The barber asked "what would you like?
Quiff?
          bun?
           Mohawk?
slicked back?
           side parting?
                    centre parting?
                                            greased?            
                                      permed?                  
                           straightened?
                   skin head?
               bald head?
        spiky?
        A comb over?
pony tail?
        pig tails?
                    curly?
                            frizzy?
                      dyed?
                               mop top?
                         French crop?
                 blue rinse?
           purple rinse?
                             step?
                                    undercut?
                                              shaggy?      
                                     dreadlocks?"
"No thanks" I replied
"I'll have a short back and sides and make it messy on top please"

tootsie pops, pop rocks, rock candy
sweet tarts, smelly farts, war-heads, sour patch kids
reeses pieces, reeses stix, snickers lickers
fudge pile, chocolate smile, peanut butter bile, sugary style
baby ruths, almond joys, soy bean sauce, creamy steam
ill give u a payday, mayday, hay tastes good with parfai
milkyways stay gay to play games with sunrays
icing splicing with knife dicing
makes cakes, cook steaks, rumcakes
****** sprinkles, rip van winkle, diddily dinkle
gummy worms, germs impregnate firm, permed urns
angel food, carrots, pineapple upsideways
fruits, *****, parachutes, scooters, jello shooters
goobers, corn on the cobbers,
veggie wedgies, pepper leppers, squash boxes,
fry foxes, fleet rocks', carrot tops',
dishes of fishes,
witches brew platypus and fat kush
pushy slushies riding skateboards on gary busy
fussy hussies getting blushy about cussies
cereal made of creoles, bread straight from dreads,
rice is nice with spice, yeast is beast,
last but not least, wheat is a treat,
kiwis, shmiwis, dodos on go phones, starfruits,
bartlejuice, grape drank, sushi stinks.
ill eat anything.

Genetically. Modified. Organism.
We do a lot o'talkin
And a lotta ppl mad at that name.
But I got dipped in the water to proclaim,
Im a GMO.
The fall of man didnt hold the power to tie me down no mo
My descension simultaneously displayed the ascension of my soul
My eyes glow with the reflection of my heavenly father who transcended from ***** feet with blistered soles
Ive been genetically modified to not see the world as which we know
We're living in the fog worshipping the money that we grow
We dont follow the narrow road
We dont love ourselves no mo.
Spent too much time bein broke
Caught a break, bought a whip
Bought some jays, bought some rims
But gettin towed
Whole house repoed
Iced out, chrome.
gold.
Investments? zero
We need new heroes

Drank the lies that ***** whipped into our minds while we were bleedin on his ***
Breaking earth and pulling weeds
We gluin weaves like, dawg. Where my edges go?
Now you tryna train yo naps cause everybody goin au natural
But you STILL mad cause yo curl pattern dont show that 2 percent of Navajo.
Changed yo hair but didnt change yo thinkin tho
Too long that permed subconscious sinkin through yo follicles
Mother earth dun been pulled harder than those edges
Act like you got some self-respect, go outside and clip those hedges
But her roots dug up
The seeds we sew
Aint enough to feed the whole
The rich, THEY bite the hand that feeds
But their stomachs; still on swole?
People like to get online and fuss,
Stop the GMOs!
Following the likes and living in fear sgonna leave the po--
HUNGRY. ..and po
I mean, what is science, fo?!
With climate change, and the persistent depletion of arable land, where yo seed gone go?
How yo plants gone grow?
Hopefully that won't have to be the case but I get the feelin
Mama nature's feelinnn
So'...

Shoot, Seasons dont know which way to flow
Cause we're walkin down the street throwin trash all on her flo
Like we aint neva been to anybody house befo.
Fillin it up wit smoke blottin out the sunlight
Making her plants choke.
Now the clouds broke.
Cryin acid rain and now your drinkin waters soaked

Im not tryna throw shade.
Im not half as deep as the aformentioned might denote
I aint gon lie
I dont
STAY.

woke .
I dont do my research on every clever quote
That I post
Hey, Im the FIRST one to let you know that I dont know.
But when I DO know
Aaaand I know fasho
And I hear somebody like, yeah this and that and so and so...talkin OUTside they ear. HOLE?!
I be like,
bro...
smh




