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Abigail Breslin

I want to do wardrobe. I want to do hair. I want to do makeup. I want to do writing. I want to do directing. I want to do all of it. I like it. And I want to do producing.

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Hairy Woes

(This not a poem. One day I thought whether I could write about hair problems and this is what I could come up with. Have a good hair day.)

Oh all the balding men of the world! Neither split your hair nor let your hair down; instead, get up to fight against hair experts and hair industries because, you have nothing to loss except hairs, which you are already losing anyway.

The scientific study published in, 'International Journal of Fake Studies', has proven beyond doubt that, all kinds of hairs and particularly black hairs, absorb sun light and thus indirectly contribute to the global warming whereas, shining bald pates reflect sun light back into the atmosphere, thus help to make earth’s climate cool. So taking these facts in account, bald persons should be given the tax rebate in form of carbon credits whereas, high taxation should be levied on persons with hair for leaving carbon footprints behind.

It is true my friend, that you are paying the tax as well as losing your hair, but try to imagine a plight of less fortunate ones, who neither earn enough money to pay the tax nor have enough hair to loss.

'Son! Why do you worry about your hair problems; get me mustards seeds from the home, that doesn't have hair problems', thus spake enlightened sage, hearing which young man became calm.

The biggest cause of hair fall, dandruff and other hair related problems is existence of hair.

No person with hair on his head, can solve all your hair problems, neither can the person without hair.

As, not all the armies of the world, can stop the idea whose time has come so, not all the hair experts can stem the progress of baldness, whose time has come.

Only two things are universal, hair problems and human stupidity, but I have doubt about former, thus spake Einstein of hair science.

Not all the trichologists, dermatologists and hair experts together, armed with shampoos, hair oils, hair dyes and herbal ointments can cure all the hair ailments, as long as hairs are there.

As long as hairs are there, there are going to be hair problems, similarly as long as shrinks are there, there are going to be mental problems.

The hair industry expands their business by perpetuating the two myths, first is there are more hair at unwanted place and other is, there are less hair at desired place.

Hair here, hair there, hair everywhere similarly: problem here, problem there, problem everywhere.

He fell in love with her hair and married the whole girl, soon he was without hair.

In early part of his life man losses his hair to earn money then he uses same money to gain hair back.

Don't bask in a glory of the hair, you used to have in past, instead tell me, do you have gorgeous hair now?

There is some truth in a myth that the bald men are fortunate; to begin with, they don't have to spend their fortune on comb, hair products, hair cuts and last but not least girls.

There are more blondes on streets of India than women of the rest of the world put together; thanks to Garnier. Take Care.

White hair is nothing but a flag hoisted by a tired life, signaling armistice with hostile time, which eventually leads to surrender to the death.

Blessed are the monks who shave their hair themselves, a symbol of a vanity of the world, because nature is going to destroy that vanity eventually anyhow.

Oh Sinner! Vain is your attempt to hide your sins, for sins will shine in your life as bald pate shines through the sparse tufts of hair.

It is irony that the monks who do not care for their hair often have beautiful and luxuriant hair.

Trees are nothing but hair of Gaia, the earth; if you destroy, them then earth too would take her revenge by creating conditions, that won't allow the hair to stay on your crown.

More often than not, one owns heir are responsible for one owns hair fall.

If you cannot prevent hair fall, enjoy it.

[...] Read more

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Truth and the Devil

The devil unstoppably took pride in salaciously writing; the book of
obnoxious caste-creed and venomously penalizing hatred,

The devil unstoppably took pride in acrimoniously writing; the book of
indiscriminate bloodshed and disastrously traumatizing ruthlessness,

The devil unstoppably took pride in vengefully writing; the book of
tyrannical devastation and lecherously bellicose orphaning,

The devil unstoppably took pride in fretfully writing; the book of
vindictive war and satanically criminal holocausts,

The devil unstoppably took pride in maliciously writing; the book of
coldblooded barbarism and manipulatively bizarre malice,

The devil unstoppably took pride in forlornly writing; the book of
worthless
ghosts and mortuaries brutally anointed with fresh blood,

T The devil unstoppably took pride in indigently writing; the book of
nonchalant spuriousness and fecklessly insipid meaninglessness,

The devil unstoppably took pride in torturously writing; the book of
ominous
animosity and hedonistically pugnacious illwill,

