Well she came from up above
Must have heard the earthly calls
Every day she falls in love
And every night she falls

And the clouds rain down
Alexandra

Shes got much more to give
Than anyone can know
Shes got a place to live
But shes always on the go

Alexandra
The clouds rain
Alexandra

I could spot you when I walked in
You must have just came from the garden
Can you ever trust a man again?
I see dark clouds a closing in

Alexandra
Let her rain on you
Alexandra
Let her cleanse you too

I saw her in the moonlight
I was fast asleep
She stunned me with a sharp bite
She sunk her teeth so deep

I must've known that i was dreaming
Cause i didnt pull away
The others did run screaming
But i was here to stay

Alexandra
She knows just what to do
Alexandra
She's got me and she has you

Alexandra
I heard it as the wind blew
Alexandra
She's got me and she has you

Call me homeward, Alexandra, and see my heart stays true
Beyond the foamy ocean's grasp to where the skies of your eyes are blue
Look for me upon the clouds and call for me in a dream
Lead me home with a beacon whose light comes in steady streams

Call me homeward, Alexandra, and let no tear nor whimper escape
See the silver spoon that lies on my overflowing plate
Know that every gift that graces my hand reminds me of you
And know I look towards the horizon as I keep you in my view

Call me homeward, Alexandra, I await your sultry kiss
Walking on to find that you are my only form of bliss
Seeing you upon the shore as the wind combs through your hair
Whispering to you of how your love wishes he were there

Call me homeward, Alexandra, and I will not be long
Listening to your heart beckon with its harmonic song
I am on a distant shore, but in faith, my life is yours alone
For only when your call does cease will I find myself are home

i've been carrying this napkin with a scribble on it
since yesterday -
  obviously in the heimatspreschen -
chcem stanąć przed sędzią, który może
osądzić sędziów - i.e.
    i want to stand before the judge, who can
pass judgement on all judges -
and a lesson for a few:
   e. e. cummings does not even tickle
orthography...
   noMatter howOrWhy you write so so,
and the not so... that's not orthography...
you don't get teach people orthography
with a language that has no diacritical
aesthetic... orthography goes hand in hand with
the application of diacritical marks,
and, since english has none: i consider
the interpretation of e. e. cummings'
works as: on the sly orthographic: absolute
diatribe.
        you want to know what orthography
looks like?
exhibit (a)
  chcem stanąć przed sędzią, który może
osądzić sędziów - correct - orthodox -
exhibit (b)
hcem stanąć przed sędzią, ktury morze
osądzić sędziuw
esp. on the może (maybe)
  and morze (sea)...
                    that's orthography!
take your ****** little e. e. cummings
                                   ******* and... *******!

so much for an intro...
today i found myself in possession of a 6 zone
travel card...
   little essex boy went sightseeing into
london, his adventure would end at
alexandra palace, wood green,
  the piccadilly line, zone 3,
  so off little essex boy went,
got on the train from lil' market town into
liverpool st., started walking on the platform
thinking: thank **** no owls and quarters
and hidden passageways into & through
brick walls...
      as any wordsmith will tell you:
once you enter the urban environment proper,
you start to realise, well, a permanent
insignificance of your effort dawns on you,
how you're overshadowed by all the clogs
in the machinery of the civilised world...
   awe? far from it... i was barraged,
pulverised by the ant in an ant-topia -
or should i say: a utopia is a place where
there's a seemingly infinite demand for work,
not necessarily a seemingly infinite
supply for work, but certainly a demand for
work...
             the most ******* job has to exist
to accommodate the people -
  it doesn't have to, but is has to exist in
order to be a bit like housing space.
so i passed them, the train operators,
the ticket inspectors, the men on the tracks
improvising improvements from ilford to
stratford (manor park, forest gate, maryland
etc.) -
  it really didn't matter whether one worked
and two snoozed on the job -
  the idea perpetuated itself:
  if not actually doing anything:
**** it, act, look busy, or look perplexed
by some "unfathomable" obstacle,
most notably thought.
            oh you better believe me that i have
great respect for even the most menial
professions -
    or as i like to call them: flip flop hopping just
shy of heaven -
the daydreamers' jobs -
   ******'s on that till telling train tickets,
ever so often waking up by an imaginary
coconut falling on his head when
a new customer arrives and wakes the
**** up.
                      london... ah, what a place...
someone once said you're never a meter away
from a rat on these streets...
   no ****, and half a meter from a rat with wings
and probably an eager tourist feeding these
"penguins"...
                    but i took the trip because
i thought i'd feel inspired, change of environment,
like: i honestly can't remember the last
time i sat on a bus, or a train, or the tube...
       me in a sitting position,
inside a belly of some mechanical diesel
caterpillar...
                       just for the occasion i thought i'd
dress up, put on a pair of socks and a pair of jeans...
well, i thought: these londoners can't suspect me
coming from the home counties...
gotta look the part, in some remote way...
fat face attire all, from the waist up;
                      but the people in their number
and disorientation hit be like a saharan gust
of wind, remnants of a hurricane -
                 everywhere i turned at liverpool st.
there was either a zombie apocalypse,
or some crack-******* ***** late for a train...
          i got some fine red wine prior to
the expedition...
               and so i headed to alexandra palace...
why? well... it looked mighty fine 11 years ago
from the rooftop of the scottish widows h.q.
near st. pauls...
         sitting pretty on top of a hill...
  so i got there, ensuring i let the arsenal fans
get the first two trains from st. pancreas to
pass me by, extending my wait for about 10 minutes...
    who was arsenal playing today?
tottenham? the punters on the train said:
2 - nil.
           don't know the score.
             so i got to wood green...
no one actually said there was a hill to climb!
  **** it, i climbed it, and when i got to the top...
to be honest, alexandra palace looks more
spectacular from a distance akin to st. paul's
on the 19th floor...
        it actually looks bigger from that sort of
distance...
          but i reached the top, and still had my wine,
and i even brought with myself a glass...
so i opened the bottle and began to forget
the initial: the **** am i doing next to
alexandra palace?!
            shouldn't i be sitting comfortably finishing
the second season of versailles at home?!
ah... never mind... so i drank the wine and
became shocked at the horizon before me...
as a connoisseur of drinking partners -
yes, you might have suspected all along,
i was drinking the wine alone... aha! but i wasn't:
i was drinking a bottle of wine, with, the view;
on the up side, the view from alexandra palace
is so much better than the view from
primrose hill - sure, maybe st. paul's isn't
visible, and you get to see much more of
the ferris wheel by the thames -
      but when it comes to a drinking buddy -
the view from alexandra palace is so much
better than the view from primrose hill.
           - and as ever, a highlight from the voyage,
helping god disguised as an old lady in
a hindi shawl with her shopping -
   in one of those wheely bags... down
the escalator, onto the tube, then off the tube...
  why did i imply god disguised as an old lady,
she said she's 70, i compliment her that she
looks 60... and believe me... that bag of hers
weighed about 30 / 40 kg...
                       and then back to romford,
for a quick pint of guinness on romford high st.,
aah... home... home with the "****"...
with the sort of people that make sense -
                  born and bred and sooner or later
to be dead...
                     at least this apparent
"*******" is not as much a farce as the entirety of
london put together...
            i can feel at home here,
mind you, a pint of guinness costs 3.15 over here,
which isn't exactly extortion down by
liverpool st. at 5 quid a pop.
           london used to make sense once,
even for me, but these days -
     it's just a ouroboros -
                  it's in its own stratosphere of "busy",
******* jobs, ******* rent,
        and as much as any noah's arc translated
into a city state as you can think of,
with only rats on board...
           but when you stand on either primrose
hill, or next to alexandra palace,
with a bottle of wine and your drinking
buddy that's the view -
            you can only start citing bilbo baggins:
i feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter
  scraped over too much bread;
   because that's what london is: superficial -
which is why i immediately known what
i'm going to get when i step onto
the romford high street...
        sooner or later it's all going to turn
into superficiality central, the mimic cities
of l.a. (and thank ****, that i can only imagine
this to be the case of said imitation).