-*sorry, I'm sleepy and have not proofread

Razor-mouthed maw
lurks in the shadows
receptacle of grim devouring
Watching and waiting
for foolish flesh
fresh meat
We all have to eat
Real monsters follow ALL of their appetites
Prissy poodles get dragged screaming
through sewer grates
Crumpled little pink permed bodies
Bones crunch like tortilla chips
Lifesblood imbibed
No rest for the wicked
No escape from the wicked
Crocodile smiles
sheds fake tears
for poor little creatures
Too stupid to avoid his bite
Too weak to fight back
Too closeminded to enjoy it
Crocodile grins temporarily satisfied
Scarecrow watches all from the shadows
Scythe sways in silence
waiting to witness
the next sacrifice.

i remember us when we were young.
we two little girls,
not yet three,
sitting on my front steps, you
spitting sunflower seeds at my feet
and me ******* on the salt and
saving the insides for later.
we, inseparable at four,
singing and dancing at your bday party
(only two days before mine),
smothering cake all over our faces,
shoving icing covered fingers into our open mouths.

i remember that you were larger than life.
your head was always trying to
catch up with your body,
that expansive geography of
flesh.
even when we were kids, you
would pass your rolls of fat off for *******
(except for that summer, when
i came back and you moved away.
i was the one with the
biggest ******* on the block
then, and
instead of boys,
girls came running, wanting to see
what was hiding under my shirt.

that summer
i started my first love affair
with my new neighbor. the one i said had
the ghetto name? we would meet
in my livingroom- she on the couch and me on the floor
or
me on the couch and she on top of me and
she would lift up my shirt, struggle with my bra
and cradle my budding ******* like newborns.

...i never told you about that,
but i wanted to,
and i'm sure that's the summer when you came back to visit
and tried to get me to come out in your sly way.
you told me, "mali,
what's the point of boys? they're all trouble
anyways." and i mmed,
and you waited
and i changed the subject.

remember that time i bragged to you about smoking ****
for the first time? and little Rich
from up the block
tried to sell us bud, but we told him
we had our own? so to look cool, we stole
your grandma's ****, and i felt bad about it but
you told me it was okay because
she bought it
from my dad
anyway. i remember we rolled
a joint the size of your middle
finger and we smoked the whole thing.
i said i didn't feel nothing, but when your grandma asked us
about it, the only answer i could muster was,
"****?
what's that?"
i don't think she believed me, but she let me off the hook
and i wasn't allowed
to come over for a little while.

i remember being seven
on summer nights
and playing tag in the bushes that separated our houses or
catching lightning bugs in jars across the street
in front of the church because there
adults couldn't hear
our whispers about naughty things
like
cute teen boys and
what *** must feel like.

you seemed
to have so much freedom. you could
walk around the corner,
past the crumbling apartment where
crackheads would stumble out during midday-
all the way to the gas station
to get a huggie and a bag of chips, you said, but
who knew
what exciting adventures you might have had,
what interesting people you might have met?
my dad rarely let me go up and down the street.
i remember being so mad about that that. my big brother said
it was because me and him, we were
different.
now i realize he meant that we were
(supposed to be) better.
back then,
i wanted to be like you.
free to make my own choices. when your grandpa candy
asked me if i wanted to go on a ride on his motorcycle,
my little body shook with disappointment, because i knew
i had to say no. i sat on my front steps and
waited forever
until you came back, half hoping that
you had toppled off, or one of the other
dangerous things my mom warned me about
had come true.

instead,
you came back looking triumphant, your round cheeks
burning
with the excitement of your trip, your
half-permed hair
a messy halo
around your head.

