Do Not Envy His Hair
Do not envy his hair
Because he is blond
And you are not
poem by Aldo Kraas
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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
poem by Hitesh Sheth
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The Beast: Chapter Two
She walked through the door
looking back only to see him fade
into the crowd of students
pouring across the plaza in front of the auditorium.
She watched him recede
vowing
that she would make a point of finding out
more about him.
There was the freshman boat ride in a few days
there was her next opportunity.
Suddenly a voice said:
'Wow, that was chemistry
if I have ever seen chemistry.'
It was Nancy, Nicole's roommate.
They had first met only the day before
when Nicole had arrived at the college for the week long orientation
which included of course
meeting one's roommate.
Nancy was already there in the room
when Nicole arrived her bags in hand
looking to see where she would she might spend the next four years of her life.
The two eyed each other momentarily
quickly sizing each other up after some long seconds
deciding that they liked one another.
Nancy was there on an academic scholarship
just like Nicole and they had been paired together
probably because they had somethings in common.
They seemed to be each other's type,
studious, quiet
and had settled in with each other comfortably.
Nancy falling in beside Nicole
was talking and saying:
'Who was that beautiful blond guy you were talking to. When he put his hands on you I almost died.'
Nancy was gushing.
'Blond? ' Nicole said, blankly? 'Who are you talking about? '
'You know the big blond who opened the door for you looking deep deep into your eyes, ' Nancy said giving Nicole her best dreamy-eyed girl look.
[...] Read more
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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An Epistle To William Hogarth
Amongst the sons of men how few are known
Who dare be just to merit not their own!
Superior virtue and superior sense,
To knaves and fools, will always give offence;
Nay, men of real worth can scarcely bear,
So nice is jealousy, a rival there.
Be wicked as thou wilt; do all that's base;
Proclaim thyself the monster of thy race:
Let vice and folly thy black soul divide;
Be proud with meanness, and be mean with pride.
Deaf to the voice of Faith and Honour, fall
From side to side, yet be of none at all:
Spurn all those charities, those sacred ties,
Which Nature, in her bounty, good as wise,
To work our safety, and ensure her plan,
Contrived to bind and rivet man to man:
Lift against Virtue, Power's oppressive rod;
Betray thy country, and deny thy God;
And, in one general comprehensive line,
To group, which volumes scarcely could define,
Whate'er of sin and dulness can be said,
Join to a Fox's heart a Dashwood's head;
Yet may'st thou pass unnoticed in the throng,
And, free from envy, safely sneak along:
The rigid saint, by whom no mercy's shown
To saints whose lives are better than his own,
Shall spare thy crimes; and Wit, who never once
Forgave a brother, shall forgive a dunce.
But should thy soul, form'd in some luckless hour,
Vile interest scorn, nor madly grasp at power;
Should love of fame, in every noble mind
A brave disease, with love of virtue join'd,
Spur thee to deeds of pith, where courage, tried
In Reason's court, is amply justified:
Or, fond of knowledge, and averse to strife,
Shouldst thou prefer the calmer walk of life;
Shouldst thou, by pale and sickly study led,
Pursue coy Science to the fountain-head;
Virtue thy guide, and public good thy end,
Should every thought to our improvement tend,
To curb the passions, to enlarge the mind,
Purge the sick Weal, and humanise mankind;
Rage in her eye, and malice in her breast,
Redoubled Horror grining on her crest,
Fiercer each snake, and sharper every dart,
Quick from her cell shall maddening Envy start.
Then shalt thou find, but find, alas! too late,
How vain is worth! how short is glory's date!
Then shalt thou find, whilst friends with foes conspire,
To give more proof than virtue would desire,
[...] Read more
poem by Charles Churchill
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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
poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Czechmate!
'I won't be back 'til very late, '
The note from her had read,
He poured himself another drink
And headed off to bed,
She often spent the night away
Carousing with 'the girls',
The forty-something's group of them
Out on their monthly whirls.
They'd known each other all their lives
From kindergarten on,
Had played with beads and Barbi dolls,
With lipstick on the lawn,
They'd had the odd pyjama nights
Had ogled all the males,
And giggled through their early teens
At love, and lovers tales.