The devil unstoppably took pride in dictatorially writing; the book of
licentious bawdiness and insanely threadbare nothingness,

The devil unstoppably took pride in heinously writing; the book of
lascivious poverty and baselessly crippling uncertainty,

The devil unstoppably took pride in savagely writing; the book of
despicable
defeat and lethally ballistic atrociousness,

The devil unstoppably took pride in raunchily writing; the book of
dolorous
delinquency and insidiously slandering betrayal,

The devil unstoppably took pride in preposterously writing; the book of
scurrilous lunatism and barbarously incarcerating fiendishness,

The devil unstoppably took pride in frigidly writing; the book of
jejune
mockery and impudently castigating brazenness,

The devil unstoppably took pride in heartlessly writing; the book of
ghastly
bloodshed and indefatigably bombarding politics,

[...] Read more

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When I wasn't breathing

When I wasn’t blissfully snoring; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
cistern of stupendously rhapsodic and gloriously majestic Immortal Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t unsurpassably fantasizing; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
garden of ingeniously magical and miraculously mitigating Immortal Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t superbly adventuring; I was still inexhaustibly writing
an
ocean of bountifully resplendent and timelessly undefeated Immortal
Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t scrumptiously relishing; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
playground of optimistically enlightening and unbelievably royal
Immortal
Love Poetry,

When I wasn’t limitlessly triumphing; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
cascade of beautifully panoramic and effulgently liberating Immortal
Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t pricelessly smiling; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
lantern of unendingly vibrant and inscrutably tantalizing Immortal Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t gloriously partying; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
paradise of eternally vivacious and pristinely redolent Immortal Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t unassailably inspiring; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
festoon of incredulously ameliorating and perpetually compassionate
Immortal
Love Poetry,

When I wasn’t magnanimously feasting; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
cocoon of symbiotically philanthropic and ubiquitously coalescing
Immortal
Love Poetry,

When I wasn’t ebulliently fornicating; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
mist of wonderfully reinvigorating and blessedly burgeoning Immortal

[...] Read more

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She Loved Me; I Loved Her Not-Chapter Two

Audrey stood in front of the mirror that night
with the radio on staring at her body
in just in her bra and panties
evaluating her body, comparing her body,
her hair, her mouth, her behind
to Carly's
putting tissue paper in her bra cups
trying to get them look like Carly's breasts
puffing out her behind

pouting her lips
trying on a shade of lipstick
of lip gloss
that matched the kinds Carly wore.

She put her shortest shirt
thinking to hem to make it shorter
but not too short;
She didn't want to look cheap;
she would have to hide it in her backpack to get it out of the house.

She would have to change in the girl's bathroom at school
hoping no one would notice how her clothing had changed
that no one would notice and tell her parents,
or worse report her to the principal.

She didn't want people to start to talking about her
that would be mortifying
rumors would start
boys would start to think she was easy
and some of the girls would say she was a tramp or "fast."

Lots of girls at school wore short skirts but if she Audrey
wore one
people would notice,
her reputation would get ruined.

She looked at the skirt in the mirror
to see if her thighs,
now exposed,
looked fat or were too thick.

She stared at them not being able to tell
after all
she was not used to seeing her thighs in a short skirt.

She went to her closet to retrieve a top,
a white top,

[...] Read more

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My Legacy

My great aunt bequeathed me her wardrobe;
hand carved and made from oak.
It matched the chest of drawers my mother had,
which my ancestors had made bespoke.

We washed, cleaned, and wax polished it,
and placed it where our old one used to be.
It had a distinctive smell of moth balls,
but we were overwhelmed by its history.

My great aunt believed it to be sixteenth century,
and was built especially for the church.
Any further information that we could glean
would be well worthwhile search.

After the smell had gone I filled it with my clothes,
but then it began to smell of church incense.
It wasn’t bad enough to make the clothes smell,
but why it did, made no sense.

A few weeks later whilst I was sleeping
the sound of church bells woke me up.
This was most unusual for the time of night,
so I opened the window to take a look.

By the time I’d looked out of the window
the bells had stopped, so I got into bed.
I had no trouble getting back off to sleep,
and the bells went out of my head.

The next night the same thing happened,
the church bells rang out loud and clear.
This time I realised they weren’t outside,
they were somewhere else quite near.

