Regarding E Learning

Dear All

If you're struggling to find something appropriate for the E Learning task, may I suggest looking for Rhythms (2000) (I think its some millenium poetry anthology). It has poetry in the 4 national languages, translated into the other 3 languages where possible. Its also just a nice read for pleasure!

Good Luck!
Huixin xx

The Sick Rose

O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy;
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy

The Merlion

"I wish it had paws," you said,
"It's quite grotesque the way it is,
you know, limbless; can you
imagine it writhing in the water,
like some post-Chernobyl nightmare?
I mean, how does it move? Like a
torpedo? Or does it shoulder itself
against the currents, gnashing with frustration,
its furious mane bleached
the colour of a drowned sun?
But take a second look at it,
how it is poised so terrestrially,
marooned on this rough shore,
as if unsure of its rightful
harbour. Could it be that,
having taken to this unaccustomed limpidity,
it has decided to abandon the seaweed-haunted
depths for land? Perhaps it is even ashamed
(But what a bold front!)
to have been a creature of the sea; look at how
it tries to purge itself of its aquatic ancestry,
in this ceaseless torrent of denial, draining
the body of rivers of histories, lymphatic memories.
What a riddle, this lesser brother of the Sphinx.
What sibling polarity, how its sister's lips are sealed
with self-knowledge and how its own jaws
clamp open in self-doubt, still
surprised after all these years."

"Yet...what brand new sun can dry
the iridescent slime from the scales
and what fresh rain wash the sting of salt
from those chalk-blind eyes?"

A pause.

"And why does it keep spewing that way?
I mean, you know, I mean..."

"I know exactly what you mean," I said,
Eyeing the blond highlights in your black hair
And your blue lenses the shadow of a foreign sky.
It spews continually if only to ruffle
its own reflection in the water; such reminders
will only scare a creature so eager to reinvent itself."

Another pause.

"Yes," you finally replied, in that acquired accent of yours,
"Well, yes, but I still do wish it had paws."

I Am A Rock

Listen...


I am Rock, it ain't no breakin' me
I am Rock, it ain't no shakin' me
I am Rock, that ain't no earthquake, it's me
I am Rock (ohh) I am Rock (ohh)
I am Rock, it ain't no breakin' me
I am Rock, it ain't no shakin' me
I am Rock, that ain't no earthquake, it's me
I am Rock (ohh) I am Rock (ohh) I am Rock


Know when you criticize me, before you try to, do me a solid
Take a short walk in my shoes
My boots, my kicks, my flip-flops, whatever
I done seen rain and I ain't just talkin' weather
But I'm a survivor
Shame on you if you thought I would ever leave
I'm a be right there where the legends be
I am unbreakable, I'm Rock, I am never weak now
I feel weak sometimes, but you'll never see
I'm going through one of the roughest times in my entire life right now
Still I got a slight smile
I'm knowin' it's gonna be better days, like Tupac said
And we go make it like Eve & them two LOX said
Whos not fed up with something
Life's about struggling and overcoming your shortcomings
Not about huffing and puffing and crying without doing nothing
Take them sour lemons, make lemonade, and stop sucking.


I am Rock, it ain't no breakin' me
I am Rock, it ain't no shakin' me
I am Rock, that ain't no earthquake, it's me
I am Rock (ohh) I am Rock (ohh)
I am Rock, it ain't no breakin' me
I am Rock, it ain't no shakin' me
I am Rock, that ain't no earthquake, it's me
I am Rock (ohh) I am Rock (ohh) I am Rock


Rock like coal is, old and dusty
But, y'all already know what's underneath
Give me some time, and keep applying pressure
Watch me shine like the ex-BadBoy
It'll all be fine (all be fine)
Just dig down deep, search for that energy
I can't lose, get in touch with that inner energy
Game face on, see this mug, you'll remember me
Focus out the pain, ignore any injury
Find More lyrics at www.sweetslyrics.com
Then again, I am Rock, can't really injure me
Chip off a piece, all you're gonna get is a little me
Got one from almost every tough time in my history
Hence the new team, ROCK BROVAAAAAAZ, are you still with me?
Got a bunch more, they're in my last stage of misery
My little Gz, that's strength in me, are you kidding me?
I get stronger every time they try to finish me
We don't die, we multiply, can I get a witness, please?


I am Rock, it ain't no breakin' me
I am Rock, it ain't no shakin' me
I am Rock, that ain't no earthquake, it's me
I am Rock (ohh) I am Rock (ohh)
I am Rock, it ain't no breakin' me
I am Rock, it ain't no shakin' me
I am Rock, that ain't no earthquake, it's me
I am Rock (ohh) I am Rock (ohh) I am Rock


Sure there've been times I feel I can't go on
But I am so strong, I really can go on
I ain't saying so long, I ain't goin' home
Rock Man goin' hard, 'til I can't no more

Tomorrow is Friday the thirteenth, me and bad luck
Been have beef, he can't hurt me, he can't serve me
I win every time I see him, even with all his undermining cheatin
Every time I beat him I think the odds must be his crew (huh?)
Word, they've always been against me, too (huh?)
They can't see me neither, anyone thinking he could, keep me out my championship, he fooled


I am Rock, it ain't no breakin' me
I am Rock, it ain't no shakin' me
I am Rock, that ain't no earthquake, it's me
I am Rock (ohh) I am Rock (ohh)
I am Rock, it ain't no breakin' me
I am Rock, it ain't no shakin' me
I am Rock, that ain't no earthquake, it's me
I am Rock (ohh) I am Rock (ohh) I am Rock

Me

I
I have blonde hair
I pluck my eyebrows
I have my father’s nose
my mother’s hands
I have crooked teeth
and green eyes
I play guitar
I used to get sick alot
I like the color of wine
I’ve cheated on boyfriends
I’ve owned fake ID
But my hair is still blonde
and my teeth are still crooked
and I probably won’t always like
the color of wine
II
I have firm breasts
I have lips that always smile
I have veins that bleed
I laugh when I’m nervous
I feel the pain of others
but cry for no reason
I like open flame
I’ve been selfish since a child
I’m from Alaska
but hate the cold
I’ve cheated on diets
I’ve faked applications
But I still bleed
and my lips still smile
and my breasts won’t
always be firm

Human

I did my best to notice
When the call came down the line
Up to the platform of surrender
I was brought but I was kind
And sometimes I get nervous
When I see an open door
Close your eyes
Clear your heart...
Cut the cord

Are we human?
Or are we dancer?
My sign is vital
My hands are cold
And I'm on my knees
Looking for the answer
Are we human?
Or are we dancer?