And now they'd all been married off
For twenty years or more,
Their nights were spent in darkened bars
Where some had hoped to score,
With jaded lives, they gossiped there,
At every fault, the blame
Was laid right at the husband's door,
At every husband's name.
And so it was with Mary Jean
Who said that she was bored,
She said her husband Jack was tired,
He lay in bed and snored,
The days of making love had gone
She lay awake at night,
Frustrated in the marriage bed
That once had brought delight.
At home, her husband Jack, asleep
Had dreamt of other things,
Of dancing nymphs who never spoke
To him of boring things,
Who never held their hands out every
Payday for his cheque,
But fed him loving tit-bits, kissed
His feet, and pecked his neck.
Then sometime in the early hours
He heard the bedroom door
Creak open, as his wife returned
Tip-toeing on the floor,
He tried to cling to sleep, to keep
[...] Read more
poem by David Lewis Paget
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They Are The Ones That Others Envy
I have issues with people who leave people...
Begging on the streets with nothing to eat.
Or treat others like they're not even human equals.
And then look disgusted like they are diseased
No human being can teach a cat hygiene.
Nor can you teach a grown up to be clean.
Nobody should be teaching who to respect.
That should be a given and not a pick to peck.
I have issues with the snots with turned up noses.
As if they have scents of champion roses.
Ooo I can't believe these people are the ones who stink.
And-they-believe,
They are the ones that others envy?
Who made them runner up for fresh sainthoods?
Who showed them evilness was anything good?
Who gave them rights to think they beam like light?
And who told them they approve the Sun that rises high!
Yes I have issues with the snots with turned up noses.
As if they have scents of champion roses.
Ooo I can't believe these people are the ones who stink.
And-they-believe,
They are the ones that others envy?
They believe,
They are the ones that others envy.
And they believe,
They are the ones that others envy.
They believe,
They are the ones that others envy.
And they believe,
They are the ones that others envy.
I have issues with the snots with turned up noses.
And they believe,
They are the ones that others envy.
I have issues with the snots with turned up noses.
And they believe,
They are the ones that others envy.
And they believe,
They are the ones that others envy.
And they believe,
They are the ones that others envy.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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then She bore Pale desire...
then She bore Pale desire father of Curiosity a Virgin ever
young. And after. Leaden Sloth from whom came Ignorance. who
brought forth wonder. These are the Gods which Came from fear.
for Gods like these. nor male nor female are but Single Pregnate
or if they list together mingling bring forth mighty powrs[.] She
knew them not yet they all war with Shame and Strengthen her weak
arm. But Pride awoke nor knew that Joy was born. and taking
Poisnous Seed from her own Bowels. in the Monster Shame infusd.
forth Came Ambition Crawling like a toad Pride Bears it in her
Bosom. and the Gods. all bow to it. So Great its Power. that
Pride inspird by it Prophetic Saw the Kingdoms of the World & all
their Glory. Giants of Mighty arm before the flood. Cains City.
built With Murder. Then Babel mighty Reard him to the Skies.
Babel with thousand tongues Confusion it was calld. and Givn to
Shame. this Pride observing inly Grievd. but knew not that.
the rest was Givn to Shame as well as this. Then Nineva &
Babylon & Costly tyre. And evn Jerusalem was Shewn. the holy
City. Then Athens Learning & the Pride of Greece. and further
from the Rising Sun. was Rome Seated on Seven hills the
mistress of the world. Emblem of Pride She Saw the Arts their
treasures Bring and luxury his bounteous table Spread. but now a
Cloud oercasts. and back to th'East. to Constantines Great City
Empire fled, Ere long to bleed & die a Sacrifice done by a
Priestly hand[.] So once the Sun his. Chariot drew. back. to
prolong a Good kings life.
