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radio interview
the candidate
adjusts her hair

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Her Hair Was Gold (Than-Bauk)

Her hair was gold,
her hand cold, slim,
I bold they say.

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There Are White Flowers In Her Hair

There are white flowers in her hair,
blue-white stars when she laughs
in her eyes shining like rainbows,
with a own innocent beauty

with the coming of spring in the air
between the blooming flowers,
in rainbows shining like her eyes,
she finds where the prettiest flowers grow,

she is bounded to loveliness,
she notices roses that are dark like blood
in her eyes shining like rainbows,
but in her cheeks there is a gloss.

Delighted she stands at corn fields
clouds dark and white,
in rainbows shining like her eyes
there is somewhere a pot of gold.

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Her Hair

The beauty of her hair bewilders me--
Pouring adown the brow, its cloven tide
Swirling about the ears on either side
And storming round the neck tumultuously:
Or like the lights of old antiquity
Through mullioned windows, in cathedrals wide
Spilled moltenly o'er figures deified
In chastest marble, nude of drapery.
And so I love it--. Either unconfined;
Or plaited in close braidings manifold;
Or smoothly drawn; or indolently twined
In careless knots whose coilings come unrolled
At any lightest kiss; or by the wind
Whipped out in flossy ravellings of gold.

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The Ying & Yang Of Her Hair

One day I tell her
I love her hair

up.

Another day I tell her
I like her hair

down.

“Which is it? ”
She frowns

“Up
or
down! ”

“Ah...”
I say

“Either
or neither! ”

“I love your hair
up
in that it can
come down

splash all over me.”

“And I love your hair down
in that it can be
put up
in a cathedral of curls! ”

“I love the one
becoming the other

the process of
becoming! ”

You leave the room
only to return

with one side up
& one side down.

I laugh.

“Not quite what
I had intended.

You throw yourself
into my lap

let your hair
waterfall
all over me

& I
drown... drown

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The girl with the sun in her hair...

The westerly wind blows gentle across the meadow,
Thoughts of her stampede throughout my mind,
Memories imagined of a dream living within a dream,
We frolicked careless beneath the summer sky,
Sunlit buttercups held beneath her chin all aglow,
The aroma of summer permeates the very heart of me,
Strawberry fields of memories warming my soul,
That moment when hearts touched etched into infinity,
Reminding me of sunlit days and careless abandonment,
We were the sun and the wind taunting one another,
The pure beauty of that moment shall live evermore,
When I held the girl with the sun in her hair...

Spread the love... The peace will follow...

Dedicated to a friend...

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The Dolls Braided Her Hair

She wove ribbons in her hair,
the gold strands mixing with the red.
It help her naivety,
her innocence until she met Kindergarten
who tore the ribbons from her hair
and threw them to the wind.
He carried distant memories
even further from her.
She lost everything to the wind,
trading it for logic and friends.
They cut her hair and threw some into story books,
burning them before her eyes.
Her dolls cried alone in her room
as they huddled together,
braiding the hair that had been cut from her head.
It made a crown of red and gold strands.
She ignored the crown and it disintegrated.
Years later when her own daughter was
talking to the dolls,
they told her about the crown.
She cried, and they braided her hair,
weaving it with ribbons.

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Entangled in Her Hair

Her hair
covers my face

she

kisses my mouth
kisses my kisses.

She chuckles.

I stroke her hair.

She sways &
...moves.

Her hair
covers my chest.

She
titillates a nipple

...it tickles.

I run my fingers
through her hair.

She sashays &
...moves.

Her hair
covers my navel

& there...&
there...abouts!

I…almost beside myself
neither...here...nor... there...

Lost in the anywhere
of an everywhere.

I clutch
her hair.

She shimmies &
...moves.

Her hair
covers my crotch.

She
licks it
into shape.

She
goes to say
something

it’s on
the tip of

her tongue.

But, she says nothing
only: “Mmmmm...! ”

& smiles
...smiles.