Pay my respects to grace and virtue
Send my condolences to good
Give my regards to soul and romance,
They always did the best they could
And so long to devotion
You taught me everything I know
Wave goodbye
Wish me well..
You've gotta let me go

Are we human?
Or are we dancer?
My sign is vital
My hands are cold
And I'm on my knees
Looking for the answer
Are we human?
Or are we dancer?

Will your system be alright
When you dream of home tonight?
There is no message we're receiving
Let me know is your heart still beating

Are we human?
Or are we dancer?
My sign is vital
My hands are cold
And I'm on my knees
Looking for the answer

You've gotta let me know

Are we human?
Or are we dancer?
My sign is vital
My hands are cold
And I'm on my knees
Looking for the answer
Are we human
Or are we dancer?

Are we human?
Or are we dancer?

Are we human
Or are we dancer?

TIME

friend/foe
heals and rush
you control : Controls you
More

The Lion King

The musical The Lion King comes to Singapore next September. It is spectacular and you have to see it! A masterful staging if it is anything like what I saw in London.

Cha-Cha & Fiction 55

I look at the patterns of my life
and
got
grieved
at how
some things
never change.

Is it a consistent
pattern of life?

Or is it me?

I
got
quite tired
of
recurrence.

Stepping back and forth
as though a dance.

A step forward,
A step back.

When will this dance end?

Will this
pattern
ever stop?

Back and forth
Forward and back

Cha-cha

Forward and back
Back and Forth

Don't really know what to take of
this
pattern.


Somebody,
anybody,
stop this dance.
Now.


FICTION 55

A red bomb.

She looked at the beautifully printed gold words on the red card, “You are cordially invited to our wedding..”

Call it fate.

In the sea of people and after the many turns in life, they met. Yet again, but too late – name of the bride today is not hers.


Created by: Candy Lee

What do they teach you in school?

Blackmail-able

Drama Workshop Group 1 - There's more where this came from ...

Reading List of Recommended Books

Sec 1-2
Seventeen (Colin Cheong)
Any book by Roald Dahl (Charlie, James & The Giant Peach, Matilda, Short Stories)
A Dip in the Pool (Roald Dahl)
Sing to the Dawn (Minfong Ho)
Red Sky in the Morning (Elizabeth Laird)
Any book by Catherine Lim
Toto Chan

Sec 2-3
Neverwhere / American Gods /Any book by Neil Gaiman
Lord of the Flies (William Golding)
Corridors (Alfian Sa’at)
Macbeth (William Shakespeare)
The Clay Marble (Minfong Ho)
Short Stories (D H Lawrence)
Short Stories (Goh Sin Tub)
Harry Potter series (J K Rowling)
Ten Little Pigs (Agatha Christie)

Sec 3-4
Robinson Crusoe (Daniel Defoe)
To Kill a Mockingbord (Harper Lee)
Me Talk Pretty One Day (David Sedaris)
Romeo & Juliet (William Shakespeare)
The Crucible (Arthur Miller)
The Book Thief (Markus Zusak)
The Bloody Chamber & Other Stories (Angela Carter)
Short Stories (Saki)
Interpreter of Maladies (Short Stories) (Thumpa Lahiri)
Joy Luck Club / Two Kinds (Amy Tan)
The Eyre Affair (Jasper Fforde)
Persuasion (Jane Austen)
Wuthering Heights (Emily Bronte)
Frankestein (Mary Shelley)
Dracula (Bram Stoker)

JC
Parade’s End (Ford Madox Ford)
The Picture of Dorian Grey (Oscar Wilde)
Passion/Stone Gods (Jeanette Winterson)

Sixty

The gong continues as the troop followed the rites closely, paying their last respects to ah gong. dad. No, she had to refrain from it. His stroke depressed her. His death killed her as she silently stared at the last memory she have of him. How does life go on without him-husband of sixty years?

Bitcherel

You ask what I think of your new acquisition;
and since we are now to be 'friends',
I'll strive to the full to cement my position
with honesty. Dear - it depends.
It depends upon taste, which must not be disputed;
for which of us does understand
why some like their furnishings pallid and muted,
their cookery wholesome, but bland?
There isn't a law that a face should have features,
it's just that they generally do;
God couldn't give colour to all of his creatures,
and only gave wit to a few;
I'm sure she has qualities, much underrated,
that compensate amply for this,
along with a charm that is so understated
it's easy for people to miss.
And if there are some who choose clothing to flatter
what beauties they think they possess,
when what's underneath has no shape, does it matter
if there is no shape to the dress?
It's not that I think she is boring, precisely,
that isn't the word I would choose;
I know there are men who like girls who talk nicely
and always wear sensible shoes.
It's not that I think she is vapid and silly;
it's not that her voice makes me wince;
but - chilli con carne without any chilli
is only a plateful of mince...

Plum Blossom or Quong Tart at the QVB

Stroke by labored stroke my daughter

is discovering the sound of her name,

the new old country revealed under

her tiny preschool tentative hand.

She prints the pictogram mu,

a solid vertical stroke like a tree trunk,

a horizontal across for the arms, and a sinuous

downward branch on either side. That is

the radical for wood or tree. And on its right

she prints mei, meaning every, made up from a roof

over the pictogram for mother, mu,

with its nourishing embrace. Grafted on

the tree, it adds up to the talismanic

plum, tree and blossom.

It has been years since I have written

my true name. Watching

it appear in my daughter’s wavery hand

I am rooted, the calligraphy

performing strange magic.

No longer emigrant, foreign

but recalled home, and not to the country

left behind, but further back

beyond the South Sea.

Vague lost connections

somewhere south of the Yangtze.

Karst country, paddies

and mountains the color of jade

My daughter asks why the English

transliteration is Boey and not

Mei. I am stumped.

Many Chinese names

became strange or lost

in the crossing.