One last chance, one last page to tell you how things stand.
More than anything else
I am thankful for all that time together, it was well spent.
Still I wish you could just stay and hold my hand
Until the world calls;
And then just tell it we will need more time lent.

If this somehow works, I want to be with you more,
Let everyone know.
'I will give you everything if only you will have me.'
Don't worry about what's on the other side of that door,
It will come in time.
Right now I must try to make you see all that we could be.

I first met you in the woods, that trip was sublime,
How blessed is nature!
You knew what you were about, it showed.
I learned that you too liked to hike, commune, and climb.
You seemed ethereal.
My appreciation of you, from there, never slowed.

It started that first night you came over here,
I was told we seemed
To go well together. I said you were taken, no hope.
Then I started to think on it. Things became less clear.
We grew close.
And the we had that talk, which made the slippery *****.

The release of our tension was an avalanche cascade:
Beautiful and terrifying.
You said you wanted to get to know me better,
Everything then made me so afraid,
But I spoke.
You know now who I am, word and letter.

I can't say that I know you though, always hesitant,
Holding back.
Afraid of pain, and no one could put you at fault.
Bu your recklessness is almost militant!
Different lifestyles,
So hard to mix, your heart behind a steel vault.

You are the Turks to my Constantinopilian walls,
The first to make it in,
To destroy all defenses, break your way to the heart.
I guess the walls must be rebuilt, the buildings and halls,
To store the secrets,
And hide the shattered parts.

One gate will always be open to you, if you need.
We did too much
For me to lock you out, I can merely run for a bit.
I don't know enough to take the lead,
Is that the problem?
Should I take what I have and run with it?

'If you love something give it away...'
I don't want to!
But if that is the way of the world
There is really nothing I can say.
This ship is adrift
My sails are open, completely unfurled...

But right now there is no gust--no breeze-- no wind--
I am stuck.
Is this a curse? Did I shoot my albatross?
I would take you out, but I have no money left to spend!
Would you if I could?
Confound it, more empirical data. This is my loss.

I am nearing the end now, almost done,
A bit left to say.
I just don't want to miss anything of import.
You understand don't you? You needn't run,
It's nearly your turn!
Then I'll see if I come up short.

I can feel it inside, deep down, the answer to what I asked.
he dull grey hour
Here and full of excitement! Oh the hazards of love...
They open up, in front and behind, so cast,
I knew it all the while.
I'm excited, in a strange way, kind of.

Perhaps now the sleepless nights can end?
It's 4 o'clock again.
I have work in 5 hours, but sleep won't come.
It never comes when needed, nor does it pretend.
Trust, can I trust you?
That's unfair, isn't it? It's just me that is a slum.

The question, in case you forgot, is rather simplistic,
Yet infinitely complex!
One of those with which you expect a cacophony
In answer. But to be realistic,
There is but one word,
or a few. No long and dreary monophony.

So, Alexandra, will you be mine?
And I yours?
The two of us alone, exclusive, loyal, and trustworthy.

The 9.6 million followers who tune in to watch Miranda Kerr having her hair done on Instagram — for this is how models spend most of their time — were treated to a rather more interesting sight last Thursday: a black and white photograph of a whacking great diamond ring.

Across it was the caption “Marry me!” and a twee animation of the tech mogul Evan Spiegel on bended knee. Underneath Kerr had typed “I said yes!!!” and an explosion of heart emojis.

A spokesman for Spiegel, founder of the Snapchat mobile app, who is 26 to Kerr’s 33 and worth $US 2.1 billion to her $US 42.5 million , revealed “they are very happy”.

At first, the marriage seems an unlikely combination: a man so bright he founded Snapchat while still at Stanford University, becoming one of the world’s youngest self-made billionaires by 22, and a Victoria’s Secret model who was previously married to the Pirates of the Caribbean star Orlando Bloom (she allegedly had a fling with pop brat Justin Bieber, leading Bloom to punch Beebs in a posh Ibiza restaurant).

Perhaps the union indicates that there is more to Kerr than we thought. More likely, it reveals something about Spiegel — and the way the social status of “geeks” has changed.

Since Steve Jobs made computers cool and Millennials started living online, nerds are king. Even coding is **** enough for the model Karlie Kloss, singer will.i.am and actor Ashton Kutcher to learn it. Silicon Valley has become the new Hollywood, as moguls and social media barons take over from film stars and sportsmen not just on rich lists, but as alpha men.

Being a co-founder of a company is this decade’s equivalent to being a rock star or a chef. And, if their attractiveness to models and actresses proves anything, then being a Twag — tech wife or girlfriend — is a “thing”. Sources tell me Twags are also known as “founder-hounders” because they like to date the creators of start-up companies.

Actress Talulah Riley was an early adopter. She started dating the PayPal founder Elon Musk in 2008. Riley, then fresh from starring in the St Trinian’s film, met Musk in London’s Whisky Mist nightclub after he had delivered a lecture at the Royal Aeronautical Society. I interviewed her shortly afterwards and she told me they had spent the evening talking about “quantum physics”. A month later they were engaged. Their on-again-off-again marriage lasted six years before she filed for divorce again in March. Currently Musk, worth an estimated $US 12.7 billion and focused on Tesla cars, is said to be “spending a lot of time” with Johnny Depp’s estranged wife, Amber Heard.