The Cloud oer past & Rome now Shone again Miterd & Crown'd with
triple crown. Then Pride was better Pleasd She Saw the World fall
down in Adoration[.] But now full to the Setting Sun a Sun
arose out of the Sea. it rose & shed Sweet Influence oer the
Earth Pride feared for her City, but not long. for looking
Stedfastly She saw that Pride Reignd here. Now Direful Pains
accost her. and Still pregnant. so Envy came & Hate. twin progeny
Envy hath a Serpents head of fearful bulk hissing with hundred
tongues, her poisnous breath breeds Satire foul Contagion from
which none are free. oer whelmd by ever During Thirst She
Swalloweth her own Poison. which consumes her nether Parts.
from whence a River Springs. Most Black & loathsom through the
land it Runs Rolling with furious [p 3] Noise. but at the last it
Settles in a lake called Oblivion. tis at this Rivers fount where
evry mortals Cup is Mix't My Cup is fill'd with Envy's Rankest
Draught a miracle No less can set me Right. Desire Still
Pines but for
one Cooling Drop and tis Deny'd, while others in Contentments
downy Nest do sleep, it is the Cursed thorn wounding my breast
that makes me sing. however sweet tis Envy that Inspires my Song.
prickt. by the fame of others how I mourn and my complaints are
Sweeter than their Joys but O could I at Envy Shake my hands. my
notes Should Rise to meet the New born Day. Hate Meager hag Sets
Envy on unable to Do ought herself. but Worn away a Bloodless
[...] Read more
poem by William Blake (1903)
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I Envy Nothing But One
I don’t envy the angels with wings who can fly
I’ve been soaring in the beautiful sky of your love
I don’t envy the beauty of the rainbow
You’ve made me the most beautiful woman in your love
I don’t envy the freedom of the dolphins swimming in the ocean
I’ve been swimming in the ocean of your loving eyes
I don’t envy Shakespeare for his love poems
I’ve become the greatest poet since I met you
I don’t envy Romeo’s faith to Juliet
You’ve never turned your heart from me, not even once
I don’t envy the softness of the dew the morning has
You’ve been kissing me gently with your tender lips
I don’t envy Monalisa’s wonderful smile Leonardo has
I’ve got one of mine on your face
I don’t envy the sweet sound a harp has
I’ve got a sweeter one when you whisper in my ears
I envy nothing but one
The way you love and make me feel this way
poem by Santi Dewi Sihombing
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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
poem by Alexander Pope
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The Wanderer: A Vision: Canto I
Fain would my verse, Tyrconnel, boast thy name,
Brownlow, at once my subject and my fame!
Oh! could that spirit, which thy bosom warms,
Whose strength surprises, and whose goodness charms!
That various worth! could that inspire my lays,
Envy should smile, and censure learn to praise:
Yet, tho' unequal to a soul like thine,
A generous soul, approaching to divine,
When bless'd beneath such patronage I write,
Great my attempt, tho' hazardous my flight.
O'er ample Nature I extend my views;
Nature to rural scenes invites the muse:
She flies all public care, all venal strife,
To try the still, compar'd with active life;
To prove, by these, the sons of men may owe
The fruits of bliss to bursting clouds of woe;
That e'en calamity, by thought refin'd,
Inspirits and adorns the thinking mind.
Come, Contemplation, whose unbounded gaze,
Swift in a glance, the course of things surveys;
Who in thyself the various view canst find
Of sea, land, air, and heav'n, and human kind;
What tides of passion in the bosom roll;
What thoughts debase, and what exalt the soul,
Whose pencil paints, obsequious to thy will,
All thou survey'st with a creative skill!
Oh, leave awhile thy lov'd, sequester'd shade!
Awhile in wint'ry wilds vouchsafe thy aid!
Then waft me to some olive, bow'ry green,
Where, cloath'd in white, thou shew'st a mind serene;
Where kind content from noise and courts retires,
And smiling sits, while muses tune their lyres:
Where zephyrs gently breathe, while sleep profound
To their soft fanning nods, with poppies crown'd;
Sleep, on a treasure of bright dreams reclines,
By thee bestow'd, whence Fancy colour'd shines,
And flutters round his brow a hov'ring flight,
Varying her plumes in visionary light.
The solar fires now faint and wat'ry burn,
Just where with ice Aquarius frets his urn!
If thaw'd, forth issue, from its mouth severe,
Raw clouds, that sadden all th' inverted year.
