Masks, clothes and other suchlike covers...

I have been thinking for a long time about exploring the topic of clothes and masks, but been unable to settle to write it out. Prompted by I don't know what yesterday I wrote this on ee's thread:

hip shoot - mask


Autumn days are comin'
lazy days
crazy days
hazy days for lovin'
long-legged lymphatic
soaking the sun
that drug of the active
taken open-mouthed
intravenously
or as a direct
adrenaline
to the heart
unnoticed except
for the glow
of the eyes
behind
the mask.

Click to expand...

I'd like to write more to explore further and wondered if anyone else felt like joining in or bouncing or simply adding their thoughts. You don't have to have an urge to explore like mine, just feel free to do whatever takes your fancy.

Everyone's welcome.

on the fly..

behind masks and feathers
socialists sculpt in wires
and thought
morphing serpents path
into a web of clothed bodies
willing to trade freeflight
for appearance

one of those quickies...

.
.
.
hip shoot - appearance

They say appearances
are deceiving. The nun
clothed in habit
hides her body
and her mind, under
the confines of a wealth
of material. Peel
the black and white layers
away and underneath
you see what the mirrors hide
when you avoid
looking at yourself.
.
.
.

hair mask

We bought clippers
for the failing corp
on my head
wifey does the cutting
working best after
two Mount Gays with coke

reaching the point of
who gives a shit
mades me a better man
no hat hair, no comb to loose
no nest to tend on windy days

Strip me of the shackles that bind my body
naked to the world I stand
freedom to move unrestricted

wrestling buttons
and tuggin at snaps
whipped by the buckle
and laying on my back

Strip me of my thoughts that bind my mind
naked to thinking like a man
freedom to embrace nothing

shaking my head
tapping my temple
quinting my eyes
thoughtless is not simple

shackles you say? hmm

shackled to the house,

shackled to a thought

shackled to the clothes

shackled to the actions

to sandspike's haircut...



We hide behind our fringe
or bangs, they're all alike.
Just hair that hangs
in various forms that delight.
Long, or short, just-woke-up,
or set. it doesn't matter really
it's simply what you get.

The job requires a suit and tie.
White shirt, black shoes
chin up and forget that sty.
Cover the yolk that dripped
on the tie by donning a jacket
the nearest in the rack,
pinstriped, white and black.
Step fast along the sidewalk
the meeting is soon. Left,
right, left, right, the major's
platoon. Exit left, avoid
the stairwell, take the lift
and leave the stark
confines of the foyer
to those who favour
the tasteless
flavour of morning.

.
.
.

sunshades, shields
from the sun and other eyes
that pin personal thoughts
to the boards of the mind
like a lepidopterist.
.
.
.

The eyepatch was black and solid against a tanned face, forcing him to focus straight ahead, to avoid catching sight of her and her eyes that could see directly into his soul. Maybe he could look at her, maybe with only one eye she wouldn't see how his heart had shattered. Lifting his chin, his eye caught hers and he knew she read him like the street maps he avoided.

It's all a masquerade really,
though for their faces the masks
are behind their eyes, blocking
the soul from sight. The heels
and satin, gloves and lipstick
all an act, a facade
to hold that tender
heart within a cage
in safety from the battering
blows of uncaring others.

hmm

.
.

She dons the plain gold cross
and covets the safety
of being wrapped
and armed. Grace fills her soul
and calm steadies
her footsteps
as she journeys from dawn
to dusk.
.
.

Bravado
Confidence
Joy

Fear
Loathing
Sadness

Depends on which side of the mask you're on

why does he hide behind glasses?

or, does he think i'm afraid of mirrors?

does he need power over me?

can he see that i am able to stare
at myself for a long time, and enjoy the view?

is he even aware that whilst i keep eye contact,
i keep it with myself?

why is he afraid of me?

The Mask That Hides

The Mask That Hides

In front the mirror she sits and looks,
Her hair blonde, with darkened roots.
Her little girl in wonder watches,
As she covers wrinkles and blotches.

She is an artist in her own perfection,
Choosing from her make-up collection.
Tints to refresh her tired face,
Adding beauty as well as grace.

Hints of peach and apple blossom pinks,
Highlights her features, blushes her cheeks.
Thin lips outlined, not with garish reds,
But of lilac, to soften life’s aging threads.

Eye shadow, a touch of pastel blue,
Giving a fresh sparkle, and life a new,
To eyes that know both joy and pain
Of sunny days, and tormenting rain.

This make-up but a mask that hides.
Her soul within that so often cries.
But for a while it doesn’t show,
To those outside, they’ll never know.

Now her daughter’s eyes open wide,
As this Mask her mother’s age hides
And just for a little while,
All will see, her perfect smile…

that's beautiful Alan, thank you.


jeans - waffle

hanging from the hips
crotch at the knees
hems dragging on the ground behind
chewing gum wadded in the cheek
cap on backwards
sunnies covering the face

tight fitted
legs splitted
and seams that can be seen right around
tiny top
large loop earrings
bag for the hand, hanging low

belted up tight
belly over the top
strained seams that might split in an instant
white shirt
open collar
denim jacket and ciggy hanging from the mouth

wriggle them on
lay on the bed for the zip
check the back in the mirror when going out
jacket and purse
heels and makeup
out on the town to a club

dress them up
with a black satin top
or polo and jacket and aftershave
taxi and wine
dine and dance
home again, in with a chance

dress them down
shirt knotted at the waist
belly button pieced for show
shop at the mall
stand out
hair dyed, tatts dried, so cool.