Model Lily Cole dated the Twitter founder Jack Dorsey in 2013. Later she had a son with Kwame Ferreira, founder of the digital innovation agency Kwamecorp. Actress Emma Watson is going out with William Knight, an “adventurer” who has an incredibly boringly sounding job as a senior manager at Medallia, a software company. Allison Williams, Marnie in the HBO television show Girls, is married to Ricky Van Veen, co-founder of College Humor website.

Could it be that these women are onto something? Dating a bro certainly has its appeal. They are innovative: how else would they invent apps that deliver cheese toasties or match singles based on their haircuts? They are risk-takers who must be charismatic enough to inspire investors and attract crowd-funding. They may not be gym-fit, but they are mathletes who can do your tax bill. They are animal lovers: every start-up is dog friendly. And they are fun: who would not want to date somebody with a ball pool in their office?

There is a saying about dating in Silicon Valley: the odds are good but the goods are odd. Nerds are notorious for peculiar chat-up lines and normcore clothes. Still, if geeks can be awkward, that is part of their charm. Keira Knightley, complaining that Silicon Valley was all men in hoodies and Crocs, described how one gave her his card, saying she should get in touch if she wanted to see a spaceship.

One Vogue writer recalled a Silicon Valley man messaging her via a dating app, in which he noted: “In 50 per cent of your photos you’re holding an iPhone. It may interest you to find out that I invented the iPhone. More accurately I was an engineer on the original iPhone . . .”

Most promisingly, some guys are astoundingly rich. It is suggested Kerr’s engagement ring is a 2.5-carat diamond worth around dollars 55,000. She has already moved into Spiegel’s dollars 12m LA pad. Between his money and her Victoria’s Secrets bridesmaids, no wonder sources claim they are planning an “extravagant wedding”.

It might rival even the Napster founder Sean Parker’s $US10m performance-art bash. He married songwriter Alexandra Lenas in a canopy among Big Sur’s redwoods decorated to look like an enchanted forest. Some 350 guests wore Tolkienesque costumes created by The Lord of the Rings costume designer Ngila Dickson. They sat on white fur rugs and were given bunnies to pet. Presumably rabbit babysitters were on hand when the disco started.

If such fantasies inspire you to become a Twag, the great news is you do not have to be a supermodel to be in with a chance. Such is the dearth of single women in Silicon Valley that one dating site, Dating Ring, crowdfunded a plane to fly single women to Palo Alto from New York.

Be warned, though: guys are single because they are married to the job.

No wonder most meet their partners at college or work — the Facebook chief executive Mark Zuckerberg met his wife, Priscilla Chan, at Harvard.

The Instagram co-founder Kevin Systrom met girlfriend Nicole Schuetz at Stanford. Melinda met Bill Gates when, in 1987, they sat next to each other at an Expo trade-fair dinner. “He was funnier than I expected him to be,” she said.

Kerr began dating Spiegel in 2014 after meeting him at a Louis Vuitton dinner in New York. You can bet he was networking. Shortly after Louis Vuitton showcased their cruise collection in a Snapchat story. Last season Snapchat went on to become the biggest new name at NY fashion week.

If you want to meet tech guys, you might catch them at Silicon Valley parties, which is how the Uber chief executive Travis Kalanick met his partner, Gabi Holzwarth, a violinist hired to play. Or they might be schmoozing clients downtown in a swanky Noe Valley club in San Francisco or a boring Union Square hotel in New York. In London you find them around Old Street, aka Silicon Roundabout, in bars, at hackathons, or start-up meet-ups. In the day they are coding at Google Campus or practising their pitching in a co-working space.

Some tech boys date the old-fashioned way: on Tinder. Airbnb founder Brian Chesky met his girlfriend of three years, Elissa Patel, through the app. When I interviewed Instagram co-founder Systrom he admitted that when he had been single he had signed up.

Dating agency Linx — presumably a play on operating system Linux — is dedicated to making Silicon Valley matches. Amy Andersen set it up in 2003 after moving to Palo Alto and being “flabbergasted” by the number of eligible men. She claims her clients are “extremely dynamic and successful individuals’’: tech founders, tech chief executives, financier founding partners of large institutions and “tons of entrepreneurs”.

Andersen says tech guys make “fabulous partners”. Romantic and chivalrous, they write love letters, plan dates, “even proposing on Snapchat!” If you want to marry a tech billionaire, she says, “you need to bring your A game.” Her clients look “for women who are equally, if not more, dynamic and interesting than he is!”

There are drawbacks to dating tech guys. Before Google buys your amore’s business, he will be living on *** Noodles waiting for the next round of funding — and workaholics are dull.

Kerr says Spiegel is “25, but he acts like he’s 50. He’s not out partying. He goes to work in Venice [Beach], he comes home. We don’t go out. We’d rather be at home and have dinner, go to bed early.” Which might suit Kerr, but is not my idea of a fun.

You had also better be prepared to share your life. When Priscilla Chan miscarried three times, Mark Zuckerberg wrote about it on Facebook, while Chesky used a romantic trip with his girlfriend to promote Airbnb - uploading a picture of her in bed, with a note saying “f* hotels”. Besides all of which is the notorious issue of Silicon Valley sexism.

It has a chief exec-bro culture that puts pick-up artist/comedian Dapper Laughs to shame. Ninety per cent of women working in the Valley say they have witnessed sexist behaviour, 60 per cent have experienced unwanted ****** advances at work, two thirds of them from their boss. Whitney Wolfe, a co-founder of Tinder, took Justin Mateen to court for ****** harassment. Her lawsuit against the company alleged that Mateen, her former partner, sent text messages calling her a “*****”.

Spiegel has tech bro form. He apologised after emails from his days at Stanford emerged: missives about stripper poles, getting black-out drunk, shooting lasers at “fat chicks”, and promising to “roll a blunt for whoever sees the most **** tonight (Sunday)”. After one fraternity Hawaiian luau party, he signed off emails “f*bitchesgetleid”.

No wonder some women are not inspired to become Twags. Especially when you could be a tech billionaire yourself. Would you not rather be Sheryl Sandberg, chief operating officer of Facebook, than married to the boss?Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/black-formal-dresses

I am Lex
And I am Alexandra.
I am not “baby” or “darling”.

I have more flies in my house than friends.

I am eighteen years old
But I feel as though the number should have an extra zero.

I am a student in more ways than one; of school, of the universe, of the stars in the night sky that I used to swear you hung all on your own for my eyes-
my gray-blue eyes with specks of yellow light around the pupils that make it look like I have always just been dancing in the street lights.

My pupils expand like black holes when my serotonin levels even out.

