She stunned me when I first saw her looks
Never seen like her even in books

An angel who dropped from the sky
To say to me "Sam! Hi!"

She instantly got my full attention
And I at once shown no pretention

She lives now in the corridors of my mind
You won't find a lady so gentle and kind

Now I miss her as I miss the air when I stop breathing
She lives in me, so God help me her seeing

Sam Burton (C)


Today is Friday, Oct. 10, the 289th day of 2014 with 82 to follow.

The moon is waxing. Morning stars are Jupiter, Uranus and Venus. Evening stars are Mars, Mercury, Neptune and Saturn.



Quotes for the day:



"Correction does much, but encouragement does more."



Johann Wolfgang von Goethe



"The first requisite for success is the ability to apply your physical and mental energies to one problem incessantly without growing weary."



Thomas A. Edison



POETRY

Israfel





Edgar Allan Poe



In Heaven a spirit doth dwell
"Whose heart-strings are a lute";
None sing so wildly well
As the angel Israfel,
And the giddy stars (so legends tell),
Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell
Of his voice, all mute.

Tottering above
In her highest noon,
The enamored moon
Blushes with love,
While, to listen, the red levin
(With the rapid Pleiads, even,
Which were seven,)
Pauses in Heaven.

And they say (the starry choir
And the other listening things)
That Israfeli's fire
Is owing to that lyre
By which he sits and sings -
The trembling living wire
Of those unusual strings.

But the skies that angel trod,
Where deep thoughts are a duty -
Where Love's a grown-up God -
Where the Houri glances are
Imbued with all the beauty
Which we worship in a star.

Therefore thou art not wrong,
Israfeli, who despisest
An unimpassioned song;
To thee the laurels belong,
Best bard, because the wisest!
Merrily live, and long!

The ecstasies above
With thy burning measures suit -
Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love,
With the fervor of thy lute -
Well may the stars be mute!

Yes, Heaven is thine; but this
Is a world of sweets and sours;
Our flowers are merely - flowers,
And the shadow of thy perfect bliss
Is the sunshine of ours.

If I could dwell
Where Israfel
Hath dwelt, and he where I,
He might not sing so wildly well
A mortal melody,
While a bolder note than this might swell
From my lyre within the sky.



BEAUTY AND HEALTH TIP

Strengthen your nails



Before you go to bed every night, use a nail-strengthening cream on your nails (and under, if they're long). This also keeps them hydrated, which is essential for healthy nails.



Trivia

Where did the name “Revlon: come from?



Nail polish distributors Charles Revson and his brother Joseph, along with nail polish supplier Charles Lachman, who contributed the "L" in the Revlon name, gave birth to the Revlon cosmetics company in 1932. Starting with just one nail product a nail enamel unlike any before it the three men pooled their paltry resources and developed a unique manufacturing process. Using pigments instead of dyes, Revlon was able to offer to women rich-looking, opaque nail enamel in a wide variety of shades never before available. In only six years, the company became a multimillion dollar organization, launching one of the most recognized cosmetics names in the world.



How many atoms are there in the universe?



Astronomers believe that the universe contains one atom for every 88 gallons of space.



How do animals influence the weather?



Living creatures create tiny weather systems called microclimates in their nests and burrows. For instance, bees fan their wings at the hive entrance during hot weather. This makes a cooling draft blow through the hive.

VOCABULARY



Splenetic

adjective



:


marked by bad temper, malevolence, or spite



Examples:



I know David was in a bad mood all day, but the splenetic tone of his reply to Brenda’s question was not necessary.



"If he were 10 or 15 years younger (or at least looked like he was), [Charlie] Sheen would be perfect as the splenetic, screed-spouting anti-hero of John Osborne’s 'Look Back in Anger.'" — From an article by Ben Brantley on the New York Times Arts Beat blog, May 26, 2011



Did you know?



In early Western physiology, a person's physical qualities and mental disposition were believed to be determined by the proportion of four ****** humors: blood, phlegm, yellow bile, and black bile. The last of these was believed to be secreted by the spleen, causing feelings of disposition ranging from intense sadness (melancholia) to irascibility. This now-discredited association explains how the use of "splenetic" (deriving from the Late Latin "spleneticus" and the Latin "splen," meaning "spleen") came to mean both "bad-tempered" and "given to melancholy" as well as "of or relating to the spleen." In later years, the "melancholy" sense fell out of use, but the sense pertaining to ill humor or malevolence remains with us today.