How did the first Mei, arriving

with his mother tongue in the colony,

find himself rechristened

Boey? How long did it take

him to grow into the name?

Did he shed it like his queue?

Did he roll it in his mouth, taste

its foreign plosive, swallow it

whole like a ball of rice,

and spit it out Boey,

the pig-tailed coolie in the new colony?

In a few years my daughter will press

for her family history and tree

and I will have nothing more to show

than the withered branch that is

her dead grandfather. So much

buried, irretrievable. It is too late

to ask my father about his father and the father

before. Broken branches. So little history

to go on. One of the homonyms

for mei is nothing. Mei as predicate

to another character erases

that character. The same rising tone

spells bad luck

which runs in the family, it seems.

Perhaps the plum will flourish

on this soil, like the white plum

in our yard, and transplanted,

my daughter can recover

what is lost in translation.

Perhaps she already has.

Last week, at the Queen Victoria Building,

we stumbled on an exhibition

of the life of Quong Tart, the Chinese

pioneer who made it good in White

Australia. A tea merchant,

he married a Scotswoman, sang

Border ballads and wore tartan kilts;

he fed the Aborigines

and played cricket with the whites.

The catalogue printed his original

name Mei, our clan. His face,

a replica of my father’s,

high cheekbones and well-shaped jaw,

had the same charming look. It was my father

made Mandarin of the Fifth Order,

costumed in silk tunic and plumed hat.

Somewhere in south-east China

the clan lived in the same village,

and broadcast rice seed

into paddies of broken skies.

Straw-hatted, they bowed

over plough and mattock,

planted in their reflections

like their name. Then news

came of richer harvests over

the South Sea, the white devils

and their burgeoning empire.

Perhaps great-grandfather sallied forth

with Quong Tart on the same junk,

and disembarked in Malaya, while Quong Tart

continued south. Perhaps they were brothers.

I see the other life my father could have had

staring out from the sepia shots,

if our forbear had travelled on

down-under. I could not explain

to my daughter the déjà vu, but her hand

was already pointing out the Mei

below Quong Tart’s portrait,

the tap of the finger

wiring us, connecting us

in a tremble of recognition.

She has finally learned

the character of her name.

Celluloid Gods

Now the gods reappear, as foretold.
Now a million eyes are held in trance,
a million bodies thrill to a communion
of light and sound, as the gods re-enact
The drama of grief, discrimination,
recrimination, slaughter and recompense.
A million beings pulse
 to the rhythm of one well-rehearsed passion,
a million hearts are in the same confessional,
subject to a single therapy.
(In obscure arenas, beyond the stagelights’ spill,
puny angers flare, combatants are restrained
from leaping out of windows, shadows lock
in mortal embrace, and desperate scholars worm
deeper into their books.) Tomorrow all tongues
will narrate the same cure, publish
the universal miracle. They will affirm
the truth of things witnessed, confirm
the prophesies of the tabloids, and when
the excitement subsides, there will be time
for these mortals to journey
to the paradises of merchandise,
to acquire the promises
flashed in the adverts
before their commerce with the gods
recommences.

On Turning Ten

The whole idea of it makes me feel
like I'm coming down with something,
something worse than any stomach ache
or the headaches I get from reading in bad light--
a kind of measles of the spirit,
a mumps of the psyche,
a disfiguring chicken pox of the soul.

You tell me it is too early to be looking back,
but that is because you have forgotten
the perfect simplicity of being one
and the beautiful complexity introduced by two.
But I can lie on my bed and remember every digit.
At four I was an Arabian wizard.
I could make myself invisible
by drinking a glass of milk a certain way.
At seven I was a soldier, at nine a prince.

But now I am mostly at the window
watching the late afternoon light.
Back then it never fell so solemnly
against the side of my tree house,
and my bicycle never leaned against the garage
as it does today,
all the dark blue speed drained out of it.

This is the beginning of sadness, I say to myself,
as I walk through the universe in my sneakers.
It is time to say good-bye to my imaginary friends,
time to turn the first big number.

It seems only yesterday I used to believe
there was nothing under my skin but light.
If you cut me I could shine.
But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of life,
I skin my knees. I bleed.

Trapped

He had wanted a kiss from her. "Anybody..." White voices. Voiceless. She's been listening. Impossible. Forgetting time. She's afraid she's gotten use to this inbetween, to the tightness of stasis, atuned to signs of life more than ever but unable to live, to lift up from the heaviness. She wished she had. "Anybody..."

On Marriage

Girl met boy. Girl liked boy. Boy did not really like girl but they dated anyway. Girl made boy marry her. Boy did not want to but agreed anyway. Struggled but managed to live with each other somehow. "Thus grief still threads upon the heels of pleasure, marry in haste & repent at leisure".

Freedom

A light tap on the window. She looked out, gestured to say she knew it was time. Hastily, she tossed her things into a night bag--- her white Sunday frock, the little savings she had and her beautiful lock of hair. She shut the door behind her. The bright yellow moon shone overhead. It was time.

The Amazing Race

He nervously nudged closer to the line. The yellow arrows were not going to obstruct him. His competitors, strapped in their robust gear, gathered about him. With a jolt, it began before he realized it. A shove. From the left. Again. On the back.

Well, at least he still has his trusty ipod in hand.

The Sip

Circling her tongue along its rims; foam teasingly trickled down the curvaceous silhouette. A white coating slowly enveloped her lips. A concoction of tastes sent a rush of ecstasy down her spine. Their glances caught each other for a fleeting moment.

She raised her latte glass and saluted the barrista for a job well done!

The shillings sing a song

Shingalingaling.
The shillings sing a song.
A lucky day for the boggled beggar sitted by the bay.
Big wide grin.

Zehahahaha
Zipping through a throng.
A lucky day for a seasoned swindler counting in a lane.
Big wide grin.

Pussy cat steps. Pussy cat steps.

Swipe swipe swipe. Swipe swipe swipe.

Shingalingaling!
The shillings sing a song.
A lucky day for the thief who cleaned the beggar by the bay.
Big wide grin!

Zehahahaha!
Zipping through a throng.
A lucky day for the thief who swiped the swindler in the lane!
Big wide grin.