I close
my eyes.

My hands
entangled in
her hair.


*******

TREAD SOFTLY

We rest on the bed
your head rests against my head
sharing the same dream.

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Moonlight On Her Hair

Once long ago I saw moonlight on her hair.
It captivated my senses and I could not stop my stare.
It created a picture that would always stay.
I prayed that this scene would never fade away.
The silken strands were gleaming
for the moonbeams that were streaming
and that picture is with me every day.

When I find I'm lonely because she's not here
my mind comes alive and the picture is clear,
Of all the things of beauty that have graced my eyes,
none could be more wondrous then the moonlit skies.

For it gave me a gift that always stays with me.
When I close my eyes it's her hair that I see.
Oh that I could touch those shining strands again
I'd know that heaven was with me and she'd understand
that moonlight for me is a picture of her
and when I see it shining all else becomes a blur.

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William Cowper

Apology To Delia: For Desiring A Lock Of Her Hair

Delia, the unkindest girl on earth,
When I besought the fair,
That favour of intrinsic worth
A ringlet of her hair,

Refused that instant to comply
With my absurd request,
For reasons she could specify,
Some twenty score at least.

Trust me, my dear, however odd
It may appear to say,
I sought it merely to defraud
Thy spoiler of his prey.

Yes! when its sister locks shall fade,
As quickly fade they must,
When all their beauties are decayed,
Their gloss, their colour, lost—

Ah then! if haply to my share
Some slender pittance fall,
If I but gain one single hair,
Nor age usurp them all;—

When you behold it still as sleek,
As lovely to the view,
As when it left thy snowy neck,
That Eden where it grew,

Then shall my Delia's self declare
That I professed the truth,
And have preserved my little share
In everlasting youth.

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About The Beautiful Woman With Angels On Her Hair

mama once told me about
a woman, so beautiful and holy
that she has many tiny angels on her hair
a halo on top of her
a rose for her lips
and kind eyes like hazy moon
on her face

mama once told me that there is heaven
and all the good people are all there
that all the good food are there
all the things that i love
all the toys
and friends

i was a naughty child and i never believed her

when i have grown up
and when all the problems came like bunches of sour grapes
when all the trials arrived in batches
all those that i thought i cannot endure anymore
that was the time when i remember mama

and i realized
that there is a need to believe her
about a beautiful woman
not only with angels on her hair
but will all the stars in heaven
her connections to heaven
and powers to put all the good people in there

it is not the authentic belief
but it is the need to believe
because without it, what would the future be?

my hands for the meantime need to hold upon these
holy rails
so i may not fall and die

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Fixing Her Hair

she's looking in the mirror
she's fixing her hair
and I touch my head to feel
what isn't there
she's humming a melody
we learned in grade school
she's so happy
and I think
this is not cool
'cause I know the guy
she's been talking about
I have met him before
and I think
what is this beautiful beautiful woman
settling for?

she bends her breath
when she talks to him
I can see her features begin to blur
as she pours herself
into the mold he made for her
and for everything he does
she has a way to rationalize
she says he don't mean what he do
she tells me he called
to apologize

he says he loves her
he says he's changing
and he can keep her warm
and so she sits there like america
suffering through slow reform
but she'll never get back the time
and the years sneak by
one by one
she is still playing the martyr
I am still praying for revloution

and she still doesn't have what she deserves
but she wakes up smiling every day
she never really expected more
that's just not the way we are raised
and I say to her

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Her Hair a Crimson Kingdom

Who knows of what will come?
If any sun shall shine on tomorrows horizon.

Here I am upon the border of worlds and I am wavering
Tears fill the eyes that once looked upon the skies in wonder.
Death has left me pale, a sickly shade and fading.
The moments in her arms were an eternity in waiting.

Her hair a crimson kingdom
Her breast a pillow sweet
Her eyes a world of wisdom
My alter at her feet

Now

She has closed the gates to her domain,
Left me an exiled vagabond, dismissed from paradise.