Courtesy of Merriam-Webster, Inc.



JOKES



Female Comebacks



Man: Haven't I seen you someplace before?
Woman: Yes, that's why I don't go there anymore.

Man: Is this seat empty?
Woman: Yes, and this one will be if you sit down.

Man: Your place or mine?
Woman: Both. You go to yours, and I'll go to mine.

Man: So, what do you do for a living?
Woman: I'm a female impersonator.

Man: Hey baby, what's your sign?
Woman: Do not enter.

Man: How do you like your eggs in the morning?
Woman: Unfertilized.

Man: If I could see you naked, I'd die happy.
Woman: If I saw you naked, I'd probably die laughing.

Man: Your body is like a temple.
Woman: Sorry, there are no services today.

Man: I would go to the end of the world for you.
Woman: But would you stay there?





Seminars for MEN




(Prepared and Presented by Females)

1. Combatting stupidity

2. You too can do housework

3. ***: Learn when to keep your mouth shut

4. How to fill an ice tray

5. We do not want ****** underthings for Christmas: give us money

6. Understanding the female response to your coming in drunk at 4am

7. Wonderful laundry techniques (formerly titled, "Don't wash my silks")

8. Parenting: It doesn't end with conception

9. Get a life; learn to cook

10. How not to act like a ******* when you're obviously wrong

11. Spelling: Even you can get it right

12. Understanding your financial incompetence

13. You: The weaker ***

14. Reasons to give flowers

15. How to stay awake in public

16. Why it is unacceptable to relieve yourself anywhere but the bathroom

17. Garbage: Getting it to the curb

! 18. You can fall asleep without it if you really try

19. The morning dilemma if IT is awake: Take a shower

20. I'll wear it if I **** well please

21. How to put the toilet lid down (formerly titled "No, it's not a bidet")

22. "The weekend" and "sports" are not synonyms

23. Give me a break: Why we know your excuses are bull

24. How to go shopping with your mate and not get lost

25. The remote control: Overcoming your dependency

26. Romanticism: Ideas other than ***

27. Helpful postural hints for couch potatoes

28. Mothers-in-law: They are people too

29. Male bonding: Leaving your friends at home

30. You too can be a designated driver

31. Seeing the true you (formerly titled, "You don't look like Mel Gibson when naked")

32. Changing your underwear: It really works

33. The attainable goal: removing "****" from your! vocabulary

34. Fluffing the blankets after flatula! ting is not necessary

35. Techniques for calling home before you leave work





The Bacon Tree



There are two guys who have been lost in the desert for weeks, and they're at death's door. As they stumble on, hoping for salvation in the form of an oasis or something similar, they suddenly spy, through the heat haze, a tree off in the distance.

As they get closer, they can see that the tree is draped with rasher upon rasher of bacon. There's smoked bacon, crispy bacon, life-giving juicy nearly-raw bacon, all sorts. "Oh my, Pepe" says the first bloke. "It's a bacon tree!!! We're saved!!!" "You're right!" says Pepe.

So Pepe goes on ahead and runs up to the tree salivating at the prospect of food. But as he gets to within five feet of the tree, there's the sound of machine gun fire, and he is shot down in a hail of bullets. His friend quickly drops down on the sand, and calls across to the dying Pepe.

"Pepe! Pepe! What on earth happened?"...

With his dying breath Pepe calls out...

"Ugh, run, run!... it's not a Bacon Tre! e...

Scroll Down...













...it's a Ham Bush"





HAVE A SUPER NICE FRIDAY and a GORGEOUS WEEKEND!

i have fallen in love
with the blush of the cherry blossom
the delicate scent
the bloom on the branch

i have fallen in love
with the cascade of the cherry blossom
the clusters like grapes
and patterns of light and shade

i have fallen in love
with a pink so pink
fresher than strawberry ice-cream
or revlon’s baby pink gloss

i have fallen in love
with cherry blossoms in the breeze
petals flutter and hover
like snowflakes in the night

i have fallen in love
with every day, every season, every flower
every birth, every death, every sickness
because life changes and alters

i have fallen in love
with life, with love, with pain
i have fallen in love
i have fallen in love

"you really are beautiful,
in your own kind of way",
he says
     as he spits through his teeth

in what way is that,
i wonder?

in a way that can't be crammed into a size five dress?
in a way that isn't actually aesthetically appealing?
in a way that's too intelligent to find your misogynistic outburst colored flattery?

