings boozing
a, e, i, o, u
love love love lovely love
lovingly loving love loved
lastly this lust asking: love do you still love me?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There are things in American culture that want to wipe the class distinction. Blue jeans. Ready-made clothes. Coca-Cola.
quote by Leslie Fiedler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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