The aroma of morning spring
Is nothing to that of the scented dreams she gave me
As she lay nestled in my arms.
We were as serpents smothering.

I have learnt that the heart is my own
My heart – my home
You may share my heart
Just as I may care for yours
The heart is a window
The heart is a door

The heart is a kingdom pulsating
It’s voice the whisper of truth
I have learnt that in offering your all
It’s voice a wisdom to sooth.

Share your love with me sometime
But know this heart is mine
In life – in death – this heart is mine
And still I would have it as yours.

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The Bee with Honey Combs her Hair

The Bee with honey combs her hair
with yellow pollen pads,
in honour of the sun’s gold glare,
the golden pollen adds.

This she applies with special care –
‘tis one of her few fads –
to head and thorax, everywhere,
which her detractors mads.

Nectarine nectar necklace fair,
demanded by ‘light winged dryads’,
and furred abdomen cincture rare
masks caudad sting with which she’s clad.

Antennae waving in the air
send signals by the chiliad,
she has ‘no time to sit and stare’
copes, mopes not in jeremiads

Ant’s industry, with more to spare,
hive spirit strives without gonads
for common weal, she’ll, feeling, share -
an asset all admirers glads.

Sweetness for the shaggy bear,
hyrdromel for fair maenads,
without this worker who would bear?
who gold dust to hamadryads?

That she’s so fair and debonair
as on her jaunts she gads,
while they forbear their wings to tear, -
this each among them sads.

Thus idle drones to deep despair
she, heartless, drives, - poor lads -
in swarm-storm buzz, [s]trum_pet the air
in concert, tuned like strads.

How’er they fare, their one nightmare –
benighted Galahads -
is their reget so few can share
the joys of being dads!

The royal jelly she’ll prepare
with care so myriads
of future generations fare
as well as she by gad s!

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MO CAILIN ALAINN RUA(My Beautiful Red Haired Girl) /RED RIVER/WEARING HER HAIR - Sequence

MO CAILIN ALAINN RUA
(My Beautiful Red Haired Girl)

Your hair
taken by the wind

blown
into flame

a fiery red
Medussa

standing on
the edge

of this

mountain
a world

turned to stone

as if your gaze
froze this landscape

into place.

I too
still as stone

your hair
flaring up into the air

fiery snakes
like thoughts

bursting out of your mind
fighting the sunset

that only
a small box camera

captures
& contains

this photo
cutting off your head

from the rest of you

mythical
untouchable

mo cailin alainn rua

mo cailin alainn rua.

***

RED RIVER

Your hair
trickles down your back

in curls...curls
curl after curl

rivers of ringlets
cascading down your spine.

I want to drown
in the waters of your hair.

You wear a waterfall
over each shoulder

The fiery flames
of your tresses

crashing over thigh & hip & buttock!

My hands
like fishes

swimming all over
your body

splashed with the beauty
of your hair

touching & touching

the sheer
nakedness

of
you.

***** **

WEARING HER HAIR

You stand
before me

dressed only
in the dress

that your hair
weaves about you

naked
yet
not

you wear
your hair

as a magical
garment

from a half remembered half forgotten fairytale.

You undress
throwing your hair over each shoulder

I come to you as if a spell
commanded me to & you

wrap me
in your hair.

Both our
nakedness

wearing your hair
sheltered here

lost amongst
kisses.

***
A fellow poet(well, it wasn't a fella) divulged that she too was red of the hair(this had been unknown to me) and so this homage to redheads came into being just on this wisp of information...the memories and images flood back into being.

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Charles Baudelaire

La Chevelure (Her Hair)

Ô toison, moutonnant jusque sur l'encolure!
Ô boucles! Ô parfum chargé de nonchaloir!
Extase! Pour peupler ce soir l'alcôve obscure
Des souvenirs dormant dans cette chevelure,
Je la veux agiter dans l'air comme un mouchoir!