After I make my way back
To old 1947 New York skyscraper city
In a time machine jalopy
The same color as a baby blue sky
With leather seats and chrome wheels
I would like to stop
In an old burger restaurant
Stinking of grilled meat and
Marlboro smoke and the stench
Of permed hair
To order a burger and salted fries
And I would like to stop just once
And stare out the wide window
Into a busy New York street
At the beautiful women
And the beautiful men
While I sip my coca cola
Out of a chilled glass bottle
And you **** on a gorgeous red
Cherry straight from the top of your
Cold vanilla milkshake

The age-old rhetorical question:
bask in hedonism or preserve innocense?
Shamelessly flirt
and makeout with hotties on the beach
or stay quiet and "moral,"
which is really code for "I'm afraid?"
Is a kiss with a stranger
really a kiss?
Or merely brushing lips against other lips,
maybe accidently,
gently,
couldn't be any harm, right?
Or would my first kiss with a stranger who holds no relevence to my life
be a life-long regret?
Would not cutting loose and being "loose" be a regret too?
So uptight
my hair is forever permed,
let it down and lank
will I still be me?
Would I still have self-respect?
Would others respect me?
Urges are strong
but will they ruin everything?

i had a nightmare

i woke up
the sun was shining
bird’s were chirping
and the smell of freshly brewed coffee was wafting into my room

i slowly rolled out of bed,
a stiff crack shuddered through my body
and i rubbed my misty eyes

shuffling into the kitchen
i grabbed a large mug
and filled it to the brim

my newspaper was waiting outside
beside my blue adirondack chair
the lake was shining as the sun’s rays danced playful across it’s waves
and i could make out the silhouette of a man on the dock

he was familiar
and i knew that i loved him

it was a perfect Saturday morning
i looked over at the man
and smiled

he looked back and asked,
‘honey, where are your glasses?’

i was surprised,
i had never worn glasses a day in my life
but felt the urge to travel back inside to find them

after a long search
i found myself with my glasses in hand
in front of the bathroom mirror

i placed them on my face
and looked in the mirror
but the person looking back was not me

her face was wrinkly
and speckled with dark spots,
her hair was grey
and permed
her teeth were stained
and her eyes reflected years of memories and life

i screamed
and the face screamed back
and we both screamed at each other

‘honey, what’s wrong?’
yelled the man,
as he raced into the house
‘what’s wrong?’
‘what’s wrong?’
‘what’s wrong?’

i opened my eyes

and my roommate was shaking me,
‘what’s wrong?’ she asked,
eyes filled with concern

‘i’m old’
i managed to say as i gasped for air

Blue rinse  and set
home done.
Meant the colour changed every time,
from shades of pale lilac...
to electric neon light.
Always wave set never permed.
Hair too fine.

She was what they,
termed politely,
in those days:
"a large ***** woman."

Corseted nine to five,
in matrons whites.
Jiggly in a flambouyant orange muu muu by night.

A spinster, devoted to work and extended family,
large of heart and appetite.

A soft place to fall,
when the stonelike,
stoicism of my mother, became to harsh to bear.

I was flummoxed,
when in my teens,
I found a dog eared,
Kama Sutra,
in my blue haired aunts cupboard.
I can honestly say....

I learnt a lot... about a lot ...that day.

Two people walk into a bar:

A woman, early twenties, permed-up, puffed-out hair

Horn-rimmed glasses thicker than coke bottle bottoms

Fresh out the ivory tower eager to learn eager to become who she needs to be

Parlez-vous français? She does,

Her tongue speeding over conjugated verbs

Flying effortlessly through another language, she is ready

To move to Paris, la ville de l’amour,

The City of Lights, the City of Untold Possibilities

She is ready, she thinks,

To fall in love.



A man, earlier twenties, close-cropped, clean-shaven hair

Sea-green eyes and 20/20 vision-placid ocean

Fresh out Basic Training eager to act eager to become who he needs to be

Do you read me, Sir? He does,

His spine rigid from standing straight and tall,

Hand crooked at his forehead in an involuntary salute, he is ready

To build fighter jets with his oil-stained hands

To build a life for himself with his carpenter’s fingers

To build a house on the stability he thrives in

He is ready, he thinks,

To let someone in.



Two people walk into a bar:



A man, an Army graduate, an old soul



A woman, a College graduate, a kind soul



Guitar riffs floating from the jukebox drift through the air,

Playing the background music for newfoundlove story.



Two people walk into a bar:



Friends introduce them to each other,

She thinks, Those green eyes sparkle with the sun freckling his cheeks

Reddening his hair.
She thinks, Maybe he’s the one.

He thinks, That perm really works for her frames her face what a pretty smile.