Stomp stomp stomp! Stomp stomp stomp!

Bang Bang Bang! Bang Bang Bang!

Shingalingaling.
Bullets sing a song.
Unlucky day for the thief – lifeless wealthless laid to waste
… …

Zehahahaha!
Bigger wider grin.
A lucky day the mugging thug who gave the thief decay
… …

Shingalingaling.
The shillings sing a song.

Se Peh Peh (Lecherous Ah Pek)

Nabe, stop looking at me. Sianz… this fucking old man ah… talk and talk and cannot stop. Just sip your fucking kopi and stop staring at my BOOBS. Never see breasts before issit!!? Cheebye. Every time I see him he talks to me.. “Socio-cultural factors, Sir.” “Very good Sheena”. Ka na sai… these lecturers.

Brussel Sprouts

For I have felt the joy of oak-brown toast
And caught the glint of honey in an eye
And swam with sardines by the ivory coast
Where shrimps and lobsters in their pot did lie
With salt and thyme the appetite to slake.
The reams of menu paper for to read
In dusky joints where yeasty bread was brake
By pasty facéd butlers gone to seed.
Tis much that I have known. And soared with kites
To Olympus where heavn'ly nectar flows
Ta'en gulps of bliss from divine spring, and bites
Of apples which in cloud-top gardens grow.
I've had my share of all the sensual rout
But stay all pure, and love thee, Brussel Sprout.

Once upon a time

Once upon a time I was a novel. I had characters, themes, pages. But the world changed. People could marry who they liked. Orphans found their parents not by finding themselves but by DNA testing. Cliff's notes took my themes with few well-chosen words, and deforestation took some, then all, my pages. Oh, I was a novel, once...

Mummy's Boy

Male, thirty-two, pale, immobile, naked, soaked in a tub. Mummy keeps me close to her, away from young ladies who loved me. After that day, today, everyday, Mummy smiles at me, sings for me, speaks to me. That day, my Mummy killed me. Male, thirty-two, suffocated, dead, preserved, still loved.

Synapses of Love

There was a boy who loved a girl who didn't love him back. So he carved out his hypothalamus and replaced it with some circuitry. But something went wrong with the wiring and he loved her still. Again, he begged her to give him her heart. Unexpectedly, she agreed. Reaching into her breast, she removed a motherboard and said, "Be sure to keep it dust-free."

Tangerine Dream (55 Words)

Once upon a time, there was a boy that dreamt tangerine dreams by night and lived the day without colour. Not too far away, there was a beautiful girl that lived in technicolour while her dreams were monotoned. They met and fell in love. While each alone in lack, in union both complete. The End. Joey

Mercy killing of a condemned mind (fiction 55)

Not asked if I want to be born into this world, something is wrong with me if I cannot fit in with humankind and never the other way round. Should I not be given a choice to decide when this ends? People who oppose are as selfish as the ones who have brought me here.

Dream of a Supermarket

She ran across the rows of canned food and maggi mee. Her cries reverberated through the walls of the supermarket while I ran after her. The chase seemed like it would go on forever but her legs gave up earlier than expected. I reached out and held her to me closely. “I… I’m so sorry…”

Fiction 55

The Crossing

The old man stands at the crossing. His destination is a mere road away. Yet, he hesitates. The traffic light turns red and green, red and green. Still, he stands at the crossing, hesitating.Are there things on this side that he might miss? Green. The cars are coming. He steps out, welcoming his death.

Mobile Phone by WQ

Her scent lingered long after she stormed out, the way it always had on his clothes after he left the bed. His world collapsing around him, he slumped into the sofa. Stronger scent here. Something poked him in his back.
The last audio-visual repository of their love!
He relived ironic bliss in clandestine video recordings.

What Ifs

Familiar stranger you
your indifference to my fallen arrows
on a shield of recognition
Is it time’s abjection?
Or am I fool again to venture
such courage
displaced
on his arm the artwork accessorized
Purveyor, has he made such inroads
to your heart
upon such holzwege my weary self
expired?
Would another time and space
grant me a lightening within these depths
if I had not another clearing sought
upon my own arm
here
This is she.

-    Andreas La Coeur

Fiction 55: He and She

She drank a glass of wine and walked out of the bar. He noticed her a second too late. Then everyday, he waited for her in the same bar, sitting on the same stool. She never appeared again, while he, killing time, fantasized over and over again how everything could have been different.

Batt[l]er

As she savours her strawberry cake,
she thought 'I must do this for my sake'.
So she decided to make a stake,
that she will finish her writing before dusk breaks!
 
Chopping words off the page,
frustrated over bad gauge.
Deadline dusk has broken,
and dinner not taken.

I'm left with no power,
so I need a shower.
Fly to my dream tower,
to smell some nice flower.

– Peofeur Morsin

From the Girl to the Girl

You came, you look and you went


Adored you, they were bent


Snow White, they claim you are


No shape or sight near or far.




Why did he touch you so


And dear and girl and not


Why did he call you so


And dear? and girl ? so, not!






They say you are the best


I think you were , they forget


I came, he looked and conquered


Now go to your room and rest


So what if you were his fad?


I think many would concur


That I am his girl


And now his world


So please, girl


You can stop your tail that swirl.

1/3

Dear all,
We are coming to the end of the Poetry module. Thanks for all your contributions both in class and on the blog. We are going past the one third mark. Do post your thoughts on the Poetry Module - questions, discussion points, lessons learnt etc. Any other links you may uncover or ideas you have on the teaching of poetry as you prepare your package etc.

D

The Rose  (Some say love) 


Some say love, it is a river
that drowns the tender reed.
Some say love, it is a razor
that leaves your soul to bleed.
Some say love, it is a hunger,
an endless aching need.
I say love, it is a flower,
and you its only seed.

It's the heart afraid of breaking
that never learns to dance.
It's the dream afraid of waking
that never takes the chance.
It's the one who won't be taken,
who cannot seem to give,
and the soul afraid of dyin'
that never learns to live.

When the night has been too lonely
and the road has been to long,
and you think that love is only
for the lucky and the strong,
just remember in the winter
far beneath the bitter snows
lies the seed that with the sun's love
in the spring becomes the rose.