La langoureuse Asie et la brûlante Afrique,
Tout un monde lointain, absent, presque défunt,
Vit dans tes profondeurs, forêt aromatique!
Comme d'autres esprits voguent sur la musique,
Le mien, ô mon amour! nage sur ton parfum.

J'irai là-bas où l'arbre et l'homme, pleins de sève,
Se pâment longuement sous l'ardeur des climats;
Fortes tresses, soyez la houle qui m'enlève!
Tu contiens, mer d'ébène, un éblouissant rêve
De voiles, de rameurs, de flammes et de mâts:

Un port retentissant où mon âme peut boire
À grands flots le parfum, le son et la couleur
Où les vaisseaux, glissant dans l'or et dans la moire
Ouvrent leurs vastes bras pour embrasser la gloire
D'un ciel pur où frémit l'éternelle chaleur.

Je plongerai ma tête amoureuse d'ivresse
Dans ce noir océan où l'autre est enfermé;
Et mon esprit subtil que le roulis caresse
Saura vous retrouver, ô féconde paresse,
Infinis bercements du loisir embaumé!

Cheveux bleus, pavillon de ténèbres tendues
Vous me rendez l'azur du ciel immense et rond;
Sur les bords duvetés de vos mèches tordues
Je m'enivre ardemment des senteurs confondues
De l'huile de coco, du musc et du goudron.

Longtemps! toujours! ma main dans ta crinière lourde
Sèmera le rubis, la perle et le saphir,
Afin qu'à mon désir tu ne sois jamais sourde!
N'es-tu pas l'oasis où je rêve, et la gourde
Où je hume à longs traits le vin du souvenir?

Head of Hair

O fleecy hair, falling in curls to the shoulders!
O black locks! O perfume laden with nonchalance!
Ecstasy! To people the dark alcove tonight
With memories sleeping in that thick head of hair.
I would like to shake it in the air like a scarf!

Sweltering Africa and languorous Asia,
A whole far-away world, absent, almost defunct,
Dwells in your depths, aromatic forest!
While other spirits glide on the wings of music,
Mine, O my love! floats upon your perfume.

I shall go there, where trees and men, full of vigor,
Are plunged in a deep swoon by the heat of the land;
Heady tresses be the billows that carry me away!
Ebony sea, you hold a dazzling dream
Of rigging, of rowers, of pennons and of masts:

A clamorous harbor where my spirit can drink
In great draughts the perfume, the sound and the color;
Where the vessels gliding through the gold and the moire
Open wide their vast arms to embrace the glory
Of a clear sky shimmering with everlasting heat.

I shall bury my head enamored with rapture
In this black sea where the other is imprisoned;
And my subtle spirit caressed by the rolling
Will find you once again, O fruitful indolence,
Endless lulling of sweet-scented leisure!

Blue-black hair, pavilion hung with shadows,
You give back to me the blue of the vast round sky;
In the downy edges of your curling tresses
I ardently get drunk with the mingled odors
Of oil of coconut, of musk and tar.

A long time! Forever! my hand in your thick mane
Will scatter sapphires, rubies and pearls,
So that you will never be deaf to my desire!
Aren't you the oasis of which I dream, the gourd
From which I drink deeply, the wine of memory?


— Translated by William Aggeler


Her Hair

O fleece that down her nape rolls, plume on plume!
O curls! O scent of nonchalance and ease!
What ecstasy! To populate this room
With memories it harbours in its gloom,
I'd shake it like a banner on the breeze.

Hot Africa and languid Asia play
(An absent world, defunct, and far away)
Within that scented forest, dark and dim.
As other souls on waves of music swim,
Mine on its perfume sails, as on the spray.

I'll journey there, where man and sap-filled tree
Swoon in hot light for hours. Be you my sea,
Strong tresses! Be the breakers and gales
That waft me. Your black river holds, for me,
A dream of masts and rowers, flames and sails.