He thinks, Maybe she’s the one.



Two people walk into a bar:

Sit down, have a drink,

Share some laughs, funny stories,

Break the ice with awkward questions,

Eat some food, too shy to share it

Get some drinks, guzzle liquid courage,

Dance to the jukebox buzz

Look a little silly but pretend they don’t care.

They don’t care.



Two people walk into a bar:


Maybe they leave hand-in-hand,

Maybe they hug goodbye at the door.

Maybe they think about each other and call right away.

Maybe they set up more dates, more bar trips, more laughs.

Maybe they already know that they are in love.

Two people walk into a bar:

Their history writes its own punchline.

I visited Jupp's house,
we had planned
a ball game
in the park.

Mrs J was in the lounge
on a sofa with her cat.

Come in, Benny,
she said,
it is Benny isn't it?
I nodded.

Yes, although
I was named Benedict
after the saint.

What do you think
of my *****?
She asked.
Did you want
to stroke it?

I wanted to get out
and play ball,
not stroke her *****.

It purrs when excited,
she said.

It was purring,
or she was purring
under her breath
like some
stage ventriloquist.

She wore a white dress
with a brown bow,
and her black hair
was wavy and permed.

Come closer,
she said,
it won't bite;
sit on the sofa,
near me.

Where was Jupp?
I wanted to get
some fresh air.

I sat next to her
on the brown sofa.

She smelt
of perfume and soap.

The *****
was brown and white,
furry, smooth.

You can touch it,
she said,
feel the fur,
smooth and soft.

She took my hand
and placed it
on the *****.

I stroked it
reluctantly.

Her hand
held mine,
moving it
over the *****.

It's purring, see;
feel it?

I nodded.

You can always
come here
and see *****
and play with it,
she said.

I smiled weakly,
wanting out;
the perfume smell
sickly in my nose.

Then Jupp came in
and said,
I’m ready to go.

I got up from the sofa
and Mrs J said,
want to kiss *****
before you go?

I kissed
the **** *****
and we walked
off and away.

Outside I said
to Jupp,
you and your
mother's *****.

And he sighed
and said,
I know.

Do you have a problem with
The way I
Dress
Talk
And walk
'Cause if you do
***** I'll knock your *** to the floor
I might be ****** up
As all holy hell
But **** hunny
I got way more culture than you'll ever know
I don't give two *****
That you've been across Europe
And seen all Seven Wonders
Because at the end of the day
I still got more love
I couldn't give a flying rat's ***
About your big hair
And prettied up nails
'Cause *****, I'll still ******* up
You wanna mess with me
Go right ahead
I'll tear off your throat
If you talk **** 'bout my people
And I ain't judgin' you for
The way for the funny way you
Talk
Dress
Or walk
I ain't even judgin' you for your upbringing
I, too, can talk in a highly sophisticated manner
With my nose upturned
My hair permed
My nails done weekly
In high heels
From behind the gated community we
Both lovingly call home
I can even join you and your gaggle
Of acquaintances
For a night at the country club
So of course I don't judge you for any of that
*****, hunny, I judge you
'Cause o' the way you treat
Me and my family,
Which yes includes friends,
Like we's all some sorta **** you stepped in
Do you have an issue with being real?
'Cause **** you wear
Eau de faux
Like I might be your last breathing sight

I was 15 years old
and started
my first job.

I visited
my paternal
grandmother
in London
and we sat in
her back garden.

Is that your
new suit?

Yes I bought it out
of my own money.

Looks nice,
makes you look
like a gentleman,
she said.

Have you seen
your father
in recent years?

No not in years.

You're not like him
at all, thank God.

I'd not seen
my old man
for a few years
and that was ok.

How's your mother?

She's ok.

How's the feller
she's got now?

He 's good.
Good role model,
I said.

That's good.
Your father
was a schmuck.

Your grandfather
goes out
in the garden
when he
comes around.

I talk to him,
I’m his mother.
Mothers do that
kind of thing.

How's Grandfather?
I asked.

He's out,
gone to the shops,
needs to get out,
he hates retirement.

He taught me
how to draw,
I said.

He's good at that,
she said.

How are you?
I asked her.

She smiled,
her semi-blind
eyes twinkled.