The ringing was coming from the wardrobe,
so nervously I slowly opened the door.
I sort of expected to see a portal to a church,
but there was only the clothes I wore.

The bells became a common occurrence,
so much so, they didn’t wake me up,
but when I began to hear an organ playing,
my wife and I, had to take a look.

Again there was nothing out of place
except for the music which continued to play.
We couldn’t understand what was happening,
and this was happening everyday.

[...] Read more

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Breakup 2 Makeup Remix

Ashanti
[Don't Get Crazy]
Black Child
As I Sit Back Relax Reminis we
All That Im Givin You The Fillin Like We
Bringing BIG Back Ashanti's
More Than Just a princess
When When She Sing Pay Attention E
verybody Listen When You gettin K
You know They Gon' Hate
But That Pretty face Will brightin Up any day now
Everybody is Catchin Bodies
For That Remix from Black Child and Ashanti
Holla at Gotti He's a Gangsta Boy
Plus he Gettin Money Sittin On 20's Twikin up 20's
When Everybody On The block we Holdin it down
ain't nobody call the Cops We Chasin Paper
so Imagine how his son Gon Turn out Buisness Man
about Paper always on the Move Holla Atchu Later...Gangsta!
Ashanti
You Know I Know
What We Do Is Kinda Crazy
I Tried To get Away But Somethin Here Has Got Me Stayin
Sometimes I Love Ya Then I hate Ya Then
Makeup Just to Breakup
and I Know It Don't Make Sense
But Sometimes Love be So Intense
Ashanti: Tell me Why We Fuss And Fight
Black Child: Cause I Hug The Street everynight
Tryna Get This Money Right
Ashanti: Why can't You Be My side?
Black Child: Ma Stay On Grind Money
Stay On My Mind Stay On My Mind
Ashanti: What We Got Just Don't Seem Right
Black Child: yeah We Also fight But It's Always Tight
Ashanti: See We Breakup we Makeup
Black Child: Yup Thats what thats Just Us Huh
Ashanti
I just Don't Understand Whatchu Doin To me boy
But I Know Whateva You did Has Got Me Commin Back for More
Sometimes I Love Ya Sometimes I Love Ya
Then I hate Ya Then Makeup Just to Breakup
and this isn't good for me but you know how love Can Be!
Ashanti: Tell me Why We Fuss And Fight
Black Child: Cause I Hug The Street
everynight Tryna Get This Money Right
Ashanti: Why can't You Be My side?
Black Child: Ma Stay On Grind Money Stay On My Mind
Stay On My Mind
Ashanti: What We Got Just Don't Seem Right

[...] Read more

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Writing To

Writing to feel
Writing to heal
Writing to steal
Writing every emotion..
With such a white background.
It makes no sound
Even as the keys I pound.
Let my words have bite
Let from my words drip out meanings beyond meanings
Its something I try to be constantly be achieving.

Writing to feel
Writing to heal
Writing to steal
I want every heart and mind
Sucked in cause this is my world stage
No sense of the time.
Never to turn the page
Stuck in to a world oh so oh so fine

Writing to feel
Writing to heal
Writing to steal
Listen to her melody, as she sings.
Let chaos reign down from the skies
What will this day really bring?
Will the letter say good bye?
Will it mend everything?

Making everything better.
Destroying all the consequences
That exist in your world.
Welcome to the place I visit daily.
Inspirational maddness,
It attacks, attacks, and attacks.
With perfect sadness
I must let go once more.
And then the words hit the floor

Writing to feel
Writing to heal.
Writing to steal.
Becoming one with my soul.
Fighting for its one and only control.
Its mine, Its mine. Its mine.
In this reality it subsequently is not
A constant questioning of what?

Writing to feel
Writing to heal.

[...] Read more

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Whos Been Writing On The Wall Again

Someone keeps on telling me how much he loves me so
Writes it on the wall outside so I will always know
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Lori, I love you , lori, I love you
Evry evening I come home , its waiting there for me
Three little words, one little voice , someone I cant see
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Lori , I love you , lori , I love you
Is he tall or is he small
I wonder what his game is
I wish hes write it on the wall
And tell me what his name is
I dont know if his hair is blonde or if his eyes are blue
But I know that when I meet him ,Im gonna love him too
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Lori , I love you , lori , I love you
Is he tall or is he small
I wonder what his game is
I wish hed write it on the wall
And tell me what his name is
I dont know if his hair is blonde or if his eyes are blue
But I know that when meet him , Im gonna love him too
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Lori , I love you , lori , I love you
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again (fade)

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Magic's In The Makeup

Can you tell I'm faking it? But I want to be myself
A counterfeit disposition
Can't be good for my health
So many different faces
Depending on the different phases
My personality changes
I'm a chameleon
There's more than one dimension
I can fool you and attract attention
Camouflage my nature
Let me demonstrate...