A port, resounding there, my soul delivers
With long deep draughts of perfumes, scent, and clamour,
Where ships, that glide through gold and purple rivers,
Fling wide their vast arms to embrace the glamour
Of skies wherein the heat forever quivers.

I'll plunge my head in it, half drunk with pleasure —
In this black ocean that engulfs her form.
My soul, caressed with wavelets there may measure
Infinite rocking& in embalmed leisure,
Creative idleness that fears no storm!

Blue tresses, like a shadow-stretching tent,
You shed the blue of heavens round and far.
Along its downy fringes as I went
I reeled half-drunken to confuse the scent
Of oil of coconuts, with musk and tar.

My hand forever in your mane so dense,
Rubies and pearls and sapphires there will sow,
That you to my desire be never slow —
Oasis of my dreams, and gourd from whence
Deep-draughted wines of memory will flow.


— Translated by Roy Campbell

The Fleece

O shadowy fleece that falls and curls upon those bare
Lithe shoulders! O rich perfume of forgetfulness!
O ecstasy! To loose upon the midnight air
The memories asleep in this tumultuous hair,
I long to rake it in my fingers, tress by tress!

Asia the languorous, the burning solitude
Of Africa — a whole world, distant, all but dead —
Survives in thy profundities, O odorous wood!
My soul, as other souls put forth on the deep flood
Of music, sails away upon thy scent instead.

There where the sap of life mounts hot in man and tree,
And lush desire untamed swoons in the torrid zone,
Undulant tresses, wild strong waves, oh, carry me!
Dream, like a dazzling sun, from out this ebony sea
Rises; and sails and banks of rowers propel me on.

All the confusion, all the mingled colors, cries,
Smells of a busy port, upon my senses beat;
Where smoothly on the golden streakèd ripples flies
The barque, its arms outspread to gather in the skies,
Against whose glory trembles the unabating heat.

In this black ocean where the primal ocean roars,
Drunken, in love with drunkenness, I plunge and drown;
Over my dubious spirit the rolling tide outpours
Its peace — oh, fruitful indolence, upon thy shores,
Cradled in languor, let me drift and lay me down!

Blue hair, darkness made palpable, like the big tent
Of desert sky all glittering with many a star
Thou coverest me — oh, I am drugged as with the blent
Effluvia of a sleeping caravan, the scent
Of coco oil impregnated with musk and tar.

Fear not! Upon this savage mane for ever thy lord
Will sow pearls, sapphires, rubies, every stone that gleams,
To keep thee faithful! Art not thou the sycamored
Oasis whither my thoughts journey, and the dark gourd
Whereof I drink in long slow draughts the wine of dreams?


— Translated by George Dillon

Of Her Hair


O fleece, billowing on her neck! O ecstasy!
O curls, O perfume rich with nonchalance, O rare!.
Tonight to fill the alcove's warm obscurity,
To make that hair evoke each dormant memory,
I long to wave it like a kerchief in the air.

Africa smoldering and Asia languorous,
A whole far distant world, absent and almost spent,
Dwells in your forest depths, mystic and odorous!
As others lose themselves in the harmonious,
So, love, my heart floats lost upon your haunting scent.

I shall go where both man and tree, albeit strong,
Swoon deep beneath the rays of sunlight's blazing fires.
Thick tresses, be the waves to bear my dreams along!
Ebony sea, your dazzling dream contains a throng
Of sails, of wafts, of oarsmen, and of masts like spires.

A noisy harbor where my thirsty soul may drain
Hues, sounds and fragrances, in draughts heavy and sweet,
Where vessels gliding down a moiré-and-gold sea lane
Open their vast arms wide to clutch at the domain
Of a pure sky ashimmer with eternal beat.

Deep shall I plunge my head, avid of drunkenness,
In this black sea wherein the other sea lies captured,
And my soul buoyant at its undulant caress
Shall find you once again, O fruitful idleness,
O long lullings of ease, soft, honeyed and enraptured.