Jason Mraz - Man Gave Names To All The Animals

Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago

He saw an animal that liked to growl
Big furry paws and he liked to howl
Great big furry back and furry hair
Ah, think I'll call it a bear

Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago

He saw an animal up on a hill
Chewing up so much grass until she was filled
He saw milk coming out but he didn't know how
Ah, think I'll call it a cow

Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago

He saw an animal that liked to snort
Horns on his head and they weren't too short
It looked like there wasn't nothing that he couldn't pull
Ah, think I'll call it a bull

Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago

He saw an animal leaving a muddy trail
Real dirty face and a curly tail
He wasn't too small and he wasn't too big
Ah, think I'll call it a pig

Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago

Next animal that he did meet
Had wool on his back and hooves on his feet
Eating grass on a mountainside so steep
Ah, think I'll call it a sheep
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago

He saw an animal as smooth as glass
Slithering his way through the grass
Saw him disappear by a tree near a lake

(ttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TGjAjZ2TZKU. think a teacher uploaded it for some english lesson...)

The Pop List

Love Song for a Vampire (Annie Lennox)
Mexican Wire (Fountain of Wayne)
Bohemian Rhapsody (Queen)
You Found Me (The Fray)
Eric's Song (Vienna Teng)
2 + 2 = 5 (Radiohead)
Marching Bands of Manhattan (Deathcab for a Cutie)
Vincent (Don McLean)
Measure of a Man (Clay Aiken) - see as a response to The Woman Question
Out of Habit (Ani Difranco)
Me and the Moon (Something Corporate)
Best I Ever Had (Vertical Horizon)
What's This (Fall out Boy/Danny Elfman - Nightmare on Elm Street OST)
Secret (Missy Higgins)
I dreamed a dream (Elaine Paige)
Sing for Absolution (Muse)
Over You (Chris Daughtry)
Stairway to Heaven (Led Zeppelin)
Entwined (Jason Reeves)
Misunderstood (Dream Theatre)
Love is Hard (James Morrison)
Love Me (Colin Raye)
Scientist (Coldplay)
Hide and Seek (Imogen Heap)
Gabriel (Lamb)
If I kissed you (Corrinne May)
Lucky (Jason Mraz & Colbie Caillat)
Sing for the Moment (Eminem)
I am a rock (Simon & Garfunkel)
Human (The Killers)
Mad World (Gary Jules / Tears for Fears)
Beautiful (Christina Aguilera)
The Voice Within (Christina Aguilera)
Five Loaves and Two Fishes (Corrinne May)
Fields of Gold (Sting/Eva Cassidy)
Like a Rose (A1)
Heal the World (Michael Jackson)
Black Hole Sun (Soundgarden)

Love Song For A Vampire by Annie Lennox

Come into these arms again
And lay your body down
The rhythm of this trembling heart
It's beating like a drum
It beats for you,it bleeds for you
It knows not how it sounds
For it is the drum of drums
It is the song of songs

Once I had the rarest rose
That ever deigned to bloom
Cruel winter chilled the bud
And stole my flower too soon
Oh loneliness
Oh hopelessness
To search the ends of time
For there is in all the world
No greater love than mine

Love O love O love
O love O love O love
O love still falls the rain
O love O love
O love O love O love
O love still falls the night
Love O love O love
O love O love O love
O love be mine forever (be mine forever)
Love O love O love
O love O love O love
O love O love O love
O love O love O love

Let me be the only one
To keep you from the cold
Now the floor of heav’n is laid
With stars of brightest gold
They shine for you
They shine for you
They burn for all to see
Come into these arms again
And set this spirit free





YouTube link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vhG8zC4npsE

"Secret" - Missy Higgins

You were from the North, I was from the South
We were form opposite places, different towns
But I knew it was good and you knew it was too
So we moved together like a ball and chain
Minds becoming two halves of the same
It was real, but in shadows it grew

Cos you've got a secret don't ya babe?

I would've shouted loud and broken through
I would've given it all to belong to you
But there were different plans, different rules
You said "where I'm from there is a lock and key
If you'd be so kind as to follow me
I will show you the way to the rest of my sins"

Cos you've got a secret don't ya babe?
Yeah you, you got a secret don't ya babe?
And I should know
Yeah I should know

So this room was damp where your sins laid
There was that smell in the air of an old place
That hadn't seen much daylight in years
And you threw me down, said, "If ya don't mind
I'm gonna leave you here until night time
Then we can do what we want my baby out of the spotlight."

Cos you've got a secret don't ya babe?
Yeah you, you got a secret don't ya babe?
And I should know
Yeah I should know
For I'm your secret aren't I babe?
Yeah I'm your secret aren't I babe?
Aren't I babe? 

Link to video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Plv_eQXlGWM

Dancing by Elisa

Time is gonna take my mind
and carry it far away where I can fly
The depth of life will dim my temptation to live for you
If I were to be alone silence would rock my tears
'cause it's all about love and I know better
How life is a waving feather

So I put my arms around you around you
And I know that I'll be leaving soon

My eyes are on you they're on you
And you see that I can't stop shaking
No, I won't step back but I'll look down to hide from your eyes
'cause what I feel is so sweet and I'm scared that even my own breath
Oh could burst it if it were a bubble
And I'd better dream if I have to struggle

So I put my arms around you around you
And I hope that I will do no wrong
My eyes are on you they're on you
And I hope that you won't hurt me

I'm dancing in the room as if I was in the woods with you
No need for anything but music
Music's the reason why I know time still exists
Time still exists
Time still exists
Time still exists

So I just put my arms around you around you
And I hope that I will do no wrong
My eyes are on you they're on you
And I hope that you won't hurt me
My arms around you they're around you and I hope that I will do no wrong
My eyes are on you they're on you
They're on you My eyes...

---
Youtube video of the dance that actually made this song famous.

"Marching Bands Of Manhattan" - Deathcab For a Cutie

If I could open my arms
And span the length of the isle of Manhattan,
I'd bring it to where you are
Making a lake of the East River and Hudson
If I could open my mouth
Wide enough for a marching band to march out
They would make your name sing
And bend through alleys and bounce off all the buildings.

