Fashion Imitates Courts Ritual Natures
peacocks proud strut catwalks
fashion imitates courts ritual natures
status hinges on dazzling displays
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Fashionable Body Parts
fashions medicines
periodically swallow
animal body parts
fashion trends may parade source zoo
fashion fetish wearing animal body parts
feathers furs skin oil perfumes styles
peacocks proud strut catwalks
fashion imitates courts ritual natures
status hinges on dazzling displays
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One who imitates what is bad always goes beyond his model; while one who imitates what is good always comes up short of it.
quote by Francesco Guicciardini
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nibbling On Crushed Hearts
Time spent in the hushing of dissidence,
Has not gained in their influence.
Nor has the sweetened taste of the flavor...
Forced upon the tongues of those misguided,
To tell yet more versions of diversified lies...
Or how to describe,
What to expect when the after affects take effect.
Nibbling on crushed hearts,
To munch with a sipping of deceit...
Stalks the catwalks of fashion.
And since it is Spring,
The Fall lineup being introduce to seduce...
Updates the look of coming attractions,
To entice an acceptance of more pain with treated traps.
Nibbling on crushed hearts,
To munch with a sipping of deceit...
Stalks the catwalks of fashion.
For a cheap duplication copied to apply,
As quickly as possible on urban streets...
Where a napping from reality has been complete.
Time spent in the hushing of dissidence,
Has not gained in their influence.
Nor has the sweetened taste of the flavor...
Forced upon the tongues of those misguided,
To tell yet more versions of diversified lies...
Or how to describe,
What to expect when the after affects take effect.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Hair
The ritual evanesced when we observed it,
The ritual completed when our lice grew.
The head was full of lice, I hear them and saw each of them,
Restraining the children with feet, the arms also.
Inexorable lice swayed in the hair of our heads
Until the ritual was entire.
What is this ritual?
The ritual is of the dressing of hair,
Or the cutting of hair by the hairdresser.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Her Strut
Words and music by bob seger
Shes totally committed
To major independence
But shes a lady through and through
She gives them quite a battle
All that they can handle
Shell bruise some
Shell hurt some too
But oh they love to watch her strut
Oh they do respect her but
They love to watch her strut
Sometimes theyll want to leave her
Just give up and leave her
But they would never play that scene
In spite of all her talking
Once she starts in walking
The lady will be all they ever dreamed
Oh theyll love to watch her strut
Oh theyll kill to make the cut
They love to watch her strut
Yeah love to watch her strut
Watch her strut
song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jungletime
Words and Music by Neil Diamond
Jungle time, time for the fight and it's time for the fury.
Jungle time, settin' it right and then takin' the glory,
Jungle time, rumble time,
baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby.
Strut your stuff, lay it all out like you don't care who knows it.
Strut your stuff, you keep your cool while the other guy blows it.
Strut your stuff, hangin' tough.
Baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby.
Jungle time, rumble time, tumble time.
Hey, I'm walkin' proud, me and the boys got a date with the angels.
Walkin' proud, we and them boys ain't exactly like strangers.
Walkin' proud, talkin' proud.
Baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby.
Jungle time, rumble time, tumble time.
Hey, I'm checkin' out, this ain't my style it it ain't my persuasion.
Checkin' out, guess I ain't built for this kind of occasion.
Checkin' out, steppin' out.
Mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama.
Jungle time, rough, tough, tumble time.
Jungle time rough, tough, tumble time
song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All that I desire to point out is the general principle that Life imitates Art far more than Art imitates Life.
quote by Oscar Wilde
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Three Verse Passages From A Prose Meditation
On verdurd trees ye silver blossoms grow
Whose leaves atop their perfect whiteness show
& faintly streak with stains of red below
The western breeze steales ore ye shady grove
to sigh near roses as insnard by love.
The waves pushed on by waves in mountains ly
Mixd with ye clouds ye Parent waters fly
& the cross'd winds roar hideous in ye sky
The east & west the south & north contend
While the vexd sea beneath is neithers friend
Above ye winds below the billows Jarr
& nature is become the seat of warr
Look how ye silent waters stealing by
With such smooth motions as deceive our eye
Returns ye pleasing pictures of ye sky
There shines ye sun with imitated rayes
her borrowd light ye paler moon displays
& ye cleare heavens wear an azure face
So lett thy temper due composure find
By all the modest rules that bound ye mind
That Whether fortune with a storm assails
Or Courts thy wishes with indulgent gales
No passion interpose a cloud between
But on thy bosome undisturbd within
May natures God & natures form [be seen]
poem by Thomas Parnell
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Art imitates life. Life imitates high school.
quote by Brad Holland
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paradoxically though it may seem, it is none the less true that life imitates art far more than art imitates life.
quote by Oscar Wilde
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love is the expansion of two natures in such fashion that each include the other, each is enriched by the other.
quote by Felix Adler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cant Get No Justice
black man
in them poverty chains
cant get no justice
in them sterile white courts.
blue collar man
in them grimy working chains
cant get no justice
in them insulated courts.
freedom man
in them speak out chains
cant get no justice
in them walled off courts.
poor woman, ha!
in them second class chains
cant get no justice
in them man-god courts.
you and me
in them angry tired chains
cant get no justice
in them fictional courts!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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To less skilled audience
Peacocks should not dance before peacocks.