[...] Read more
poem by Richard Savage
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Envy Exposed
Green with Envy does not describe
The color worn by this foul Sin
For green is the color of living things
An Envious Heart has no life therein
The color Blue for Envy will not do
Blue is the sky where freedom sings
In skies so many dreams take flight
An Envious Heart has no wings
Envy cannot dress in Yellow or Gold
The warm colors of the life giving Sun
An Envious Heart is so bitterly cold
With no joie de vivre for all of life’s fun
Envy dare not wear any shade of Red
A color so linked to precious bloodshed
Blood is sacred not to be wantonly shed
An Envious Heart would bleed others till dead
Purple is the color of Passionate fire
An Envious Heart knows only Hate’s ire
Pink is a color where innocent youth may abide
An Envious Heart is tired and shriveled inside
Nor can Envy ‘s color be Black as night
For the star filled night is laced with light
Envy won’t wear Purity’s symbolic White
An Envious Heart does not own such a right
Envy cannot even lay its claim to Grey
(Muddled mix of color though be as it may)
Grey is the color of softness seen
An Envious Heart is hard and mean
What Envy wears best is Invisibility
So denuded of Soul none would wish to see
No color born of Heaven will suit it well
An Envious Heart will be naked in Hell
poem by Mary Havran
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I DON'T ENVY WOMEN 2...by talile ali
I DON'T ENVY WOMEN
NO I DON'T
THE STUFF THEY HAVE TO GO THRU
I DON'T ENVY WOMEN
NO I DON'T
HOW COULD REALITY BE SO CRUEL
I GOT A FRIEND
CUTE AS HELL
I'LL LOVE HER TILL THE BITTER END
BEEN RAPED SO MUCH
LOOKED TO GOOD TO TOUCH
MESSED UP PRICE FOR A PRETTY FACE, MY FRIEND
I DON'T ENVY WOMEN
NO I DON'T
THE SHIT THEY HAVE TO GO THRU HURTS SO MUCH
I DON'T ENVY WOMEN
NO I DON'T
HOW COULD REALITY BE SO CRUEL AND TRUE
I HAVE ANOTHER FRIEND
ALL OVER THE PLACE
AS IF SHE LOST HER MIND
WITH HEAVY FLOWS
AND HORMONE WOES
IT'S A MIRACLE SHE'S NOT DYIN
I DON'T ENVY WOMEN
NO I DON'T
THE STUFF THEY GO THRU BECAUSE WE JUST DON'T
I DON'T ENVY WOMEN
NO I DON'T
THE BRAINLESS CRUELTY JUST SIMPLY WON'T
THESE GIRLS I KNOW
THEY ALL OWN MY HEART
TO KNOW SUCH GREAT DESPAIR IS BEYOND JUST FAIR
NEVER KNOWING
A MOMENTS PEACE
AND UNTROUBLED LOVE THAT THEY CAN NEVER SHARE
I DON'T ENVY WOMEN
NO I DON'T
[...] Read more
poem by Talile Ali
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The Tower Beyond Tragedy
I
You'd never have thought the Queen was Helen's sister- Troy's
burning-flower from Sparta, the beautiful sea-flower
Cut in clear stone, crowned with the fragrant golden mane, she
the ageless, the uncontaminable-
This Clytemnestra was her sister, low-statured, fierce-lipped, not
dark nor blonde, greenish-gray-eyed,
Sinewed with strength, you saw, under the purple folds of the
queen-cloak, but craftier than queenly,
Standing between the gilded wooden porch-pillars, great steps of
stone above the steep street,
Awaiting the King.
Most of his men were quartered on the town;
he, clanking bronze, with fifty
And certain captives, came to the stair. The Queen's men were
a hundred in the street and a hundred
Lining the ramp, eighty on the great flags of the porch; she
raising her white arms the spear-butts
Thundered on the stone, and the shields clashed; eight shining
clarions
Let fly from the wide window over the entrance the wildbirds of
their metal throats, air-cleaving
Over the King come home. He raised his thick burnt-colored
beard and smiled; then Clytemnestra,
Gathering the robe, setting the golden-sandaled feet carefully,
stone by stone, descended
One half the stair. But one of the captives marred the comeliness
of that embrace with a cry
Gull-shrill, blade-sharp, cutting between the purple cloak and
the bronze plates, then Clytemnestra:
Who was it? The King answered: A piece of our goods out of
the snatch of Asia, a daughter of the king,
So treat her kindly and she may come into her wits again. Eh,
you keep state here my queen.
You've not been the poorer for me.- In heart, in the widowed
chamber, dear, she pale replied, though the slaves
Toiled, the spearmen were faithful. What's her name, the slavegirl's?