I wish we could open our eyes
To see in all directions at the same time
Oh what a beautiful view
If you were never aware of what was around you
And it is true what you said
That I live like a hermit in my own head
But when the sun shines again
I'll pull the curtains and blinds to let the light in.

Sorrow drips into your heart through a pinhole
Just like a faucet that leaks and there is comfort in the sound
But while you debate half empty or half full
It slowly rises, your love is gonna drown [4x]

Your love is gonna drown [4x]
Your love is gonna...


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mJiLNr3ZeXU

Portfolio #7

Ani Difranco - Out of Habit

The butter melts out of habit

You know the toast isn't even warm

And the waitress and the man in the plaid shirt

Play out a scene they've played

So many times before

And I am watching the sun stumble home in the morning

From a bar on the east side of town

And the coffee is just water dressed in brown

Well beautiful but boring

He visited me yesterday

And he noticed my fingers

And asked me if I would play

I didn't really care a lot

but I couldn't think of a reason why not

I said if you don't come any closer I don't mind if you stay

And oh my thighs have been involved in many accidents

And now I can't get insured

And I don't need to be lured by you

My cunt is built like a wound that won't heal

And now you don't have to ask

Because you know how I feel

Well now you know how I feel



Well you know art is why I get up in the morning

But my definition ends there

And it doesn't seem fair

That I'm living for something I can't even define

But there you are right there

In the meantime



I don't want to play for you anymore

Show me what you can do

Tell me what are you here for

I want my old friends

I want my old face

I want my old mind

Fuck this time and place



The butter melts out of habit

You know, the toast isn't even warm


P.S. Here's a link to her song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=adPOiKWvQ-U

the clod and the pebble

"Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a heaven in hell's despair."

So sung a little Clod of Clay,
Trodden with the cattle's feet,
But a Pebble of the brook
Warbled out these metres meet:

"Love seeketh only Self to please,
To bind another to its delight,
Joys in another's loss of ease,
And builds a hell in heaven's despite."

Ozymandias

I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

I know why the caged bird sings by Maya Angelou

A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.

Lady Lazarus by Sylvia Plath

I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it——

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
0 my enemy.
Do I terrify?——

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else,
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.

It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart——
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash —-
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there——

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.

From The Frontier of Writing by Seamus Heaney

The tightness and the nilness round that space
when the car stops in the road, the troops inspect
its make and number and, as one bends his face

towards your window, you catch sight of more
on a hill beyond, eyeing with intent
down cradled guns that hold you under cover

and everything is pure interrogation
until a rifle motions and you move
with guarded unconcerned acceleration—

a little emptier, a little spent
as always by that quiver in the self,
subjugated, yes, and obedient.

So you drive on to the frontier of writing
where it happens again. The guns on tripods;
the sergeant with his on-off mike repeating

data about you, waiting for the squawk
of clearance; the marksman training down
out of the sun upon you like a hawk.

And suddenly you're through, arraigned yet freed,
as if you'd passed from behind a waterfall
on the black current of a tarmac road

past armor-plated vehicles, out between
the posted soldiers flowing and receding
like tree shadows into the polished windscreen.

Cut by Sylvia Plath

for Susan O'Neill Roe

What a thrill ----
My thumb instead of an onion.
The top quite gone
Except for a sort of hinge

Of skin,
A flap like a hat,
Dead white.
Then that red plush.

Little pilgrim,
The Indian's axed your scalp.
Your turkey wattle
Carpet rolls

Straight from the heart.
I step on it,
Clutching my bottle
Of pink fizz. A celebration, this is.
Out of a gap
A million soldiers run,
Redcoats, every one.

Whose side are they one?
O my
Homunculus, I am ill.
I have taken a pill to kill

The thin
Papery feeling.
Saboteur,
Kamikaze man ----

The stain on your
Gauze Ku Klux Klan
Babushka
Darkens and tarnishes and when
The balled
Pulp of your heart
Confronts its small
Mill of silence

How you jump ----
Trepanned veteran,
Dirty girl,
Thumb stump.

Sick by Shel Silverstein

"I cannot go to school today,"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay,
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash, and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox
And there's one more--that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut, my eyes are blue--
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke--
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb,
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is---Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play!"

The Look by Sara Teasdale

Strephon kissed me in the spring,
Robin in the fall,
But Colin only looked at me
And never kissed at all.

Strephon's kiss was lost in jest,
Robin's lost in play,
But the kiss in Colin's eyes
Haunts me night and day.

The Daffodils

THE DAFFODILS

by: William Wordsworth (1770-1850)

I WANDERED lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of the bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company
I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

I wandered lonely as a cloud by William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

The Planners

The Planners by Boey Kim Cheng

They plan. They build. All spaces are gridded,
filled with permutations of possibilities.
The buildings are in alignment with the roads
which meet at desired points
linked by bridges all hang
in the grace of mathematics.
They build and will not stop.
Even the sea draws back
and the skies surrender.

They erase the flaws,
the blemishes of the past, knock off
useless blocks with dental dexterity.
All gaps are plugged
with gleaming gold.
The country wears perfect rows of shining teeth.
Anaesthesia, amnesia, hypnosis.
They have the means
They have it all so it will not hurt,
so history is new again.
The piling will not stop.
The drilling goes right through
the fossils of last century.

But my heart would not bleed
poetry. Not a single drop
to stain the blueprint
of our past's tomorrow.

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond by e.e. cummings

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

1(a... (a leaf falls on loneliness)- e.e.cummings

1(a

le
af
fa
ll

s)
one
l

iness

The Chimney Sweeper (Songs of Innocence)

The Chimney Sweeper (Songs of Innocence) by William Blake

When my mother died I was very young,
And my father sold me while yet my tongue
Could scarcely cry 'weep! 'weep! 'weep! 'weep!
So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep.

There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head,
That curled like a lamb's back, was shaved: so I said,
"Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when your head's bare,
You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair."

And so he was quiet; and that very night,
As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight, -
That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack,
Were all of them locked up in coffins of black.

And by came an angel who had a bright key,
And he opened the coffins and set them all free;
Then down a green plain leaping, laughing, they run,
And wash in a river, and shine in the sun.

Then naked and white, all their bags left behind,
They rise upon clouds and sport in the wind;
And the angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy,
He'd have God for his father, and never want joy.