They should dance before cocks.
Cocks should not dance before peacocks.
They should dance before ducks.
25.09.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Reason And Cause For Their Pain
Everyday!
Everyday as if a ritual,
Someone is complaining...
About being misunderstood.
Everyday as if a ritual,
Fault is being made...
About someone else.
Everyday as if a ritual,
People are accused...
For something they didn't do.
Everyday!
Everyday as if a ritual,
Some believes they have the right...
To excuse themselves of responsibility.
And everyday,
Someone is left to feel alone...
Still not getting the connection,
Between their misdeeds...
Aches and pains.
And those heartbreaks they receive,
They have come to perceive...
No one else has known!
And everyday without fail,
As sure as the ticking of a clock is heard...
These people will not see themselves,
The reason and cause for their pain.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Life imitates art far more than art imitates Life.
quote by Oscar Wilde
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Life imitates art more than art imitates life.
quote by Oscar Wilde
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Touch With Self
Status and who has it...
Isn't often in appearance detected.
Status and who has it...
May be influenced,
By one's ability...
To be in touch with self.
And many try to keep this out of reach.
Since a status had that one has and keeps,
Can not be taught to teach.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Ballad[e] Of Imitation
If they hint, O Musician, the piece that you played
Is nought but a copy of Chopin or Spohr;
That the ballad you sing is but merely 'conveyed'
From the stock of the Arnes and the Purcells of yore;
That there's nothing, in short, in the words or the score
That is not as out-worn as the 'Wandering Jew,'
Make answer-Beethoven could scarcely do more-
That the man who plants cabbages imitates, too!
If they tell you, Sir Artist, your light and your shade
Are simply 'adapted' from other men's lore;
That-plainly to speak of a 'spade' as a 'spade'-
You've 'stolen' your grouping from three or from four;
That (however the writer the truth may deplore),
'Twas Gainsborough painted your 'Little Boy Blue';
Smile only serenely-though cut to the core-
For the man who plants cabbages imitates, too!
And you too, my Poet, be never dismayed
If they whisper your Epic-'Sir Eperon d'Or'-
Is nothing but Tennyson thinly arrayed
In a tissue that's taken from Morris's store;
That no one, in fact, but a child could ignore
That you 'lift' or 'accommodate' all that you do;
Take heart-though your Pegasus' withers be sore-
For the man who plants cabbages imitates, too!
POSTSCRIPTUM-And you, whom we all so adore,
Dear Critics, whose verdicts are always so new!-
One word in your ear. There were Critics before . . .
And the man who plants cabbages imitates, too!
poem by Henry Austin Dobson
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Don't Putter In the Muck
Don't putter in the muck too much.
Give that up.
And learn to strut your stuff.
Don't putter in the muck too much.
Give that up.
And learn to strut your stuff.
Don't putter in the muck too much.
Give that up.
And learn to strut your stuff.
Pack that sad act you do,
And put it away!
Don't putter in the muck too much.
Give that up.
And learn to strut your stuff.
Don't putter in the muck too much.
Give that up.
And learn to strut your stuff.
Don't putter in the muck too much.
Give that up.
And learn to strut your stuff.
Pack that sad act you do...
And put it away!
Don't economize,
Your happiness.
One bit.
Give that up!
Don't apologize,
For an 'is' that 'is'
Don't quit.
OR give that up!
Don't get paralyzed,
When the lies fly.
And you realize
That the lies are all about you!
Just don't,
Putter in the muck too much.
Give that up.
And learn to strut your stuff.
Just don't,
Putter in the muck too much.
Give that up.
And learn to strut your stuff.
Pack that sad act you do...
And put it away!
Just don't,
Putter in the muck too much.
Give that up.
And learn to strut your stuff.
Pack that sad act you do...
And put it away!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Domination Of Black
At night, by the fire,
The colors of the bushes
And of the fallen leaves,
Repeating themselves,
Turned in the room,
Like the leaves themselves
Turning in the wind.
Yes: but the color of the heavy hemlocks
Came striding.
And I remembered the cry of the peacocks.
The colors of their tails
Were like the leaves themselves
Turning in the wind,
In the twilight wind.
They swept over the room,
Just as they flew from the boughs of the hemlocks
Down to the ground.
I heard them cry -- the peacocks.
Was it a cry against the twilight
Or against the leaves themselves
Turning in the wind,
Turning as the flames
Turned in the fire,
Turning as the tails of the peacocks
Turned in the loud fire,
Loud as the hemlocks
Full of the cry of the peacocks?
Or was it a cry against the hemlocks?
Out of the window,
I saw how the planets gathered
Like the leaves themselves
Turning in the wind.
I saw how the night came,
Came striding like the color of the heavy hemlocks
I felt afraid.
And I remembered the cry of the peacocks.
poem by Wallace Stevens
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