he pushes the wire-like hair away from my face
and wipes an angry tear from my freckled cheek
     "see, all you have to do is try."

oh, boy
try
yeah,
     that's what i'll do
so i can catch another in a long line of "men" who think i COULD be beautiful

as if beauty is only one color
     one size
     one shape
as if it can truly be measured with a bathroom scale and a hand-held mirror
and can be purchased at a costly brand-name outlet in a shopping mall near you

my mother's mother has an affinity for referring to my twenty-three extra pounds
in a way that one refers to the neighbor's busted-down ford that needs towed away
"oh, catrina, you really could be so gorgeous,
     if you'd just get rid of some of your fluff."

she pinches at my sides
     and the backs of my arms
     and the little curve at the tops of my thighs
          just below my ***
like i'm an over-stuffed pillow on her antique love-seat
that's about to burst at the seems
     should the seemstress not pull out the threads with her teeth
and remove the unsightly over-fill like black-heads from a slender nose

everything she buys me comes from a plus sized store
     and wears a fat filthy double XL on it's tag

considering that i factually only need a large
i fight back my plump tears and wear a cheap smile
as i give thanks i don't mean
and kiss her on her heavily perfumed cheek
     "oh, such lovely lips
     why not a splash of lipstick?"

as soon as i'm out of her home state
i take the clothes back to the "big-girl" store
and trade them in for pizza and beer money

the girl behind the counter ironically weighs ninety-two pounds soaking wet
and that's only if she's still got on her padded bra
     slender
     starved
     sickly
     and supposedly ****
since when were curves a curse?
and who the **** decided it was a good idea to pattent worth with a lipstick shade, anyway?

no
     no way

i am beautiful without having to paint myself that way
my existence is not defined by the shape i take
my flaws and imperfections can't be remidied with any myriad of poking and plucking
     nipping and tucking
and all of my greatness and wonder sure as **** outweigh a tiny bleach-blonde *****

oh
*******
     and that pretty little pony you rode in on

i refuse to be pressed against a rubric and graded like a show-dog whose owner will only settle for best-in-show
     and kicks his failure of a companion sharply in the ribs when he doesn't bring home another ribbon

this obsession of society's is making us sick
  
we don't teach our children compassion and empathy
     we instead instill their heads with talk of thread count
     and color schemes
     how to brush on blush
     and how to pick a suit
cute won't save the world

i beg you sisters
     please
let us not give this disease to our daughters
let us not allow our sons to carry the gene

together
     let's put to rest the ill-concieved notion of our beauty residing without us
          rather than within

let us never again bow down to the revlon gods of vanity

together
we are Woman
     and we deserve to finally soar

Perhaps I will become a waxing fiend.
A perpetrator of the nerves within my legs
In order to reach the imaginary beauty
that society has ingrained into my open mind.
Yet how can I ever fulfil this growing hole inside
Urging, commanding that I shall not be beautiful
Without Revlon mascara and tinted eyebrows,
That my diet must consist of a celery stick a day
And I must have a new wardrobe every week
- to keep in with the highest of fashions.
Do men really care if I'm wearing Gucci or Prada?
Would my restricted diet and devotion to thinspiration blogs impress them?
Has society really just given up on the love of personality,
the good old fashioned 'inner beauty'?

She steps out,
Her pea coat peppered in cigarette ashes
Her eyes contain a mystery concealed by her dark revlon lashes
Her crimson heart shaped painted lips aren't enough to distract me from her blue sequin dress, Tightly draped to shape her perfect Pocahontas hips
God bless her sole,
It was too cold for peep toe pumps but venerating value was her goal
I felt foolish handing her flowers,
For when holding them next to her they lost all their vivid surrealism
"They're wild flowers",
I told her,
"California Bluebells"

Beauty is power
The words we teach our girls
whipped mousse over the freckles along your temples
will get you respect
the zit under your chin
will make you somebody to avoid for a month
The rouge on your cheeks
will make people think they've made you laugh each time you smile
Taken more seriously under anonymity on cyberspace
than to that same person talking to your face
As the standards grow higher
The modified faces and bodies of revlon and maybeline
become tall tales in every sense
The waistline is taken in to better display the shellac of that manicure
why of course!
as more and more voices go hoarse
from taking out meals before
in fear of a body to abhor
when beauty is power
and its concepts changing
is it only to keep us from misbehaving>