Jeans (Strides)

faded blue
worn, thread bare
that dusty hue
worn without a care

the butts ripped
torn at the knee
waist slipped
belly fancy free

seams split
from knee to foot
a clinging fit
dont give a hoot

fly zipp busted
held by pins
not really trusted
for their sins

jeans or strides
call what you may
a garment that hides
yet has all to say...

Passing out the door
I grab all the usual
things...keys, coat,
hat, and doublecheck for
the wallet in my back pocket,
but fail to glance at
the hallway mirror and
set out into public open
and exposed to all.

My Erotic Trail said:

Strip me of the shackles that bind my body
naked to the world I stand
freedom to move unrestricted

wrestling buttons
and tuggin at snaps
whipped by the buckle
and laying on my back

Strip me of my thoughts that bind my mind
naked to thinking like a man
freedom to embrace nothing

shaking my head
tapping my temple
quinting my eyes
thoughtless is not simple

Click to expand...

thoughtless minds tend
to grow strangely stagnant
with the whipperwhilling
of emotions masked
behind closed doors
of not home
anymore. vacant eyes,
vittles left uneaten,
shot glass stands
at attention, now or later
your last chance
behind the mask, all
is clear ~

...

What thread binds us

When it began it was but a single spun silken strand.
Then woven to another:and the trap began. It was set
to our regret to catch each one the other. As the subtle web
again gains strength:we bind ourselves ever tighter.

Til we rebel in vain; have we gone insane? Our bonds unnoticed
now have grown from simple silken threads to rope;and finally as
life would have it to our ever lengthening chains. Dare we hope this
course can change or as we wither and die does our bindings tighten
and crush the imortal soul we protect within.

She hides behind a layer
tender features out of sight
silken and soft like no other
yet pale if compared.


Buried even deeper
lies yet another layer
a face you cannot see
void not showing
even unveiled she can hide
Not wanting to be seen.

his eyes close in that indefinable
way when he chooses
to switch his mind off,
to switch off the element
that heats his emotions
to a rolling boil.
not one feature moves,
no twitch, nor recognition,
no blink nor eye dilation.
immovable.
impenetrable.
safe, behind
his glass mask.

fiddling ~~~

immovable:
steadfast - solid, unmoving, still, statue, marble, concrete,
stubborn - blinded, resilient, determined, bull-headed
stationary - still, unmoving, static, cemented

his eyes close
as he chooses
to switch his mind off,
to switch off the element
that heats his emotions
to a rolling boil.
not one feature moves,
eyebrows cemented,
rock carved mouth
chiselled eyes blind
no twitch, nor recognition,
no blink nor eye dilation.
immovable.
impenetrable.
safe, behind
his glass mask.

chiselled eyes are blind
to elements that heat
his emotions to a rolling boil


yick too many adjectives.

chisselled eyes blinded
to elements that heat emotions

still don't like it

stone eyes don't see
the elements that heat his temper

not one feature moves,
eyebrows cemented,
rock carved mouth

try...
brows of cement
mouth of rock

no twitch, nor recognition,
no blink nor eye dilation.

hmm maybe keep it for the moment.

no twitch, nor recognition,
no blink nor eye dilation.


immovable.
impenetrable.
safe, behind
his glass mask.



stone eyes don't see
the elements that heat
his temper
brows of cement
mouth of rock
no twitch, nor recognition,
no blink nor eye dilation.
immovable.
impenetrable.
safe, behind
his glass mask.


re-arranging...

Stone eyes don't see
the elements that heat
his temper.
No twitch, nor recognition,
no blink nor eye dilation.
Brows of cement,
mouth of rock.
Immovable.
Impenetrable.
Safe. Behind
the glass mask.

Shy Beauty

Look for the amethyst in the dolomite core
and then you'll understand
the beauty of a heart can shine in even
the ugliest of stones.

Seek the tiger's eye grain in the centre
of a grey barked maple
and see the beauty of the golden hued
smoothness of the future veneer.

That small brown pupa in the middle
of your warm and gentle palm
holds the glory of the butterfly
in it's ugly little shell.

It's hard to know what will yield a treasure.
Perhaps looking for the beauty that you can hear
in a soft laugh or feel in a gentle touch
will lead us to the joy that's hidden behind sight.

champagne1982 said:

Shy Beauty

Look for the amethyst in the dolomite core
and then you'll understand
the beauty of a heart can shine in even
the ugliest of stones.

Seek the tiger's eye grain in the centre
of a grey barked maple
and see the beauty of the golden hued
smoothness of the future veneer.

That small brown pupa in the middle
of your warm and gentle palm
holds the glory of the butterfly
in it's ugly little shell.

It's hard to know what will yeild a treasure.
Perhaps looking for the beauty that you can hear
in a soft laugh or feel in a gentle touch
will lead us to the joy that's hidden behind sight.

Click to expand...

now that's given me food for thought.

champagne1982 said:

Shy Beauty

Look for the amethyst in the dolomite core
and then you'll understand
the beauty of a heart can shine in even
the ugliest of stones.

Seek the tiger's eye grain in the centre
of a grey barked maple
and see the beauty of the golden hued
smoothness of the future veneer.

That small brown pupa in the middle
of your warm and gentle palm
holds the glory of the butterfly
in it's ugly little shell.

It's hard to know what will yeild a treasure.
Perhaps looking for the beauty that you can hear
in a soft laugh or feel in a gentle touch
will lead us to the joy that's hidden behind sight.

Click to expand...

This is beautiful... Content, composition and presentation... Brilliant

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v636/Spiritofkahn/012_hands_clap.gif