A picture poetry challenge thread.

[bronzeage]

Someone asked for a new challenge, or maybe revival of an old challenge. I have been looking through my files, but I can imagine the reaction to any pic I thought was worth saving. However, I kept at it, carefully examining several hundred images of the past few days. I wanted a pic which would provide material for everyone. Some poets like to describe sunsets and flowers, others want some drama in the story. This pic gives a little of each.

The title of this photo is "Alexander McQueen Died For Your Sins" but it does not have to be the title of the poem.

http://poorlydressed.files.wordpress.com/2011/07/fashion-fail-the-disco-ball-has-come-to-life.jpg

 

[butters]

Someone asked for a new challenge, or maybe revival of an old challenge. I have been looking through my files, but I can imagine the reaction to any pic I thought was worth saving. However, I kept at it, carefully examining several hundred images of the past few days. I wanted a pic which would provide material for everyone. Some poets like to describe sunsets and flowers, others want some drama in the story. This pic gives a little of each.

The title of this photo is "Alexander McQueen Died For Your Sins" but it does not have to be the title of the poem.

http://poorlydressed.files.wordpress.com/2011/07/fashion-fail-the-disco-ball-has-come-to-life.jpg

actually - removed. it contains some personal material i'm probably not right to divulge.

......

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Well I've got the first line then stuck solid, which probably means I've been too long without writing

She stands, pivoted, the ghost of things to come?

 

[bronzeage]

Why do you hate me, Mr. McQueen?
With an attitude most disdainful,
you put me in shoes most painful
and the most hideous dress ever seen.

At your feet is where this is laid.
I appear as something not human
lacking all fashion sense and acumen
and I wear them only because I am paid.

 

[butters]

for now, at least, since the press already has the information

lee was a pink sheep
used to the strap
that cutting-kindness
offered to the kids
by the taxi-driving shepherd
who never understood him
not the way mother did

but who mellowed
so suddenly
with the money
and the fame the
pink sheep trailed behind him
a golden fleece
as he trod the runway of talent
as he pulled himself up
by diamanté bootstraps

lee loved his mum
but broke his siblings' hearts when he

went into the closet
and his old man weeps
over and over
sorry for himself
striped in shame
that the pink sheep refused
to leave him any golden eggs
when he shut the door
when he went away









-----------------------
i don't know if i overworked this by adding the 'golden fleece', but hope not, and wonder if the 'golden eggs' - financial independence - clash too much as an image when matched with the sheep imagery.

le sigh.

 

[Tzara]

Alexander McQueen Died For Your Sins

I cawn’t believe how steep these steps are—
Damn Alexander and his shoes!
At least I’ve railings, wall, and posture
Quite enough to fake His Muse.
(Though spangled, star-like, I am leaning
Rightwards to the wall, which seeming-
Ly conjoins me with the Sun,
A Rupert publicación.)

Still, I’m a model. Thin. My walk’s worth,
Oh, several thousand pounds at least,
And much more if my agent greased
The paparazzi. I’m just bared earth:

I wear Mick’s clothes; I runway run.
His profits fire like Gatling gun.

 

[butters]

alexander mcqueen died for our sins

venal, shiny things we are
where a pose is offered -
a substitute rose in a long-stemmed vase
and a social-comment proffered
to the thinner glitterati
who never see past what's in front of their eyes
or up their noses
but who'll pay through them, anyway,
worshiping false idols
till bored
when we'd rather nail them to hypocrisy's cross.

to die young is to avoid the sickening malaise
ensures being set in a platinum mount
when you're tired of mounting platinums set on fame

 

[Remec]

Off the rack

Plain and simple,
that's the way I like it.
Food, music, even my
tastes in reading, movies,
and television (especially
that--my Nielsen booklets
are probably terribly dry
things to read through).

All of which, of course, is
neither here not there when
we talk of wardrobe, and a
sense of fashion is, in fact,
the main affront that my
joyous simplicity makes to
the world as a whole.

That Alexander McQueen died for
our sins is just one more thing
to feel guilty of when out shopping
for more things to fill out the spaces
in my bureau drawers and hanging
racks, but he wouldn't have been
the first designer I did in.

I mean, have you seen
my closet?

 

[greenmountaineer]

For Greater Standing in Fashion

.............

 

[greenmountaineer]

For Greater Standing in Fashion

Dao-ming sat near Tiananmen Square,
practicing English with the tourists
as she did for thirty years
in order to sell her trinkets.

She opened up the Arts and Design
Section of the censored Times,
bartered from a businessman,
to read about a Mr. McQueen

"whose star spangled platform boots amaze,
grotesquely swollen like giant hooves
on point like ballet slippers,"
detailed a certain Mr. Cotter.

Dao-ming fractured her face with disdain
and thought of Mandarin haute-couture
that before The Great Leap Forward
fractured her feet but not her brother's

and how she now wiles away hours,
waiting for her niece and nephew
who today like every day
wheel her to their father for supper.

 

[NeonSubtlety]

Alexander Mcqueen Died For Your Sins


Glow on me. Stare down my sequins
so that I may reflect a ball of fabulous.

Grow on me. Hold tight those eyes
to my translucent, home-body epidermis.

know me. Find my focal-point fascination
in the soft-spots of your hard childhood.

Flow through me. Prey on the gambits
that may find you on your own red carpet.

I am the best parts of you. Alexander Mcqueen,
patron saint of wallflowers and the last-picked.