Makeup's all off
Who am I?
Magic's in the make up
Who am I?

If you bore me then I'm comfortable
If you interest me I'm scared
My attraction paralyzes me
No courage to show my true colors that exist
But I want to be the real thing
But if you catch my eye can't be authentic
The one's I loath are the one's that know me the best

My makeup's all off
Who am I?
The magic's in the make up
Who am I?

The makeup's all off
Who am I?
If the magic's in the make up
Then who am I?
Magic's in the makeup
But I want to be real the thing
But the magic's in the makeup
And I want to be the real thing

My makeup's all off
Who am I?

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Out Of The Wardrobe

Has anybody here seen a chick called dick
He looks real burly but hes really hip
Hes six feet tall and his arms are all brown and hairy
Well, he married betty lou back in 65 when you had to be butch to survive
But lately hes been looking at his wife with mixed emotions
You see, hes not a common place closet queen
He shouldnt be hidden, he should be seen
cos when he puts on that dress
He looks like a princess
The day he came out of the wardrobe
Betty lou got quite a surprise
She didnt know whether she should get angry or not bat an eye
She really couldnt call up her mother
Mama would positively die
Should she go or stay or should she try to get a trial separation
You see, hes not a faggot as you might suppose
He just feels restricted in conventional clothes
cos when he puts on that dress, he feels like a princess
Hes not a dandy, hes only living out a fantasy
Hes not a pansy, hes only being what he wants to be
Now his life is rearranged and hes grateful for the change
Hes out of the wardrobe and now hes got no regrets
Betty lou didnt know what to do at first
But shes learning how to cope at last
Shes got the best of both worlds
And shes really in a state of elation
She says it helps their relationship
She says a change is as good as a rest
And their friends finally coming round to their way of thinking
She wears the trousers and smokes the pipe
And he washes up
She helps him wipe
cos when he puts on that dress
He looks like a princess
Hes out of the wardrobe and hes feeling alright
Hes out of the wardrobe and hes feeling satisfied
Now its farewell to the past
The secrets out at last
Hes out of the wardrobe and now hes got no regrets

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Something

I'm writing in hope for something with sweet melody,
A rhythm that can be felt,
A beauty that can be read.
With words flowing like water over rocks,
Steadily without fault or obstruction.
A liquid in its purest state.

I'm writing in hope for something with sweet remembrance,
Like the scent of falling rain,
Or the memorable sound of a mothers cooing voice.
Something so memorable,
The slightest reminder sends you back to the exact moment,
Replaying in unbroken pattern of mind.

I'm writing in hope for something spectacular to happen,
For my words to form a feeling so deep they hurt,
For each image to be as clear as these words on this paper.
I want you to feel what I feel,
A feeling of lonely discontent,
Sitting alone in my own my own world, writing away.

I am writing this in hope for something to stick with you,
A message or a meaning that I've hidden inside a syllable,
A voice of reason that you have kept from yourself,
Silenced with the voice of your shallow desires.
A dream that you once had forgotten,
Lost in the darkness of the night.

I am writing this in hope for something to be brought to light.
Maybe a buried thought that you wish you never had,
Or an inner conflict that you hadn't noticed but feel tearing apart your skin,
Even an aspiration you promised to live up to but left to die.
Something so lost in the world of your mind,
Swallowed by deep chasms of thought and memory.

I am writing this in hope of telling a story.
The story of a world that can only be imagined in a dark room,
Hidden from the world and apart from anything else.
The story of a broken heart of a shortened life,
The story of the silent cries of a lost soul reaching for sanity.
My own story, perhaps, or even yours, is this your story?

I am writing in hope of making your thoughts and feelings dance,
A slow and steady music in the background,
Propelling your eyes left to right and back again.
Following the steps of each word,
The flow off each line and stanza.
An endless waltz with the reader and the writer, will you dance with me?