O blue-black hair, pennon with sheen and shadow fraught,
You give me back the vast blue skies of dawn and dusk,
As on the downy edges of your tresses, caught
In your soft curls, I grow drunken and hot, distraught
By mingled scents of cocoanut and tar and musk.

Sapphires, rubies, pearls — my hand shall never tire
Of strewing these through your thick mane — how lavishly! —
Lest Life should ever turn you deaf to my desire!
You are the last oasis where I dream, afire,
The gourd whence deep I quaff the wine of memory.


— Translated by Jacques LeClercq

The Head of Hair

O Fleece, foaming to the neck!
O curls! O scent of laziness!
Ecstasy! This evening, to people the dark comers
Of memories that are sleeping in these locks,
I would wave them in the air like a handkerchief!

Languorous Asia and burning Africa,
A whole world, distant, absent, almost extinct,
Lives in the depths of your perfumed jungle;
As other souls sail along on music,
So mine, O my love, swims on your scent.

I shall go over there where trees and men, full of sap,
Faint away slowly in the passionate climate;
O strong locks, be the sea-swell that transports me!
You keep, O sea of ebony, a dazzling dream
Of sails and sailormen, flames and masts:

A resounding haven where in great waves
My soul can drink the scent, the sound and color;
Where ships, sliding in gold and watered silk,
Part their vast arms to embrace the glory
Of the pure sky shuddering with eternal heat

I shall plunge my head, adoring drunkenness,
Into this black ocean where the other is imprisoned;
And my subtle spirit caressed by the sway
Will know how to find you, O pregnant idleness!
In an infinite cradle of scented leisure!

Blue hair, house of taut darkness,
You make the blue of the sky seem huge and round for me;
On the downy edges of your twisted locks
I hungrily get drunk on the muddled fragrances
Of coconut oil, of musk and tar

For a long time! For ever! Amongst your heavy mane
My hand will strew the ruby, pearl and sapphire
To make you never deaf to my desire!
For are you not the oasis where I dream, the gourd
Where in great draughts I gulp the wine of memory?


— Translated by Geoffrey Wagner


O fleece, that down the neck waves to the nape!
O curls! O perfume nonchalant and rare!
O ecstasy! To fill this alcove shape
With memories that in these tresses sleep,
I would shake them like penions in the air!

Languorous Asia, burning Africa,
And a far world, defunct almost, absent,
Within your aromatic forest stay!
As other souls on music drift away,
Mine, O my love! still floats upon your scent.

I shall go there where, full of sap, both tree
And man swoon in the heat of the southern climates;
Strong tresses be the swell that carries me!
I dream upon your sea of amber
Of dazzling sails, of oarsmen, masts, and flames:

A sun-drenched and reverberating port,
Where I imbibe colour and sound and scent;
Where vessels, gliding through the gold and moiré,
Open their vast arms as they leave the shore
To clasp the pure and shimmering firmament.

I'll plunge my head, enamored of its pleasure,
In this black ocean where the other hides;
My subtle spirit then will know a measure
Of fertile idleness and fragrant leisure,
Lulled by the infinite rhythm of its tides!

Pavilion, of autumn-shadowed tresses spun,
You give me back the azure from afar;
And where the twisted locks are fringed with down
Lurk mingled odors I grow drunk upon
Of oil of coconut, of musk, and tar.

A long time! always! my hand in your hair
Will sow the stars of sapphire, pearl, ruby,
That you be never deaf to my desire,
My oasis and my gourd whence I aspire
To drink deep of the wine of memory.

Translated by Anonymous

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She loves her hair stretched

accustomed to curly hair
when we were yet children
living in the same house

I feel uneasy why she
wears stretched hair
And she takes pride
about her new found fashion
And taste for something straight.