AGAMEMNON Come up the stair. They tell me my kinsman's
Lodged himself on you.
CLYTEMNESTRA Your cousin Aegisthus? He was out of refuge,
flits between here and Tiryns.
Dear: the girl's name?
AGAMEMNON Cassandra. We've a hundred or so other
captives; besides two hundred
Rotted in the hulls, they tell odd stories about you and your
guest: eh? no matter: the ships
Ooze pitch and the August road smokes dirt, I smell like an
old shepherd's goatskin, you'll have bath-water?
CLYTEMNESTRA
They're making it hot. Come, my lord. My hands will pour it.
[...] Read more
poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Cartoon Caricature Of The Master Race
Goose stepping Aryan Gods
blond hair blue eyes
master race inspires on parade
according to Nazi ideology
Hitler's ideal 'Germanic type'
has fair hair clear blue eyes
is slim and tall does not smoke
does not drink to excess does
not indulge in substance abuse
is chaste without any trace of
unwholesome sexual desires
no homosexuality nor sadism
Detected any note of Hypocrisy yet?
Reichsfuhrur Heinrich Himmler
promotes illegitimacy by establishing
a State-registered human stud farm
Lebensborn unmarried mothers
pregnant by SS men received
superior state maternity care
majority of mare mothers were
unmarried 57.6 percent in
1939 about 70 percent by 1940
creating elite race of 'supermen'
means breeding selecting bloodstock
for Master Superior Aryan Race
Himmler's procreation order of
28 October 1939 to the entire SS
declared it was the sublime task
of all German women and girls
of good Germanic blood
in profound moral seriousness
to become mothers to the children
of SS soldiers setting off to battle
to be mothers to Aryan Master Race
Detected any serious Hypocrisy yet?
Goose stepping Aryan Gods
blond hair blue eyes
[...] Read more
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Its Alright
Its alright what you confess to me
Where youre at right now baby, its alright with me
Behind your truths or somewhere inside your lies
These long cold days of gray, they color your eyes
And its alright, what you confide in me
Where were at right now baby, its where we need to be
And I can see things so clearly through tear-stained eyes
The side effects of time in all our good-byes, and its alright
I got lost some time ago,
Lost in your song, your touch, your smile
And where I want to grow old
And you glimmer and gleam like a blond-washed hair from an ocean-side domain
Drifting into me, I found myself again, in her song
Its alright what you say to me
How you feel right now baby, shows an everlasting need
Behind the truth, theres something inside your lies
These long cold days of rain, theyre hiding your eyes
And its alright, what you express to me
Your song escapes me to this place I want to be
So sing to me baby, your song can carry me
Through endless weeks of rain and onto sweeter things
And its alright
I got lost some time ago,
Lost in your song, your touch, your smile
And where I want to grow old
And you glimmer and gleam like a blond-washed hair from an ocean-side domain
Drifting into me, I found myself again, in her song
Oh sing to me baby, your song can carry me
In all shes revealed I found I could always see
How her ways could flow and run over me
And I found this reason to learn
And I found this reason to decide
As many days come and many days go
Ill never know why
And its alright
I got lost some time ago,
Lost in your song, your touch, your smile
And where I want to grow old
And you glimmer and gleam like a blond-washed hair from an ocean-side domain
Drifting into me, I found myself again, in her song
song performed by Candlebox
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sold
(richard fagan/robb royer)
Well i went down to the grundy county auction
Where i saw something i just had to have
My mind told me i should proceed with caution
But my heart said, "go ahead an' make a bid on that!"
An' i said, hey, pretty lady, won'cha gi'me a sign
I'd give anything to make you mine all mine
I'll do your biddin' an' be at your beckon call
Yeah, i never seen anyone lookin' so fine
Man, i gotta have her, she's a one-of-a-kind
I'm goin' once, goin' twice,
I'm sold! on the lady in the second row
She's an eight, she's a nine, she's a ten, i know
She's got ruby red lips, blond hair, blue eyes
An' i'm about to bid my heart good-bye!
Well, the auctioneer was goin' about a mile a minute
He was takin' bids an' callin' them out loud
An' i guess i was really gettin' in it
'cause i just shouted out above the crowd!