I'm fine,
made of tough stuff,
she said.

I gazed at her,
her white hair
permed,
her eyes
half-blind,
her small
warm hands
in her lap.

And I remembered
the time
when my mother told me
that Gran chased
some woman
who tried to sell her
clothes pegs
which were dud.

I smiled.
She never saw,
but she listened
and that's what
grandmothers
are for.

Death returned to her the beauty life had stolen.
Vacant eyes closed, resting.
A perfect, eternal sleep.
Hair perfectly permed,
Dark blue skirt-suit pressed,
Perfect.
Back to the way she was
In the beginning, not the end
The end stole her beginning
Death returned it.

(20 minute poetry)

Just a minor *** up as the Central line's stuck up its own nose,
only heathens in heaven know why
I travel this cattle truck way and the guy with the thorn crown really ought to come back down and sort out this absolute shambles.

The apple pie crumbles
I stumble in my rambles and bounce back smelling of sheep dip.

But to rip off the mask and ask, what is the problem is more than what I'd care to do and so I don't.

I stand shoulder to shoulder and get that older much older thinking the whole thing through.

I should fly
give me wings
the old ostrich sings,
but he'll die
with his head in the sand.

Loving Liverpool street, tramps, smelly feet and the lady beside me has had her hair permed, a special occasion? or just one more blank looker in one more dead station?

I'll soon get there wherever there is and where ever there is I'll be there,
it's not like I care though because the day doesn't know me as yet.

This has been no public transport comfort for the sick and disgruntled and a pig or a poke in the eye for the guy with the thorn crown who never came back down today.

You touched me first,
under the moon,
you looked at me and said you liked what you saw
the shabby hair and un-permed
let it loose, you said
the freckles that badly decorated my face
my large hips and belly
you touched me first
by the river
you looked at me and said you liked what you saw
my scars,
my struggles the most.

I touched you first,
under the sun,
I looked at you and said I liked what I saw
the good and well cut dark hair,
I love it, I said,
the masculine face and the breathtaking cheek bone,
brown eyes,
I touched you first,
by the oak tree,
I looked at you and forced myself to like what I saw
perfection,
you didn't let anything slip,
not at all.

I laid bare,
under the moon and sun,
by the oak tree and the angry rivers,
on the grass before you,
and you gave me nothing, but a guarded heart.

(One) (Ican'thelpitifyoumightthinkiamodd ifItellyouI'mlovingyounotforwhatyouare butwhatyou'renot)
O
Melissa with eyes silvery like water when it starts to steam
Mellisa with your chealseacut that locks sunlight with its evry strand
Mellissa with your mausoleum ***** that cages birds that spin young confusion round our ears

Avuncular heathen teacher cardholder
With your gnostic stepchildren that bare you in their undeveloped wombs
And the scattered mouths that trace psalms from your footprints
   in the the snow before they're stolen by ice

And your dreams you stir and share in restless sleeps wanting only to live another day

Mellisa who prims lectricity to stone
Mellisa who cries for noone less you know theyd return
Mellisa with your lips of dried budded rose
And your Gishian whispers that weave flame outlined by a gold only cateyes can display
Mellisa with your cashmere skin that warms and rewards every touch granted
And your lost lovers left behind
And your hands like gloves over arthritic fingers frozen from the freezing outside
And your nicotine stains that overlap into a bruise  thick enough to peel
and mark your worshipless shrine
And your drunken boats that sail upwards from the waves that chain them down and rip upto the endless starry skies

With your pierced tongue you scrape your teeth with as you tic and sing

You know Id ****** kingsmen just to stay on the run with you a while longer

Melissa with your cheap scarves and blurry trench that too stays motionless as you walk

Melissa with your bleeding gums that could kiss the dead awake
Melissa with your seedless grief and puffy cheeks that hover distant from the rest of your face
And your catfish bellybutton that I cant help but crush

Melissa with your empty questions that ring answers as you wish to hear them
Melissa with your guns in evry pocket and boots sheathed and stained
And your methodist lungs which bleed ash as your clear your throat
And your cloak that wears all the skinny traumas inferno held in its windows

How could I ever have misplaced you?