I am writing in hope of making an impression on your mind,

[...] Read more

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Millenium

we've got stars directing our fate
and we're praying its not too late
millennium
some say that we are players
some say that we are pawns
but we've been making money since the day that we were born
then slow down before we fall down
we've got stars directing our fate
and we're praying its not too late
cause we know we're falling from grace
millennium
live for liposuction
and detox for your rent
overdose at Christmas
and give it up for lent
my friends are all so cynical
refuse to keep the faith
we all enjoy the madness cause we know we're gonna to fade away
we've got stars directing our fate
and we're praying it's not too late
cause we know we're falling from grace
millennium
come and have a go if you think you are hard enough (X2)
millennium (X2)
we've got stars directing our fate
and we're praying it's not too late
cause we know we're falling from grace
millennium
and when we come we always come to late
i often think that we were born to hate
get up and see the sarcasm in my eyes (X2)
we've got stars directing our fate
(millennium)and we're praying its not too late
(millennium)cuase we know we're falling from grace
millennium

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Secret Meetings

I have secret meetings,
In my mind.
And...
I find they're the best,
All the of time.

Yes, I have secret meetings,
In my mind.
And...
I find they're the best,
All the of time.

In my mind to be condoned,
Secret meetings feeding peace.
In my mind I keep condoned.
Secret meetings feeding peace.
And my head I keep cool and collected.

Yes, I have secret meetings,
In my mind all the time.
And...
It's keepng me cool and collected.

Yes, I have secret meetings,
In my mind all the time.
And...
It's keepng me cool and collected.

Yes, I have secret meetings,
In my mind all the time.
And...
It's keepng me cool and collected.

I have secret meetings in my mind all the time,
To unwind...
From the beatings of the times.
With corruption on the pedestal directing the crimes.

I have secret meetings in my mind all the time,
To unwind...
From the beatings of the times.
With corruption on the pedestal directing the crimes.

I have secret meetings in my mind all the time,
To unwind...
From the beatings of the times.
With corruption on the pedestal directing the crimes.
With corruption on the pedestal directing the crimes.

I have secret meetings to unwind.

[...] Read more

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Give Your Heart To The Hawks

1 he apples hung until a wind at the equinox,

That heaped the beach with black weed, filled the dry grass

Under the old trees with rosy fruit.

In the morning Fayne Fraser gathered the sound ones into a

basket,

The bruised ones into a pan. One place they lay so thickly
She knelt to reach them.

Her husband's brother passing
Along the broken fence of the stubble-field,
His quick brown eyes took in one moving glance
A little gopher-snake at his feet flowing through the stubble
To gain the fence, and Fayne crouched after apples
With her mop of red hair like a glowing coal
Against the shadow in the garden. The small shapely reptile
Flowed into a thicket of dead thistle-stalks
Around a fence-post, but its tail was not hidden.
The young man drew it all out, and as the coil
Whipped over his wrist, smiled at it; he stepped carefully
Across the sag of the wire. When Fayne looked up
His hand was hidden; she looked over her shoulder
And twitched her sunburnt lips from small white teeth
To answer the spark of malice in his eyes, but turned
To the apples, intent again. Michael looked down
At her white neck, rarely touched by the sun,
But now the cinnabar-colored hair fell off from it;
And her shoulders in the light-blue shirt, and long legs like a boy's
Bare-ankled in blue-jean trousers, the country wear;
He stooped quietly and slipped the small cool snake
Up the blue-denim leg. Fayne screamed and writhed,
Clutching her thigh. 'Michael, you beast.' She stood up
And stroked her leg, with little sharp cries, the slender invader
Fell down her ankle.

Fayne snatched for it and missed;


Michael stood by rejoicing, his rather small

Finely cut features in a dance of delight;