An' i said, hey, pretty lady, won'cha gi'me a sign
I'd give anything to make you mine all mine
I'll do your biddin' an' be at your beckon call
Yeah, i never seen anyone lookin' so fine
Man, i gotta have her, she's a one-of-a-kind
I'm goin' once, goin' twice,
I'm sold! on the lady in the long black dress
Well she won my heart it was no contest
With her ruby red lips, blond hair, blue eyes
Well i'm about to bid my heart good-bye!
Yeah, we found love on the auction block
An' i hauled her heart away
Now we still love to laugh about
The way we met that day
When i said, hey, pretty lady, won'cha gi'me a sign
I'd give anything to make you mine all mine
I'll do your biddin' an' be at your beckon call
Yeah, i never seen anyone lookin' so fine
Man, i gotta have her, she's a one-of-a-kind
I'm goin' once, goin' twice,
I'm sold! on the lady in the second row
She's an eight, she's a nine, she's a ten, i know
Shes's got ruby red lips, blond hair blue eyes
An' i'm about to bid my heart good-bye!
song performed by John Michael Montgomery
Added by Lucian Velea
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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
poem by Li-Young Lee
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Understand That This Is a Dream
Real as a dream
What shall I do with this great opportunity to fly?
What is the interpretation of this planet, this moon?
if I can dream that I dream / and dream anything dreamable / can I dream
I am awake / and why do that?
When I dream in a dream that I wake / up what
happens when I try to move?
I dream that I move
and the effort moves and moves
till I move / and my arm hurts
Then I wake up / dismayed / I was dreaming / I was waking
when I was dreaming still / just now.
and try to remember next time in dreams
that I am in dreaming.
And dream anything I want when I'm awaken.
When I'm in awakeness what do I desire?
I desire to fulfill my emotional belly.
My whole body my heart in my fingertops thrill with some old fulfillments.
Pages of celestial rhymes burning fire-words
unconsumable but disappear.
Arcane parchments my own and the universe the answer.
Belly to Belly and knee to knee.
The hot spurt of my body to thee and thee
old boy / dreamy Earl / you Prince of Paterson / now king of me / lost
Haledon
first dream that made me take down my pants
urgently to show the cars / auto tracks / rolling down avenue hill.
That far back what do I remember / but the face of the leader of the gang
was blond / that loved me / one day on the steps of his house blocks away
all afternoon I told him about my magic Spell
I can do anything I want / palaces millions / chemistry sets / chicken
coops / white horses
stables and torture basements / I inspect my naked victims
chained upside down / my fingertips thrill approval on their thighs
white hairless cheeks I may kiss all I want
at my mercy. on the racks.
I pass with my strong attendants / I am myself naked
bending down with my buttocks out
for their smacks of reproval / o the heat of desire
liek shit in my asshole. The strange gang
across the street / thru the grocerystore / in the wood alley / out in the open
on the corner
Because I lied to the Dentist about that chickencoop roofing / slate stolen off
[...] Read more
poem by Allen Ginsberg
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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
poem by William Morris
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Shes Always In My Hair
Whenever I feel like givin up
Whenever my sunshine turns 2 rain
Whenever my hopes and dreams
Are aimed in the wrong direction
Shes always there
Tellin me how much she cares
Shes always in my hair
Shes always in my hair
My hair
Whenever I feel like not 2 great at all
Whenever Im all alone
And even if I hit the wrong notes
Shes always in my boat
Shes always there
Tellin me how much she cares
Shes always in my hair
Shes always in my hair
My hair
Maybe Ill marry her (maybe Ill marry her)
Maybe I wont (maybe I wont)
Maybe I will not (maybe I will not)
Lemme tell ya (even if I was a gigolo)
If I was a gigolo all my life (all my life)
Shed still be there (shed still be there)
Tellin me just how much she really cares (she cares)
Shes always in my hair
Shes always in my hair
My hair
Listen
Whenever I feel like givin up
Whenever my sunshine turns 2 rain
Whenever my hopes and dreams
Are aimed in the wrong direction
Shes always there
Tellin me just how much she cares (tellin me how much she cares)
Tellin me...shes always in my hair (always in my hair)
Shes always in my hair
My hair
Shes always in my hair
song performed by Prince
Added by Lucian Velea
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