I am so short that I could pass as a pixie.
Five feet and one inch of metaphors that are so deeply rooted into my bones.
My ribcage knows truth like you placed it in my lungs for me to breathe in.

My hair is so indecisive, it changes colour biweekly.
I was born blonde.
My brother was born blue with a cord around his neck.

Every night before he goes to sleep he asks me to scratch his back.
I am older than he.
I feel that I am older than most.

I like old things.
If it’s not broken, don’t fix it.
I need someone with an old soul, I’m all Elvis and vinyl and Marilyn Monroe.
I could listen to Paul Simon’s “Live Rhymin’” on phonograph until I drop dead.

I wish it were winter all year long
But I don’t like being cold.

I collect tattoos like fireflies in mason jars.

I’m on pills that are supposed to make me happy.
I don’t think I’ve been happy since 2009
and I miss Her every day.

I’m more scared of life than death
but I no longer want to embrace dying.
Sometimes you forget to breathe just for a second, and then you realize
what you would be missing.

I think my depression is sort of like that.
It’s like being a bird and you’re the only one that can’t fly.

Nonetheless, I wish for stillness.
For peace, for fun in flatlines.
I wish for summer days by the lake
and no cell phone service.

I yearn for California.

I love reading so much that if I got paid for it,
I’d be a billionaire by now.
If you look into my eyes you could probably see traces of Sylvia Plath.

I wonder sometimes why she stuck her head in that oven.

I like vegetarian sushi, so basically just vegetables.
I was a vegetarian for a long while but then I decided that I wanted a hot dog.
I still regret that sometimes.

I’m afraid of frogs but nothing else.
I like to watch scary movies with the lights off.
I love to sleep, but I’m an insomniac.
And most of the time Melatonin doesn’t even knock me out.

I don’t believe in God but I believe in ghosts.
I don’t believe in hell but for Her sake, I hope there’s a heaven.
I believe in science but the class makes me want to rip my eyes out.
Except if it’s astronomy.

My parents usually depress me.

I believe purely in art.
Give me art or give me death.

I want to be a poet.
I want a living poet society.
My name is Lex
And this is 2013.

Put on the old LPs tonight, Alex,
from a time long before you were born.
Top of the queue was Petula Clark
belting out Don't Give Up,
defiant as an alley cat in a street fight.

Remembered how in her heyday,
she'd been forced to conceal
the fact that she was married ---
all performers being mysteriously
virginal in those days.

Thoughts segue several years
to my time in the service and
a female lieutenant who was my OIC.
Served a 20 year career,
but never knew a finer officer.

She realized leadership was saying
the things that made you want to follow.
Just after making captain,
due to pregnancy, she was forced
to terminate her service career.

Today, women routinely travel in space,
perform extreme surgeries,
design skyscrappers;
one just might become president.

And somewhere in the tenements of NYC
a young poet spins metaphor
straight from the streets and the cosmos,
constructing a world in lines
we'd all wish to enter.

I'm hyper and really just want to write,
I tried to write you a Sestina,
But those old forms of poems are really hard to stick.
So instead I thought I might
Be able to show you something new;
Something that hopefully won't make you sick.

You see, it's 4 o'clock in the morning now,
And I have too much energy,
Perhaps it's just the spiced wine and tea.
I wish we were on a ship's bow
So i could hold you up
And let you watch the waves of the sea

Crash against the boat. But we aren't on a ship,
or near the ocean, or even together.
Not yet anyway, though perhaps one day we will.
We were each supposed to place a pack upon our hip
and hit the woods for a while.
That didn't work out. But it's all good still,

Because that was only once chance in a thousand!
Every day there are tons of chances.
Perhaps we can go sometime to the woods,
Just us, and the sky, walking over all that solitary land.
Then at night, when the moon comes out,
We say goodnight and cuddle, if you would?

I want my energy back, this ****** illness took it away
And I'm just not right without it.
I think I'm losing you to someone, that you're almost gone.
I thin about it a lot, when I'm awake, almost every day.
It hurts everywhere, not just the heart.
I care too much, and fear that your anger has been drawn

Out by my constant want to see you, or hear your voice.
So I tell myself not to talk,
Because you don't want to respond: -- but then you smile.
When you smile I no longer have a choice,
I have to talk.
It compels my very soul to talk; and write; and go that extra mile.

Then I realize that I am lost in a world I do not know.
That the extra mile no where near me,
So I can't possibly run far enough to go down it.
I just want very badly to be able to go
For you.
Though this is something to you I can't admit.

We don't talk much any more, or hang out,
or do anything really.
I bet it is my fault, that I did something to you,
Because it is always me that is such a clout.
What did I do?
Is it because I kissed you when you had the flu?

I said I didn't care and kissed you when you were sick
because I thought... I thought
It might have made you happy knowing that I didn't care.
But I guess that didn't matter, it just showed that I am thick
and oafish where you're concerned.
Though I'm glad you decided to come over to my lair,

At least that once, two weeks ago, when last we really kissed.
Don't worry, no one will see this,
It is too real, has to much of me in it, and too much of you.
We talked a lot, you learned me, and let me learn you, and that will be missed.
If you decided that I must leave,
I will listen, whatever you say, though for a while I will be blue.

I am jealous of the other that you see when you want.
It angers me, but
That was the deal we made that day:
That I would wait, and keep my emotions gaunt
So you could have you fun.
And I just want to be serious, and date you in every way.

I don't know what all that means, but I will be here.
If I leave you now
No one else will come along for me.
So I will wait right over there,
You see that corner?
Yes, the one by the tree is where I will be.

So please (please), just come sit with me and talk,
And hold my hand.
I need to know what love is.