And so Tom awoke; and we rose in the dark,
And got with our bags and our brushes to work.
Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm;
So if all do their duty they need not fear harm.

The Dream Keeper

The Dream Keeper by Langston Hughes

Bring me all of your dreams,
You dreamer,
Bring me all your
Heart melodies
That I may wrap them
In a blue cloud-cloth
Away from the too-rough fingers
Of the world.

The Grass has so little to do

The Grass has so little to do by Emily Dickinson

THE GRASS so little has to do,—
A sphere of simple green,
With only butterflies to brood,
And bees to entertain,

And stir all day to pretty tunes 5
The breezes fetch along,
And hold the sunshine in its lap
And bow to everything;

And thread the dews all night, like pearls,
And make itself so fine,— 10
A duchess were too common
For such a noticing.

And even when it dies, to pass
In odors so divine,
As lowly spices gone to sleep, 15
Or amulets of pine.

And then to dwell in sovereign barns,
And dream the days away,—
The grass so little has to do,
I wish I were a hay!

I have dreamed so much of you by Robert Desnos

I have dreamed of you so much that you are no longer real.
Is there still time for me to reach your breathing body, to kiss your mouth and make
your dear voice come alive again?

I have dreamed of you so much that my arms, grown used to being crossed on my
chest as I hugged your shadow, would perhaps not bend to the shape of your body.
For faced with the real form of what has haunted me and governed me for so many
days and years, I would surely become a shadow.

O scales of feeling.

I have dreamed of you so much that surely there is no more time for me to wake up.
I sleep on my feet prey to all the forms of life and love, and you, the only one who
counts for me today, I can no more touch your face and lips than touch the lips and
face of some passerby.

I have dreamed of you so much, have walked so much, talked so much, slept so much
with your phantom, that perhaps the only thing left for me is to become a phantom
among phantoms, a shadow a hundred times more shadow than the shadow the
moves and goes on moving, brightly, over the sundial of your life.

Your Dog dies

YOUR DOG DIES by Raymond Carver

it gets run over by a van.
you find it at the side of the road
and bury it.
you feel bad about it.
you feel bad personally,
but you feel bad for your daughter
because it was her pet,
and she loved it so.
she used to croon to it
and let it sleep in her bed.
you write a poem about it.
you call it a poem for your daughter,
about the dog getting run over by a van
and how you looked after it,
took it out into the woods
and buried it deep, deep,
and that poem turns out so good
you're almost glad the little dog
was run over, or else you'd never
have written that good poem.
then you sit down to write
a poem about writing a poem
about the death of that dog,
but while you're writing you
hear a woman scream
your name, your first name,
both syllables,
and your heart stops.
after a minute, you continue writing.
she screams again.
you wonder how long this can go on.

Totem by Sylvia Plath

The engine is killing the track, the track is silver,
It stretches into the distance. It will be eaten nevertheless.

Its running is useless.
At nightfall there is the beauty of drowned fields,

Dawn gilds the farmers like pigs,
Swaying slightly in their thick suits,

White towers of Smithfield ahead,
Fat haunches and blood on their minds.

There is no mercy in the glitter of cleavers,
The butcher's guillotine that whispers: 'How's this, how's this?'

In the bowl the hare is aborted,
Its baby head out of the way, embalmed in spice,

Flayed of fur and humanity.
Let us eat it like Plato's afterbirth,

Let us eat it like Christ.
These are the people that were important ----

Their round eyes, their teeth, their grimaces
On a stick that rattles and clicks, a counterfeit snake.

Shall the hood of the cobra appall me ----
The loneliness of its eye, the eye of the mountains

Through which the sky eternally threads itself?
The world is blood-hot and personal

Dawn says, with its blood-flush.
There is no terminus, only suitcases

Out of which the same self unfolds like a suit
Bald and shiny, with pockets of wishes,

Notions and tickets, short circuits and folding mirrors.
I am mad, calls the spider, waving its many arms.

And in truth it is terrible,
Multiplied in the eyes of the flies.

They buzz like blue children
In nets of the infinite,

Roped in at the end by the one
Death with its many sticks.

who is Grace Ezequiel

AMANTE

A waterfall of hair
cascades
down your shoulders.

Silence breathes us,
butterflies
in our hands.

Our dinners
half eaten
packed for later.

A five star meal
relished
on our warm spines.

While we languish
on rented sheets.
No bickering moments,

dismal doubts,
or monotonous chores
shudder our cloistered moments.

Eternity is not
a diamond ring.
It is here.

Grace Ezequiel

When you are old

When You Are Old
When you are old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true;
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

And bending down beside the glowing bars
Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And his his face amid a crowd of stars.

W. B. Yeats (1865-1939)

Cinderella by Roald Dahl

I guess you think you know this story.
You don't. The real one's much more gory.
The phoney one, the one you know,
Was cooked up years and years ago,
And made to sound all soft and sappy
just to keep the children happy.
Mind you, they got the first bit right,
The bit where, in the dead of night,
The Ugly Sisters, jewels and all,
Departed for the Palace Ball,
While darling little Cinderella
Was locked up in a slimy cellar,
Where rats who wanted things to eat,
Began to nibble at her feet.

She bellowed 'Help!' and 'Let me out!
The Magic Fairy heard her shout.
Appearing in a blaze of light,
She said: 'My dear, are you all right?'
'All right?' cried Cindy .'Can't you see
'I feel as rotten as can be!'
She beat her fist against the wall,
And shouted, 'Get me to the Ball!
'There is a Disco at the Palace!
'The rest have gone and 1 am jalous!
'I want a dress! I want a coach!
'And earrings and a diamond brooch!
'And silver slippers, two of those!
'And lovely nylon panty hose!
'Done up like that I'll guarantee
'The handsome Prince will fall for me!'
The Fairy said, 'Hang on a tick.'
She gave her wand a mighty flick
And quickly, in no time at all,
Cindy was at the Palace Ball!

It made the Ugly Sisters wince
To see her dancing with the Prince.
She held him very tight and pressed
herself against his manly chest.
The Prince himself was turned to pulp,
All he could do was gasp and gulp.
Then midnight struck. She shouted,'Heck!
Ive got to run to save my neck!'
The Prince cried, 'No! Alas! Alack!'
He grabbed her dress to hold her back.
As Cindy shouted, 'Let me go!'
The dress was ripped from head to toe.