Fayne with one sweep flung at his face

All the bruised and half-spoiled apples in the pan,

[...] Read more

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Writing On The Wall

Words and music by rick nielsen
All right, I saw the writing on the wall.
All night, I saw the writing on the wall,
I saw the writing on the wall.
Lo and behold, heard it on the radio.
It was a long time comin, but it sounds so sweet, come on, man, get off my back.
All right, I saw the writing on the wall.
All night, I saw the writing on the wall,
I saw the writing on the wall.
In the midwest and in the east.
Canada, southwest, around the world,
L.a., tokyo, sounds so sweet,
Come on honey, get on your feet.
All right, I saw the writing on the wall.
All night, I saw the writing on the wall,
I saw the writing on the wall.
The words were oh, so...
The words were oh, so clear.
All right, I saw the writing on the wall.
All night, I saw the writing on the wall,
I saw the writing on the wall.
Lo and behold, heard it on the radio.
It was a long time comin, but it sounds so sweet, come on, man, get off my back.
Saw it at the airport, it was on t.v.
Read it in a magazine, runnin down the street.
Makes no sense, but I hope its gonna last,
The next big thing, I really gotta laugh.
Worked and slaved and played like hell,
Everybodys goin crazy, youre the last to know.
Cant explain it, still a joke to me,
Maybe Im naive, cause its so plain to see.
Its right in front of your face, man.
Its right in front of your face, man.
Played like hell, whoa!
Played like hell, whoa!

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Pretty Darned Smart

She was quiet and shy, a naive little thing
An invisible girl, a puppet on a string
Sleepwalking through life

No big plans, goals, or dreams
She didn't feel special, or pretty, or smart
But when she was alone, she would sing from her heart

Her voice was pleasant, but no one ever knew
And neither did she, she hadn't a clue
She had two older sisters, and they all shared a room

With bunk beds, in a room, that was designed just for two
As the youngest of three, she'd no bed of her own
Yes it's true, though not fair, what's a little sister to do

But....In this rectangular two-sister-bedroom's far corner
Was the door to a storage room, just the right size for one boarder
Where an old metal bed, abandoned by older brother

Held hand-me-down-clothing, that first was one's, then another's
The best part of all, was the old pink-painted wardrobe
The bed tarnished and rusty, wardrobe mirrors smudged and quite dusty

She buffed out a circle in the mirror, and saw her reflection
Inspired, she asked Mother, who had no objection
Staking claim on this space, she started to clean

A large job for a small girl, not quite yet a preteen
She moved boxes and mopped, and she sang as she cleaned
Semi-done, the bed, windows, wardrobe mirrors, fairly gleamed

She washed curtains, re-hung them, tied them back with some string
Put on line-dried fresh bed linens and a grandma-made bed quilt
Looked around, very pleased with her own room she had(kind of) built

Glimpsed herself in the mirror of wardrobe ancient and pink
Found her reflection delightful, her self-esteem to rethink
She'd made a plan, had worked hard, and achieved her objective

She felt pretty darned smart, and in her heart, quietly festive
Sunshine danced through her room, dust specks waltzing in sunbeams
She began to twirl in her own sunlight, and to sing out her dreams

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I Come Alive In Writing

I come alive in writing
Even if the writing means nothing to anyone else-
I come alive in writing
Even if I am totally deluding myself as to its value-
I come alive in writing
Even if at times while writing there is an underlying hopelessness and despair -

I come alive in writing
As if writing is what God has given me to do-
I come alive in writing
As if through it I can truly give to and help others-
I come alive in writing
As if life has meaning through it-

I come alive in writing
Even when I sense the writing is not good or great
As I would wish it to be.

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King Arthur's Tomb

Hot August noon: already on that day
Since sunrise through the Wiltshire downs, most sad
Of mouth and eye, he had gone leagues of way;
Ay and by night, till whether good or bad

He was, he knew not, though he knew perchance
That he was Launcelot, the bravest knight
Of all who since the world was, have borne lance,
Or swung their swords in wrong cause or in right.

Nay, he knew nothing now, except that where
The Glastonbury gilded towers shine,
A lady dwelt, whose name was Guenevere;
This he knew also; that some fingers twine,

Not only in a man's hair, even his heart,
(Making him good or bad I mean,) but in his life,
Skies, earth, men's looks and deeds, all that has part,
Not being ourselves, in that half-sleep, half-strife,

(Strange sleep, strange strife,) that men call living; so
Was Launcelot most glad when the moon rose,
Because it brought new memories of her. "Lo,
Between the trees a large moon, the wind lows

"Not loud, but as a cow begins to low,
Wishing for strength to make the herdsman hear:
The ripe corn gathereth dew; yea, long ago,
In the old garden life, my Guenevere

"Loved to sit still among the flowers, till night
Had quite come on, hair loosen'd, for she said,
Smiling like heaven, that its fairness might
Draw up the wind sooner to cool her head.