Hoja En Blanco
Monchy y Alexandra

Fue imposible sacar tu recuerdo de mi mente
Fue imposible olvidar que algun dia yo te quise
Tanto tiempo pasó desde el dia que te fuiste
Ahi yo supe que las despedidas son muy tristes
Nunca me imagine que un tren se llevara en su viaje
Aquellas ilusiones que de niños nos juramos
Todos tus sentimientos los guardaste en tu equipaje
Quiciste consolarme y me dijiste yo te amo
Desde entonces no supe que seria de tu vida
Desde entonces no supe si algun dia regresabas
Los amigos del pueblo preguntabas si volvias
Llorando di la espalda no les pude decir nada
Ayer que regresé a mi pueblo
Aguien me dijo que ya te casaste
Mirame y dime si ya me olvidaste
Me marcharé con los ojos aguados
Despues le pregunté a la luna
Me dio la espalda e intento ocultarse
Hasta la luna sabe que me amaste
Hasta la luna sabe que aun me amas
Y vuela vuela por otro rumbo
Ve y sueña sueña que el mundo es tuyo
Tu ya no puedes soñar conmigo
Aunque mis sueños se iran contigo
Es tan triste tener que decirte que me olvides
Otro amor ha llegado a mi vida y no te quiero
Es muy tarde no puedo negarte que me muero
Pero no callaran mis palabras pa' decirte
Que soñaré contigo siempre que cierre mis ojos
Que entonaré por ti mis cantos tristes noche a noche
Que lloraré sin ti cuando recuerde que estoy solo
Y al recordar que duermes en los brazos de otro hombre
Me pregunto si aun reflejas algo de mi vida
Si en tu memoria vive aquel amor de tantos años
Aquel hombre que siempre te ha querido desde niña
Que llora porque el amor de su vida se ha casado
Es triste ver que un tren se aleja
Y en el se va lo mejor de tu vida
Dime el motivo de tu despedida
¿Por que te fuiste dejando mil penas?
Un dia recibi tu carta
Quice leerla y era una hoja en blanco
Pues de tu vida nunca supe nada
Como preguntas que si aun te amo

Today we didn’t talk at all.
That was har,
But they say it will be good for me.
At least when I know in full how far I fall
From your graces.
Looks like I’ll be up ‘till around three.

The night gives no mercy to the sad,
No rest for the weary,
Only deepens the soul searching thoughts that
Always seems to mix the good and bad
Within the dark.
So sleep flees as the mouse from the car.

It’s him isn’t it? He has me beat.
What about him
Compliments you so well? Where do I fail?
Does he bleed ink for you upon a sheet
of paper? Past open
Red. Reading of a future that slowly grows pale.

I bet this is all just self fulfilling prophecy,
That I **** us with my pen.
Tell me, where is the problem with love at this age?
(****) there, that word again, it keeps coming up from the sea
Of rhetoric in me.
Just appears in ink; dark as death upon this page.

If I don’t understand, how can I feel it?
There is little reason,
At least that is how it now appears.
No don’t get up and go away, please, just sit
And hear me out.
Just very quick before it all disappears.

People say many things about what beauty is not,
But not what is it.
We are, thus, confused for a while:
They stop at what the zeitgeist calls 'hot,'
Never looking further.
Or perhaps going just far enough to see a smile.

If it were your smile, that would suffice,
But you don't stop there.
You open up a past that is hard to bear,
And yet every day you go on, not being tempered like ice.
Not everyone could do that.
That one time I dyed the roots of your hair,

You saw a small piece of my soul,
And showed me tender eyes.
Hope rustled in the fallen, dead leaves of my past.
So you started to fill in, bit by bit, the hole
I've had for years.
That weekend we started something I hop'd would last.

But back to beauty, you are its personification--
and I a troll.
You always worry about others, not you.
People flock to you for a feeling of elation,
Fulfilled for a bit.
You have a joviality of spirit that is so true

As to turn a gray sky blue again.
Why you? Why me?
Why and how did it ever come to this?
It seems you are a Muse to me, all this from pain.
Always you asked
If I was fine, I lied and told you all was bliss.

Is it unfair to ask you if you will be mine,
that I may be yours?
I know I said December, but it hurts too much now.
Don't answer yet. Until you do I can pretend it's fine.
More to say that you should know,
But don't let what follows change how

You answer. At least feel no guilt or fear.
I won’t lose you.
But until next year I might have to leave, go away--
Excepting your play, I hold you to dear
to miss that.
When I'm ready I will come back, one day.

If you need me in that time, just text me
saying so.
Or you know where I live, my door's open.
God, this is hard, I can't just flee.
But I need space...
Not that you have held me in any pen;

Just that I'm a fool and wait for
any response from you.
It would seem I am bad for us...

Catwalk creations and cutting-edge designers will be turning the North East into a glamorous showcase this week to delight the most dedicated followers of fashion.

NE1’s Fashion Futures will make its debut at Baltic in Gateshead on the day that also sees student collections unveiled there in Northumbria University Graduate Fashion Show.

Wednesday marks the start of NE1’s two-day fashion-steeped extravaganza of shows, talks and panel discussions and the event, a first for the region, is attracting big names in the fashion world such as British Vogue editor Alexandra Shulman, top designer Henry Holland and home-grown designer-to-the-stars Scott Henshall.

It is born from local business champion NE1’s Newcastle Fashion Week which ran for four years.

The idea is to bring the best aspects of that together to shape a whole new-look affair which will culminate in a Fashion Front Row event on the Thursday evening.

As well as highlighting the mark the region has made on the fashion industry, with North East-trained designers on the guest list, the event promises a perfect opportunity for anyone keen to learn how to follow in their successful footsteps.

High profile brands Mercedes Benz of Newcastle and international footwear designer Terry de Havilland are sponsors of NE1’s Fashion Futures which is organised by marketing and events manager Sandra Tang.

She said: “The event and its contributors highlight the strength of the region’s fashion industry, will help us celebrate the city’s fashion academic heritage and hopefully encourage a new generation to enter the fashion industry.”

This year’s Northumbria University Graduate Fashion Show, called FASHION, will be held at Baltic during the first day and the catwalk show is set to attract buyers and industry figures from around the world.

Then Thursday will see the main programme of free Fashion Talks run from 1pm to 3pm, aimed at young people interested in a career in the fashion industry.

There will be plenty tips to be had from the likes of Henry Holland who is known for his eye-catching designs and fun style.

He will be in conversation with fashion journalist Laura Weir and giving an insight into his life as one of the UK’s leading fashion designers. He has dressed famous celebrities, won international acclaim for his collections and sold designs in glamorous outlets such as Liberty.

Alexandra Shulman will also take to the stage to talk about her own life and work and give advice to any aspiring designers as well as style journalists.

And there will be a panel discussion with fashion experts including former Northumbria University students Michelle Taylor, founder of luxury lingerie brand Tallulah Love; Charis Younger, a menswear designer at All Saints; and Kate Ablett, a senior designer at Berghaus.

Joining them will be Terry De Havilland’s managing director Darren Spurling.

That evening’s Fashion Front Row event - a popular feature of NE1’s former Newcastle Fashion Week - will then showcase the best of the North East designer talent.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-melbourne | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-perth

Alexandra is just 15 years old and also my youngest rosebud. In my humble opinion she's writing in a fashion that is way beyond her years.
For her life hasn't been to good lately and I would ask all of you to support her writing.
This is one girl with a great future

Joe

Everyday caught
In the labyrinth of mind,
I am,
Where dreams,
And desires
And lust,
From nothing
Conspire something.

Destination: Canada Water.
The next station is Surrey Quays.
Doors will open on the right-hand side.
Exit here for Goldsmith's College.