Whence seasons lingered til you wore the elements from their shells
And drew armature cerise from the clouds into the stitching that holds together our palms
And your bloodmoon mason jar that you swivel like wine
And your veins that guide submission into something maniclike

O
Mellisa you prove evry love before you was a lie

Mellisa with your reliance on those you take care of
And your batwing leather jeans and dogpaw fingernails
that twiddle your permed fringe
And your sallow skin slowly flaking and shedding
And your blistered heart that beats my ears like drums
And your careless screams in public vicinities that begged to have us both locked up
I would travel the world just to collapse by your legs

O
With your wooden bedbug leg lashes that clasp as they wither dust

With your monotonous lilt you speak with and laugh with

With your vitiligod birthmarks that tattoo your flesh

And your jawline that twitches as your eyes have no choice but to seal

And your ribcage that falls loose against your sheets

I would break evry bone over again and again and gather evry malady just for your cool palm over my forehead

O Melissa you never have to doubt whether Ill love another

O Melissa with your back turnt to the mirror, I'd hold you forever and a day

If you'd still like me to this time tomorrow.

(Two) (Farewell, be safe evermore.)
I woke up with my head and teeth shaking, felt like I was gonna die
'til I smoked a cigarette to start my day

Phlegm built up like charcoal bricks, hits my chest
Bittersweet like the smell of the night-before's lover on bedsheets with their side now empty.

No heating and thus my coldsore is frostbit, and the other hex's they gifted me rest 'neath tired skin
With revenge long out of reach--
Further than the distance of a hundred dreams  in fact

I'm surprised I woke up at all.

I tend to repress my dreams when I can, I'm a broken chamber rattling death so loud I'm echoed and either ignored
    Or laughed at--

o lord haven't I had enough?
o lord I can't make miracles out of tragedy, o lord I cant keep up with the pain that preludes my every step, o lord without hope, however misguided, I'd go insane and never come back  nor want to o lord take me in my sleep

O there are some secrets lord I know only you and I can keep.
Bless the griefs locked and left only to memory.

Little babe lost you're so beautiful and ugly don't ever **** yourself.
even when other's turn you away so scared for it to ever happen they'd rather not talk to you at all  
Dont you ever **** yourself. live a little as we dont have much life to live and besides, I think you're doing fine

   and I can't wait to see you doing much better,
When you get the time to get better I'll be there to help you up
And dust off your shoulders any residue from the fall...
I mean you can **** yourself if you wish  babe
But you're going to have to **** me first to get the chance

You can use me if you want to, I'm quite used to it just as I'm used to breathing in the same air as the dead
The used  and users typically have the same goal, after all
It's such a headfuck to know the one you loved never believed in you in the end
I know, I know
o but lord knows I still do and I will for as long as you're breathing
And though the clock is merciless you do not need to mirror it in a response of anger,
No' any longer than you choose to let whatever's done and gone still linger
Some will help some will crisscross
I bare nothing no more now but the best for you.
And my little babe don't you ever take your own life,
life's a gamble and some tries will come up short but I can't bare to lose you anymore than I can lose the will to breathe; please just let me listen or atleast rest by your side and no' say a word.

Call me old fashioned
but the sight of a kipper tie
is like nothing on earth
candy for the eye.
Bell bottoms on your jeans
bells hanging around your neck
Jazzy colours on your shirt
and nobody gave a heck.
Permed hair-dos on each head
everything went to the extreme
The Bay City Rollers
and you were living the dream.
The Osmonds you fell in love with
David Cassidy sending you in a spin
The sounds of the seventies
a memory you keep locked within.

Call me old fashioned
but the sight of a kipper tie
is like nothing on earth
candy for the eye.
Bell bottoms on your jeans
bells hanging around your neck
Jazzy colours on your shirt
and nobody gave a heck.
Permed hair-dos on each head
everything went to the extreme
The Bay City Rollers
and you were living the dream.
The Osmonds you fell in love with
David Cassidy sending you in a spin
The sounds of the seventies
a memory you keep locked within.