She ran out in her underwear,
And lost one slipper on the stair.
The Prince was on it like a dart,
He pressed it to his pounding heart,
'The girl this slipper fits,' he cried,
'Tomorrow morn shall be my bride!
I'll visit every house in town
'Until I've tracked the maiden down!'
Then rather carelessly, I fear,
He placed it on a crate of beer.

At once, one of the Ugly Sisters,
(The one whose face was blotched with blisters)
Sneaked up and grabbed the dainty shoe,
And quickly flushed it down the loo.
Then in its place she calmly put
The slipper from her own left foot.
Ah ha, you see, the plot grows thicker,
And Cindy's luck starts looking sicker.

Next day, the Prince went charging down
To knock on all the doors in town.
In every house, the tension grew.
Who was the owner of the shoe?
The shoe was long and very wide.
(A normal foot got lost inside.)
Also it smelled a wee bit icky.
(The owner's feet were hot and sticky.)
Thousands of eager people came
To try it on, but all in vain.
Now came the Ugly Sisters' go.
One tried it on. The Prince screamed, 'No!'
But she screamed, 'Yes! It fits! Whoopee!
'So now you've got to marry me!'
The Prince went white from ear to ear.
He muttered, 'Let me out of here.'
'Oh no you don't! You made a vow!
'There's no way you can back out now!'
'Off with her head!'The Prince roared back.
They chopped it off with one big whack.
This pleased the Prince. He smiled and said,
'She's prettier without her head.'
Then up came Sister Number Two,
Who yelled, 'Now I will try the shoe!'
'Try this instead!' the Prince yelled back.
He swung his trusty sword and smack
Her head went crashing to the ground.
It bounced a bit and rolled around.
In the kitchen, peeling spuds,
Cinderella heard the thuds
Of bouncing heads upon the floor,
And poked her own head round the door.
'What's all the racket? 'Cindy cried.
'Mind your own bizz,' the Prince replied.
Poor Cindy's heart was torn to shreds.
My Prince! she thought. He chops off heads!
How could I marry anyone
Who does that sort of thing for fun?

The Prince cried, 'Who's this dirty slut?
'Off with her nut! Off with her nut!'
Just then, all in a blaze of light,
The Magic Fairy hove in sight,
Her Magic Wand went swoosh and swish!
'Cindy! 'she cried, 'come make a wish!
'Wish anything and have no doubt
'That I will make it come about!'
Cindy answered, 'Oh kind Fairy,
'This time I shall be more wary.
'No more Princes, no more money.
'I have had my taste of honey.
I'm wishing for a decent man.
'They're hard to find. D'you think you can?'
Within a minute, Cinderella
Was married to a lovely feller,
A simple jam maker by trade,
Who sold good home-made marmalade.
Their house was filled with smiles and laughter
And they were happy ever after.

Because I could not stop for Death

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.
We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.
We passed the school where children played,
Their lessons scarcely done;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.
We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible.
The cornice but a mound.
Since then 'tis centuries but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.

Emily Dickinson

Death & Co. by Sylvia Plath

Two.Of Course there are two.
It seems perfectly natural now⎯
The one who never looks up, whose eyes are lidded
And balled, like Blake's,
Who exhibits

The Birthmarks that are his trademark⎯
The scald scar of water,
The nude
Verdigris of the condor
I am red meat. His beak

Claps sidewise: I am not his yet.
He tells me how badly I photograph
He tells me how sweet
The babies look in their hospital
Icebox, a simple

Frill at the neck,
Then the flutings of their Ionian
Death-gowns,
Then two little feet.
He does not smile or smoke.

The other does that,
His hair long and plausive.
Bastard
Masturbating a glitter,
He wants to be loved.

I do not stir.
The frost makes a flower,
The dew makes a star.
The dead bell,
The dead bell.

Somebody's done for.

the kiss

The Kiss

I hoped that he would love me,
And he has kissed my mouth,
But I am like a stricken bird
That cannot reach the south.

For though I know he loves me,
To-night my heart is sad;
His kiss was not so wonderful
As all the dreams I had.

Sara Teasdale

Do not stand at my grave and weep

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die.

Mary Frye

"It is dangerous to read Newspapers"

It Is Dangerous to Read Newspapers by Margaret Atwood

While I was building neat
castles in the sandbox,
the hasty pits were
filling with bulldozed corpses

and as I walked to the school
washed and combed, my feet
stepping on the cracks in the cement
detonated the red bombs.

Now I am grownup
and literate, and I sit in my chair
as quietly as a fuse

and the jungles are flaming, the under-
brush is charged with soldiers,
the names on the difficult
maps go up in smoke.

I am the cause, I am a stockpile of chemical
toys, my body
is a deadly gadget,
I reach out in love, my hands are guns,
my good intentions are completely lethal.

Even my
passive eyes transmute
everything I look at to the pocked
black and white of a war photo,
how
can I stop myself

It is dangerous to read newspapers.

Each time I hit a key
on my electric typewriter,
speaking of peaceful trees

another village explodes.

The Prince to Snow White by Polly Peterson

(in response to Snow White and the Prince by Delia Sherman )


Did you think that I found you

by chance, Maiden?

Did you believe

I was drawn to your crystal casket,

like a hummingbird to its nectar,

by the allure of ruby lips,

the gaze of azure eyes?

The mirror told your mother,

at forty,

what she already knew,

not in her heart,

but in her spleen.

"Take her into the forest,"

she commanded,

"for her heartbeat plays

the music of my mortality,

and must be stopped."

Still the mirror

told her true.

She was the fading flower —

a fresh blossom

opened in you.

Ragged she came,

and gnarled and stooped,

hoping by this guise

to fool fate,

to quell the crone within.

Her apple froze you fast —

a talisman

to keep time

from touching her.

Alas, to no avail.

You shall have

your mother's love.

Indeed, you have it now,

even as you

usurp her place.

Did you think that I found you

by chance, Maiden?

You are beautiful, sublime,

yet not so lovely

as our daughter will be:

your mother's daughter's child —

her immortality.