In the cerebellum
Fragments flash cerebrum bright:
Wheels in tunnels burn,
A neural screech amplified deep,
As waves of electrons churn,
And in multiple places keep.

This stop:
- My birth -
Is in Westminster!

It’s time:

Do you love me?
DO YOU LOVE ME?
          Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

In the space-time continuum,
The labyrinth is forever,
Within a fourth dimension.

It’s time …

You love me, right?
YOU LOVE ME, RIGHT?
    Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

DO-MI-NA-TION
DEATH FREE
DO-MI-NA-TION
ASH FREE

Lost in the labyrinth: a journey to an exit.
The Overground train pulls!
And from floor to ceiling,
Between vertical orange pins,
A medley of languid listless limbs lulls,
       Seated hips,
       Angled legs,
       Dangling feet,
And neck-less heads,
Lost, ghoul-like,
The disconcerted move doggedly on,
Everywhere somewhere; but forever nowhere
Through London's hills and bogs.

From  STOP to STOP,
In the labyrinthine network,
In tubes splayed out on cubes,
Of bright brushed viscose comfort,
Overhead, the ads exhort:

       Top Up Your Soul,
       Fast Forward Your Escape
And
       uSwipe
       uSwitch
       uSave

Like these,
A hundred escalating messages,
Each more insistent than the last,
Compel, enough to distract,
So man’s desire enslaves his heart.

Its time…

         You love, right?
YOU LOVE, RIGHT?
    Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

DO-MI-NA-TION
DEATH FREE
DO-MI-NA-TION
ASH FREE

How? Why?
Has bacterial sludge,
Built these edifices of glass and steel.
This labyrinthian cage,
Whose walls race up at the speed of light,
While the inner commuter flame gutters,
Everywher, in multiverses,
Supernovas explode in showers.
And for a moment, in the moment, The Overground chromatic glows.

New Cross Gate, Canada Water, Southwark.

Lit and digital and LCD:
        
  ALL CHANGE, PLEASE.
  THIS TRAIN TERMINATES HERE

A few automated steps, and:
       Southwark,
       Green Park,
       Then Baker Street,
Appear, fade and disappear.

Now walking down Belsize Road,
On the evening of the
Super Gibbous Moon,
As it rises high over the Ziggurat dimensions of the Alexandra Estate,
And all is blood orange at dusk,
As I, a slinking silhouette,
Make for the event horizon of home,
For surely given, and taken,
A few more bends, another turn,

It’s time, again.

         Love, right?
         LOVE, RIGHT?
    Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

DO-MI-NA-TION
DEATH FREE
DO-MI-NA-TION
FREE ME.

To the event horizon of consciousness,
To that black hole at the core.
In death's star-like eye,
Embrace, pass through,
(Fear not),
On, through the labyrinth northward,
Entering and exiting,
We go awhile, a little longer.

Stars, my Stars,
Again, it's time.

You love me, right?
YOU LOVE ME, RIGHT?
Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL
SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL
DEATH FREE.
LOVE!
BE,
WINGS FREE:

     SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL

One more stop:

       New Bond Street.

GET BEYOND
DESIRE,
BEYOND THE LABYRINTHEAN LIE,
CONSUMER, DIE!
BE
MATERIAL FREE.

Last stop:

       No-name, this one:

BE:

     SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL.

SAY IT:

     SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL
     SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL
     DEATH FREE.
     LOVE!
     BE,
     WINGS FREE:
    
     WE ARE:
     SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL

Lover
I come to you on my knees
tonight
I’m feeling out of my place
I have a need that only you
can understand
this slave begs for your control
I need your absolute power
eclipse my soul with it
to remind me
I am your possession
I need you to cleanse me
of these feelings of insolence
Take your whip
and together we will go back
back to where we live
where I need to be
hear me scream
and know that its for you
lead me into your fire
I will come and join you there
I want you to make me worthy
of you
the whip and the pain
they always bring me home
I need to be bound
completely lost
use my body
fill my every opening
burn out my improper thoughts
fill me completely with you
I need you to give me pain
to make me beg
******* tears
let me pay the price for
belonging to you
take it out in my flesh
to remind me
take me to your edge
and then lead me farther
where we live together
I go there for us.


Alexandra F.  © 1997

+27736613276 The Abortion Pill: Medical Abortion with Mifepristone and Misoprostol What is the Medical Abortion?

Medical abortion is a procedure that uses various medications to end a pregnancy. A medical abortion is started either in a doctors office or at home with visits to your health care provider.

Medical abortion doesn't require anaesthesia or surgery, but it should be done early in pregnancy. Unlike a surgical procedure, a medical abortion usually is done without entering the ******.

During the procedure Medical abortion can be done using the following medications:

Oral mifepristone and oral misoprostol. This is the most common type of medical abortion, likely due to the ease of oral rather than vaginal dosing. These medications must be taken within seven weeks of the first day of your last period. Mifepristone (mif-uh-PRIS-tone) — also known as RU-486 — blocks the action of the hormone progesterone, causing the lining of the ****** to thin and preventing the embryo from staying implanted and growing.

Misoprostol (my-so-PROS-tol) causes the ****** to contract and expel the embryo through the ******. If you choose this type of medical abortion, you must visit your health care provider twice to take the medications and then afterward to make sure the abortion is complete.

Methotrexate injection and vaginal misoprostol. This type of medical abortion must be done within seven weeks of the first day of your last period. Methotrexate is given as a shot by your health care provider and the misoprostol is later used at home. You must visit your health care provider within a week of getting a methotrexate shot for an ultrasound to confirm if the abortion is complete. If the pregnancy continues, another dose of misoprostol will be given.

Vaginal misoprostol alone. This method may be used over a broader range of gestational ages, but requires scheduling multiple doses of the medication. Vaginal misoprostol alone can be effective in promoting the completion of a miscarriage — a spontaneous abortion where the embryo has died.

The medications used in a medical abortion cause vaginal bleeding and abdominal cramping. They may also cause: Nausea, Vomiting, Fever, Chills, Diarrhea, Headache.

You may be given medications to manage pain during and after the medical abortion. You may also be given antibiotics. Your health care provider will explain how much pain and bleeding to expect, depending on the number of weeks of your pregnancy. You might not be able to go about your normal daily routine during this time, but it's unlikely you'll need bed rest. Make sure you have plenty of absorbent sanitary pads.

If you have a medical abortion in a health care provider's office or clinic, you'll have a pelvic exam before you're given additional doses of misoprostol to see if the foetus has been expelled. The frequency and strength of your uterine contractions also will be monitored. While the most discomfort may last one to two hours, spotting before and bleeding after could last two weeks.