Call me old fashioned
but the sight of a kipper tie
is like nothing on earth
candy for the eye.
Bell bottoms on your jeans
bells hanging around your neck
Jazzy colours on your shirt
and nobody gave a heck.
Permed hair-dos on each head
everything went to the extreme
The Bay City Rollers
and you were living the dream.
The Osmonds you fell in love with
David Cassidy sending you in a spin
The sounds of the seventies
a memory you keep locked within.

Call me old fashioned
but the sight of a kipper tie
is like nothing on earth
candy for the eye.
Bell bottoms on your jeans
bells hanging around your neck
Jazzy colours on your shirt
and nobody gave a heck.
Permed hair-dos on each head
everything went to the extreme
The Bay City Rollers
and you were living the dream.
The Osmonds you fell in love with
David Cassidy sending you in a spin
The sounds of the seventies
a memory you keep locked within.

Call me old fashioned
but the sight of a kipper tie
is like nothing on earth
candy for the eye.
Bell bottoms on your jeans
bells hanging around your neck
Jazzy colours on your shirt
and nobody gave a heck.
Permed hair-dos on each head
everything went to the extreme
The Bay City Rollers
and you were living the dream.
The Osmonds you fell in love with
David Cassidy sending you in a spin
The sounds of the seventies
a memory you keep locked within.

In the ‘50’s we all lived in black and white, marching in step with each other, our lawns making us ashamed we weren’t more perfectly matched.

We didn’t know it but we were waiting for the 60’s, that time of candied heart love and daffodil embroidered clothes.

We got more refined, less cluttered in the 70’s but kept a mellowed down pink turned taupe, having grown too cool for pastels.

But little did we know the permed haired, gaudy colors would leap out at us in the 80’s, an overdone shiny world, trying hard to find something lost, but never known.

Relief came with the 90’s, calming us down with normal colors, not too bright, just right, giving us hope we were getting better.

But around the century’s corner lurked the black and white intel world, a mystery that was inexplicably mingled with blood, too terrible to imagine, only finding a reprieve with a safer, mutely colored world, diverse and reassuring.

The 20-teens got even more comfortable, washed with seeming inclusion, ignoring the faint cries from the earth and its creatures.

Then 2016 rolled in and the world erupted, leaking and oozing, quickly covering the humans and their earth colors with grey, seeping into black. Warning us of nature’s revolution lying in wait.

2020 and the world is the color of fear, yellow searching for red fear.  But as we wait, hiding inside, the earth quietly begins to pulse, the trees suddenly bulging with the need to blossom, as all the creatures sigh in turn, hopeful, waiting to begin again.

Brave world.

Call me old fashioned
but the sight of a kipper tie
is like nothing on earth
candy for the eye.
Bell bottoms on your jeans
bells hanging around your neck
Jazzy colours on your shirt
and nobody gave a heck.
Permed hair-dos on each head
everything went to the extreme
The Bay City Rollers
and you were living the dream.
The Osmonds you fell in love with
David Cassidy sending you in a spin
The sounds of the seventies
a memory you keep locked within.

Call me old fashioned
but the sight of a kipper tie
is like nothing on earth
candy for the eye.
Bell bottoms on your jeans
bells hanging around your neck
Jazzy colours on your shirt
and nobody gave a heck.
Permed hair-dos on each head
everything went to the extreme
The Bay City Rollers
and you were living the dream.
The Osmonds you fell in love with
David Cassidy sending you in a spin
The sounds of the seventies
a memory you keep locked within.

Call me old fashioned
but the sight of a kipper tie
is like nothing on earth
candy for the eye.
Bell bottoms on your jeans
bells hanging around your neck
Jazzy colours on your shirt
and nobody gave a heck.
Permed hair-dos on each head
everything went to the extreme
The Bay City Rollers
and you were living the dream.
The Osmonds you fell in love with
David Cassidy sending you in a spin
The sounds of the seventies
a memory you keep locked within.

Call me old fashioned
but the sight of a kipper tie
is like nothing on earth
candy for the eye.
Bell bottoms on your jeans
bells hanging around your neck
Jazzy colours on your shirt
and nobody gave a heck.
Permed hair-dos on each head
everything went to the extreme
The Bay City Rollers
and you were living the dream.
The Osmonds you fell in love with
David Cassidy sending you in a spin
The sounds of the seventies
a memory you keep locked within.