“Ever since I started this job and anyone asks how I’m doing, I always say, ‘I’m great!’ ” Maayan Zilberman excitedly explains. And why shouldn’t she? The former Lake & Stars lingerie designer, who has since founded confections lineSweet Saba, happens to have the sweetest career around. Concocting a literal visual feast out of her Park *****, Brooklyn, kitchen and Fort Gansevoort Meatpacking pop-up shop, the Israeli-born polymath uses her background in sculpture and a biting sense of humor to create her vibrant, indulgent delicacies. Think sugarfied tubes of lipstick, rap mixtapes, and Rolex watches—with their raw handiwork and dead-on wit, these in-demand pieces match Zilberman’s equally enticing wardrobe. Hardly barefoot in the kitchen, Zilberman teeters about in her workspace in vintage Betsey Johnson Mary Janes, while throwing on a customized Adam Selman pearl-laced apron to protect her Prada skirts andProenza Schouler knits. Here, the dazzling candymaker reveals how she has always been more En Vogue than grunge, why she never forgoes a perfect press-on manicure, and her plans on taking Sweet Saba herbal.

From Jerusalem to Vancouver

I was born on a kibbutz, where the first clothing I had was a mix of unisex hand-me-downs, so I was given a pretty blank slate. When I lived in Jerusalem we were surrounded by several sects of Orthodox communities, and the fabrics associated with each group were inspiring to me. During those years, designer brands were becoming popular, and the only place I was seeing this was in the shuk [market] where one could find imitation Calvin Klein and United Colors of Benetton next to tzitzit and shawls. I think it was in the early ’90s that I first understood how to mix my ethnicity with fashion and food.

Also, one of the most influential books of my childhood was Color Me Beautiful, which the women in my family took very seriously. I learned at the age of 6 that I was a “Winter” and haven’t veered off course since. I still have the book and love to pull it out at parties. Later in high school in Vancouver, grunge was the big trend and there wasn’t much room for my sensibilities in that environment—even when I wore my Revlon Blackberry lipstick and grunged out with irony. I was always far more En Vogue and Versace than the Pacific Northwest could handle.

Taking Cues From ’90s New York City Street Style

When I first got to New York, when I was 15, one of the first things I discovered was all the music I could get on Canal Street. I used to buy mix CDs from girls in monochrome outfits and big name-plate earrings. They pointed me to Fulton Mall in Brooklyn, and that’s where I finally got pants that fit right and jewelry that reflected my personality—a departure from the stuff I’d received for my bat mitzvah.

A shift in style for me meant a tougher, more confident look, where a short skirt is a reference to an era, not a call for attention. Music and lyrics played a big part in teaching me about how to dress and how to feel feminine. I had a Versace quilted skirt that I wore a lot—it made me feel like the supermodels in the ad campaigns: Cindy, Claudia, Stephanie, et cetera. I also had a Jean Paul Gaultierdouble-breasted pinstripe suit that I’d wear casually. In fact, I’m still wearing most of my clothes from those days: Betsey Johnson floral dresses, Donna Karanbodysuits, a metallic Byblos pouf skirt, and a grommeted Pelle Pelle jacket.

Lingerie Beginnings

I studied sculpture at the School of Visual Arts, and for a year at the San Francisco Art Institute my major was “new genres,” a very ’90s thing. Right after I graduated from SVA, I did an artist residency with Ilya Kabakov at the Fondazione Antonio Ratti in Como, where they also manufactured some of the world’s most beautiful silks. A tour of their factory opened my eyes to a potential dip into fashion, but it wasn’t until I met a pair of women in New York City that same year looking to start a lingerie brand that I took a chance on garment design. I bought a bunch of bras and took them apart and figured out how they were put back together. I cofounded The Lake & Stars in 2007 with the desire to make a brand that was in line with the story I wanted to tell as an artist. Lingerie was a tool, a structure that gave me rules so I could tell a sci-fi tale while inherently delivering romance and *** appeal.

read more:http://www.marieaustralia.com

www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses

I've always been obsessed with beauty and experimenting with trends. As a little kid, I dug through in my mom's purse to snag swipes of her Revlon lipstick. As a teen, I mixed and created my own colorful nail polish long before Hard Candy came out. In high school, I experimented with Manic Panic, going Angela Chase red. In college, I stockpiled Narsbronzer and baked my fair skin in the sun for glowing cheeks and abs. Finally, in my 20s, I stopped trend hopping and embraced a look that was natural and celebrated the unique attributes I was born with. I also adopted an approach to beauty that was very authentic and low-maintenance — no more heat styling, hair coloring, or tanning. And I felt more confident and comfortable than ever.