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I remember walking into the school building
The hallways seemed to be more hurried then it was normally
The air dense but withstandable
I remember hearing words fly from the mouths of other students
Words I barely new the meaning of
Death
It was everywhere poisoning the hallways
The classrooms
It seemed to be stuck on the ceiling and walls like gas
But I woar a mask of doubt
It couldn't be true
It just couldn't
Rumors!
My mind screamed to me
Rumors terrible rumors!
Lies they lie to me!
I went into my classroom
Keeping calm
Then my teacher said it...

"I know you've all have heard of Alexandra's death. She drowned, counselors will be free all week, if anyone needs to talk..."

My mask was pulled off my face
I was now choking on all the gas that made up the reality around me
I searched for something to tell me this was a joke... a dream... anything but real
I began to cry
Tears not like a leaky pipe
But like a waterfall
Much like the one she drowned in
I began to drown
Although metaphorically
She drowned physically
Her body was pulled beneath waves of water and it took her life
And took her away from me

Those days I didn't understand completely
But a drastic change overtook me
I began to see death
He bagan to walk by my side
The sound of gurgling water filled my ears at night
The picture of her face and beneath the surface of the water blinded my eyes she screamed
She cried
But her tears were washed away by the current
And I stood on the side of the river
Watching her drown
I stood without out a sound
As the bubbles grew fewer and the struggling ceased
I stood sickened
Why couldn't it be me

God help me I have an obsession
Now is not the time
Help me clear it from my brain
No wait -
The infection has spread
... God save the queen
She's captured my heart
She's back for my soul
God save the queen
Eternally lost, I can't stand
Hold me -
I think I'm dead
Devil in her eyes
My bloodbourne fervency
Can I contain this madness?
Oh God, save the Queen...
Ineffective quarantine
cells gone, you're all that remains
Unwavering Loyalty
To you
God help us all,
Save the Queen
Mistress, my Lady
You make me weak in the knees, nervous
Baby, princess, Kitten
I am ******
The wicked witch of the sheets
She's my duchess and my priestess
Queen of my bed
Off with her head

- recognition of an addiction/obsession is the first step to recovery

you know exactly what you
are doing
to me
every day, of every week,
us at work
together,
knowing so little of each other,
you tease
me with the breezily
brush
of your billowy blouse,
brushed
by your sweet, soft-sleek
breast
against my arm or shoulder or back,
against me
brushing
-knowing that you do this
just to see me
blushing
just to laugh it off
in passing
as my stiff *******
belie my casual, response
my hard to stifle sigh
when you
brush
me.

-By Alexandra Eames

Il n'est pas un secret que nous sommes rejets totaux pour un bon bouquet de la mariée .Grands.petits .nous les aimons tous et les motifs floraux de Marti est là pour briser la jolie .Elle partage sa recette robes demoiselles d honneur pour le faisceau ultime de fleurs et grâce à Lexi Vornberg Photographie vous pouvez voir les clichés ici .Pssst : les gagnants .les rappels et quelques réductions d'amusement sont juste un rouleau de suite.Week-end heureux!\u003cp\u003e

BOUQUET RECIPEAgonisStockAnemonesRanunculusItalian RuscusLisianthusUhle CurlsEucalyptusGarden Roses

Astuce: Toute fleur est belle en soi .Mettre un superbe anémone blanche sur la texture sombre de la Agonis bordeaux rend plus perceptible.Les verts donnent à ce bouquet l'aspect dramatique que faire de la pop .Beaucoup de fois la verdure a une mauvaise réputation .Insérer photo mentale de la feuille de cuir de l'épicerie avec des roses rouges et le souffle du bébé .Il est tout à l'application des fleurs et la façon dont ils sont placés ensemble .Un bon truc est de commencer avec chaque fleur individuelle et en les faisant tourner dans le placement jusqu'à ce que le bouquet est plein .De

les motifs floraux de Marti .Beaucoup de fleurs entrent dans la fabrication d'un bouquet de mariée.Chaque fleur est choisi pour une raison précise .Pour représenter une couleur .une texture .un style .Une fleur peut être pris et fait pour ressembler moderne .romantique .classique ou rustique .Tout est dans le regard que la jeune mariée tente de réaliser pour son mariage .Je suis un grand défenseur de la vente des jeunes mariées sur le style et pas une fleur particulière .Mère Nature ne donne jamais le même produit chaque semaine et chaque mariée n'est pas le même non plus!Toutes les fleurs en dehors frappent sur leur propre .mais quand vous voyez le produit tiré ensemble la dernière pièce est tout aussi magnifique .Je voulais apporter un regard derrière la fabrication d'un bouquet .

Apporter des talents particuliers de toute la nation fait ce possible avec un ruban de teint à la main et effiloché soie de Froufrou Chic .lettrage organique de Signora a Mare .et capturé par Lexi Vornberg Photographie Photographie

: . Lexi Vornberg Photographie | Calligraphie: madame E Mare | robes demoiselles d honneur Fleurs : les motifs floraux de Marti | ruban : FrouFrou Chic

cadeaux COURS500 1500

$ carte-cadeau d' Ann Taylor WeddingsA jupe en tulle de

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Alexandra Grecco $ en certificat cadeau de Arcs -N- Cravates MariposaEnter Pin It To Win It concours
remises cette semaine .

Fattie PieAlexandra Grecco

Pour nos épouses Californie .Réductions de Evangeline Photographie .

Pour nos robe de soirée grande taille épouses Midwest .Participez pour gagner une séance d'engagement de soirée de Cristina G Photographie .

Pour nos épouses Nouvelle-Angleterre.Une offre spéciale de Hyatt Regency Cambridge .

et les gagnants .

Big Félicitations à la Bretagne .Krista .et Shannon pour gagner $ 250 de mariage de papier Divas .

Félicitations .félicitations à Katie qui a remporté une séance d'engagement de Julian Ribinik Photographie .

Enfin .félicitations aux gagnants multiples de l' échantillon d'impression sans lunatiques imprime !Les motifs floraux de Marti est un membre de notre Little Black Book .Découvrez comment les membres sont choisis en visitant notre page de FAQ .Floral Designs Marti voir le

I am quite certain that
the earth isn't flat,
all the roses will wilt,
voices lose their lilt,
reds and yellows will fade,
in time, every shade
and you will never know
when they come and go
but have a little faith
for things can be great
know that a girl like you
can be a treasure too
this friendship is a gift
no one else can lift

...best between my quivery, burning thighs,
gleaming and steaming my downy mound,
the air alight with my sighs,
oh, girl,
those eyes!