"Now while I ride how quick the moon gets small,
As it did then: I tell myself a tale
That will not last beyond the whitewashed wall,
Thoughts of some joust must help me through the vale,

"Keep this till after: How Sir Gareth ran
A good course that day under my Queen's eyes,
And how she sway'd laughing at Dinadan.
No. Back again, the other thoughts will rise,

"And yet I think so fast 'twill end right soon:
Verily then I think, that Guenevere,
Made sad by dew and wind, and tree-barred moon,
Did love me more than ever, was more dear

[...] Read more

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Dreaming Of Hair

Ivy ties the cellar door
in autumn, in summer morning glory
wraps the ribs of a mouse.
Love binds me to the one
whose hair I've found in my mouth,
whose sleeping head I kiss,
wondering is it death?
beauty? this dark
star spreading in every direction from the crown of her head.

My love's hair is autumn hair, there
the sun ripens.
My fingers harvest the dark
vegtable of her body.
In the morning I remove it
from my tongue and
sleep again.

Hair spills
through my dream, sprouts
from my stomach, thickens my heart,
and tangles from the brain. Hair ties the tongue dumb.
Hair ascends the tree
of my childhood--the willow
I climbed
one bare foot and hand at a time,
feeling the knuckles of the gnarled tree, hearing
my father plead from his window, _Don't fall!_

In my dream I fly
past summers and moths,
to the thistle
caught in my mother's hair, the purple one
I touched and bled for,
to myself at three, sleeping
beside her, waking with her hair in my mouth.

Along a slippery twine of her black hair
my mother ties ko-tze knots for me:
fish and lion heads, chrysanthemum buds, the heads
of Chinamen, black-haired and frowning.

Li-En, my brother, frowns when he sleeps.
I push back his hair, stroke his brow.
His hairline is our father's, three peaks pointing down.

What sprouts from the body
and touches the body?
What filters sunlight
and drinks moonlight?

[...] Read more

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Alexander Pope

The Rape of the Lock

Part 1

WHAT dire Offence from am'rous Causes springs,
What mighty Contests rise from trivial Things,
I sing -- This Verse to C---, Muse! is due;
This, ev'n Belinda may vouchfafe to view:
Slight is the Subject, but not so the Praise,
If She inspire, and He approve my Lays.
Say what strange Motive, Goddess! cou'd compel
A well-bred Lord t'assault a gentle Belle?
Oh say what stranger Cause, yet unexplor'd,
Cou'd make a gentle Belle reject a Lord?
And dwells such Rage in softest Bosoms then?
And lodge such daring Souls in Little Men?

Sol thro' white Curtains shot a tim'rous Ray,
And op'd those Eyes that must eclipse the Day;
Now Lapdogs give themselves the rowzing Shake,
And sleepless Lovers, just at Twelve, awake:
Thrice rung the Bell, the Slipper knock'd the Ground,
And the press'd Watch return'd a silver Sound.
Belinda still her downy Pillow prest,
Her Guardian Sylph prolong'd the balmy Rest.
'Twas he had summon'd to her silent Bed
The Morning-Dream that hover'd o'er her Head.
A Youth more glitt'ring than a Birth-night Beau,
(That ev'n in Slumber caus'd her Cheek to glow)
Seem'd to her Ear his winning Lips to lay,
And thus in Whispers said, or seem'd to say.

Fairest of Mortals, thou distinguish'd Care
Of thousand bright Inhabitants of Air!
If e'er one Vision touch'd thy infant Thought,
Of all the Nurse and all the Priest have taught,
Of airy Elves by Moonlight Shadows seen,
The silver Token, and the circled Green,
Or Virgins visited by Angel-Pow'rs,
With Golden Crowns and Wreaths of heav'nly Flowers,
Hear and believe! thy own Importance know,
Nor bound thy narrow Views to Things below.
Some secret Truths from Learned Pride conceal'd,
To Maids alone and Children are reveal'd:
What tho' no Credit doubting Wits may give?
The Fair and Innocent shall still believe.
Know then, unnumbered Spirits round thee fly,
The light Militia of the lower Sky;
These, tho' unseen, are ever on the Wing,
Hang o'er the Box, and hover round the Ring.
Think what an Equipage thou hast in Air,
And view with scorn Two Pages and a Chair.

[...] Read more

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