Curly hairs and split ends
Never gave her luck
She got an ugly husband
Who does not understand her
Rich maybe, but slaps her

It is time she gains confidence
In herself to a newer face
A stretched hair, straight
And candid and ready to
Fight now, win or lose,

At whatever costs she must
Deny her old self, the one
With the curly hair, she is
Ready for the consequences.

Her right as a new woman
With stretched hair is now

Or never, she has no time left
Anymore for hiding and cowardice and tears.

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Whats Her Name Today?

Whats her name today?
Whats her name today?
She could be anyone
I might have known youd leave her crying
Whats her name again?
You should be ashamed
How could you treat her so unspeakably?
Or did you think she was a different girl?
For as the radio played in the bedroom wall
What was that name you called her?
Was she the one who took away your pride
And your reason?
Oh, why did you decide that
Youd punish any girl you meet
To try and make that feeling go away?
Whats her name today?
Whats her name today?
Is her hair hanging down?
Or maybe its fixed with a ribbon
Are her eyes still blue?
Should she trust in you?
Because its a lonely world
She wants to believe for a while in all the things you say
But as the radio played in the bedroom wall
What was that name you called her?
Isnt her smile reminiscent of someone else?
Well, is it or isnt it?
Oh, why did you decide that
Youd punish any girl you meet
To try and make that feeling go away?
Whats her name today?
Is she going to stay
So you can ruin her?
And soon shell be twisted in chiffon
Dress her like a doll
String her like a pearl
She hears peals of bells, but its hard to tell
Now that shes hung up like a chandelier
Whats her name?
Whats her name?
Whats her name today?

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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,
because she felt that would not draw as much attention
buttoning up the front, with tiny pearl buttons.
staring at herself in the mirror;
examining her tissue-paper breasts
inside the top,

noting to her embarrassment
that her breasts looked lumpy.

Lumpy breasts would be a problem.

She pulled out a pair of socks from her closet
placing them carefully inside her bra.
They looked ok
but she would have to sew them in|

to be sure they didn't fall out

She dropped the socks on the dark carpet
and went to the closet to look again for something else.
She decided on cotton,
cotton
which she tore from the shoulder pads of the suit her aunt had given her
for her visit to New York
her junior year.
She took the shoulder pads out and tired them on,
turning slowing in front of the mirror to see how they looked.

They were perfect
and she breathed a gentle sigh of relief.

Now the eyes and the makeup;
She had some
and some she had borrowed
from her mother's makeup kit
and some she had gotten from her girlfriend, Mary
offering the excuse she had seen in a magazine some new things which could be done
with makeup.
Mary didn't ask any questions.

Arrayed before her was eyeliner, blush, powder,
and tweezers for eyebrow plucking,
gloss, foundation, false eyebrows, eyelash thickener, sparkles,
and something Mary had given her which she had no clue as to what it could be used for
(It turned out something which could thicken your newly plucked eyebrows.)

She never wore makeup before, at least to school
and it was suddenly dawning on her
that showing up with all this makeup was bound to be noticed.
She turned from the mirror, feeling dazed
going to sit on the side of her bed
realizing
that all this,
her plan
was dishonest
and not her.
It was too phony and people would see through it.
If her love was steady and strong
she thought
I would see that in time
eventually
or not.
But she would not pretend to be a person different than she was
because that would be obvious to everyone,
me and to herself.

If love was to triumph here Audrey concluded
it could not be based upon makeup and tight clothes.

She then decided what she would do, closing the make-up cases intinctively understanding it was an important decision in her young life.

The next day she told me what she had decided to do and I listened
not reacting
surprised
just looking at her for a moment
stunned
as she told me the details
of the night before,

The makeup, the short skirt
the tight blouse,
all of it.

To be continued

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Hair Down

She will wear her hair down
Because she is tired to weaar her heir in a knot
And she looks much better with her hair down in my oppinion

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Her Waiting Face

In some strange place
Of long-lost lands he finds her waiting face--
Comes marveling upon it, unaware,
Set moonwise in the midnight of her hair.

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