-By Alexandra Eames

In my passenger seat is a girl
with more beauty than all of Great Britain,
but she only sees herself in funhouse mirrors.
Most days she wades knee-deep in silence
and makes beauty marks of her own design
because she doesn’t notice how
the room gets brighter when she walks through the door.

I remember the first time I cut into my own skin;
I remember when I smiled more as my hunger worsened,
and I remember why I stopped.
But for the life of me, I cannot form the words
to feed this lovely girl or to heal her battle wounds.

A cup of green tea and two slices of pizza,
half a breadstick and cream of wheat—
her mouth can take it all in,
but I remember closed doors and reliving meals.
And it still scares me every time she shuts the bathroom door.

There would be no hesitation in holding back her hair
after too many drinks or on a sick day from school—
it’s a different kind of scared.
Scared that she will never know how perfect she is,
because her perfection is sitting cross-legged
in front of the mirror while fixing her hair
and standing in line at a coffee shop.
It’s quiet and simple, but she is impossible to ignore.

This beautiful girl is made of
all the best ingredients;
she is learning a secret family recipe
and buying a secondhand  jigsaw puzzle with no missing pieces.
Stars cannot shine without darkness
and she is the brightest of them all.

one of the most
beautiful people
I've met in a long
                             time

has dark red scars

up her arms and wrists
gorgeous ******
                              up past

just like mine

I want to tell her
that i understand
and first  
              and foremost
   "you're not alone"

In the cold, cold parlor
my mother laid out Arthur
beneath the chromographs:
Edward, Prince of Wales,
with Princess Alexandra,
and King George with Queen Mary.
Below them on the table
stood a stuffed loon
shot and stuffed by Uncle
Arthur, Arthur's father.

Since Uncle Arthur fired
a bullet into him,
he hadn't said a word.
He kept his own counsel
on his white, frozen lake,
the marble-topped table.
His breast was deep and white,
cold and caressable;
his eyes were red glass,
much to be desired.

"Come," said my mother,
"Come and say good-bye
to your little cousin Arthur."
I was lifted up and given
one lily of the valley
to put in Arthur's hand.
Arthur's coffin was
a little frosted cake,
and the red-eyed loon eyed it
from his white, frozen lake.

Arthur was very small.
He was all white, like a doll
that hadn't been painted yet.
Jack Frost had started to paint him
the way he always painted
the Maple Leaf (Forever).
He had just begun on his hair,
a few red strokes, and then
Jack Frost had dropped the brush
and left him white, forever.

The gracious royal couples
were warm in red and ermine;
their feet were well wrapped up
in the ladies' ermine trains.
They invited Arthur to be
the smallest page at court.
But how could Arthur go,
clutching his tiny lily,
with his eyes shut up so tight
and the roads deep in snow?

What I am trying to say is,
I am well aware that it matters not whether I am with or without you;
I will keep moving,
but I much prefer your limbs with my limbs,
and I enjoy the tragedy you think makes you unable to be loved,
and I'm sorry I didn't touch you a little bit longer,
and when you're here I feel it,
and when you're not I feel it too.

by : Alexandra Crawford

Up to the North
Down to the South
Keep the ships feeding
The big Mersey's mouth

14 big docks
And 19 big stops
Dad's got big hands
He works at the 'Brock'

He's seen Alexandra
And Nelson too
He passes the Princes
On the way to the 'Loo

Jump off at the Sandon
For a bevvy with Joe
Saturday's half day
To the match he will go

The merchants at Toxteth
Are rubbing their hands
There's money in shipping
And at Seaforth Sands

Jump off at Pier Head
If yer wearing a shirt
Stay on till Herculaneum
To get covered in dirt

The EMUs keeping rolling
From morning til night
Our dockers umbrella
What a beautiful sight

copyright/all rights reserved Joe Fogg 2011

Bubbles & Diamonds go hand in hand,
Slowly dirfting up to land.
Will you find them in the sand?

Like bubbles & diamonds we float & withstand,
All of life's unruly commands.

As Brother and Sister we may fight and demand,
but like bubbles & diamonds,
Complementary we stand.
With the same blood in our bones
  We'll do what we can
Like bubbles and diamonds
To grow hand in hand.

From infant to women
and child' to man.
The importance of family
We Understand.

after Alexandra Leaving, a song by Leonard Cohen

<>

to go where?

to a city self-consuming in madness,
giving every excuse to stay, and yet,
it came to me just now when the poet
must be leaving his redoubt, with doubt,
and return to the concrete and anomie
of a different kind of splendid isolation

when the last leaf meanders slow down
to the battlefield, and the falling terminado,
and the tree branches are stick figures, each
finger pointing skyward in an j’accusing manner,
accussing & conceding defeat, begging for mercy,
their pleadings too much for me to bare and bury

when green has been wiped clean, and deleted
from the dictionary of colors, my moth eaten soul,
can no longer be granted a stay of execution by
merely looking at the landscape and seascape
to admire their friendly contrasting schemes,
their installation in me of the awe of a visual
quietude, that was an astonishing injection
not truly appreciated till now, too late and
still early, the awe colorations of nature’s vibrancy

The gods have come, my soul hoisted upon their
broad shoulders, the dead-appearing tree branches
can no longer keep their poet safe, hold him back from
meeting his fate; now, he too is a leaving but
floating upward, unlike like the fallen crowds that have
come to rest upon the soil that born them, now to be buried,
all saying: Goodbye Island Poet leaving,

Island Poet
has no poem, no good understanding, no vision,
had no plan, no foresight, only a hope against hope,
that safety was/is not seasonal, Van Morrison reminds,
“These are the days of endless summer,”are memories,
to be held onto tightly, until when if I pass muster, angels
will return to my island abode, where my natural friends
will greet me again, with a flowering and new births,
and The Island Poet can once again revel in ideas in words like
future, sanity, when boarding the ferry with a one way ticket smile.

With eyes that can strike both fear and awe
and a heart that was forged of gold
A mind filled with wisdom beyond the Library of Alexandra's
and a touch of a mothers love
A hug of a fresh blanket
and a smile of sun rays
A laugh of life
and a ferocious love that envelopes all that are worthy

It is in them that I find solace
from the world and its many ravines
And when I need it most
I can always find them there
It is in them that I bestow trust
as if a chest of ancient relics
And all they have to do is look at me
and I know they'll be safe

I love you, good friend
More than I even know
Overflowing like a flood
with as much force as an earthquake
I shall always be there, my friend
and i'll do anything for you
For you are the most beautiful dragon
and I could never find another
Because in your soul, is a soul like mine
kindred spirits beyond time
And i'll always love you
Even when the moon falls
I'll be your guiding light when you need me
and we shall haunt the lands together
until the end of time

Thank you <3