Now as a beauty editor in my early 30s, I'm bombarded with samples and pitches to try out new products and treatments on a daily basis. While I opt for makeup and creams that play up my natural appearance, I see many of my peers electing stronger and more permanent solutions. I never thought I'd have friends getting Botox and fillers at any age — but so young? Yes, our society is youth obsessed, and if media is to be believed, I've already passed my prime. But I refuse to spend the next 30, 40, 50, 60 years fixated on looking younger.

You know how people say, "I wouldn't try that if it were free"? That's me when it comes to Botox and plastic surgery. About once a week, I receive an email about trying out the latest treatments — typically no strings attached. I delete them. Am I scared that trying something would potentially ruin my face? You bet I am! These procedures are supposed to make people look younger or "better," but everyone who has work done ends up looking the same. To me, beauty is all about celebrating your differences and your unique features. I don't want to look like a cookie-cutter ideal of beauty. I want to look like me — the way I look right now. These smile lines and crinkles in the corners of my eyes? They show the world that I am happy and I have lived a great life. Why would I want to erase that?

One of my peers recently told me, "Well, I never thought I would try Botox, but I went to an event, and the needles were out, so I thought, Why not?" I've heard similar statements since, and it shocks me that nowadays altering your face can be such a casual afterthought — like getting an impulse candy bar at checkout. Another industry friend confessed, "I'm starting to think I should have work done while I still work in beauty so I don't have to pay for it." Should the free element play a factor in being OK with changing your appearance? Especially at what I consider a particularly young age? For many people, it does. Some naysayers claim I'll change my mind when I'm older, but I just can't imagine it. All the women I feel are most beautiful show the signs of a life well lived on their faces, and I want to be one of them. Not a 34-year-old beauty editor with a tight face full of free Botox.

Sure, beauty can be enhanced on the outside, but true beauty, to me, is what you're born with and what you grow into. Advancing technology in Botox, fillers, and invasive procedures may be a huge part of my industry, but I'll be actively ignoring it. I'd much rather educate myself and others on how we can feel good in our own skin.

read more:formal dress shops

www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses

Light shades,
Dark shades,
What am i to wear?

Lipstick, mascara,
Base and nail polish,
Mom in the back ground says, ' You're going to college.'

**** !
I need a new bag,
Also a liner by Mac.

Maybelline polishes,
All stacked,
So many colours,
But not black.

I need to apply Revlon,
As much as i can put on,
Making my lashes prominant.

5th Avenue, Still and Elizebeth Arden,
I want to wear them all,
' Oh no, i don't ' says my conscience,
But then again they're scents and my heart wants them.

Unzipping my wallet,
' No ', i have not much.
Making the puppy dog face,
' Mom ! Can i get money to buy a base ? '

She nodded.
' Also i want perfume, liner, mascara and a nail polish. '
She gives me a look.
' Go get your money and spend them on it.'

But i have no money,
I say,
She says,' Get a job and buy all of it.'
Like a baby i sob.

She ignores,
Looking all bored,
So she knows,
I'm acting emotional then why not scold

I wake up some days not loving who I am
And on these days that come just a little too often, I look at my hands.
I remember days when I thought they were perfect.
These delicate angels that defy fragility; they belonged somewhere.
I remember thinking I would be a hand model.
At the fragile age of 10, I knew what I was put on this earth for.
It was meant to be.
My perfect hands could do anything.
McDonald’s would want them in their Big Mac commercials.
Revlon would want my healthy cuticles to model nail polish
I could learn sign language and open up worlds of possibilities.

I remember the day I shared my dream with my mother,
“Mom, I’m going to be a hand model,” I said with appropriate gravity.
“But, honey,” she replied, “your ******* is crooked.”

I wake up some days not loving who I am
And on these days that come just a little too often, I look at my hands.
The shattered dreams they hold with every imperfection—
The broken what ifs and crooked middle fingers
More crooked with every nervous crack of a knuckle
And syncopated snap, snap
with every ******* and broken promise
I forget what it’s like to trust

I wake up some days wanting to go back to sleep
Back to my dream with my perfect hands
that with a touch could turn plastic to steel
turn thieves to Robin Hoods, turn the weary to the wise
with my perfect hands that
gave youth to the old, clarity to the young
sanity to the misunderstood and
promise to the dreamers
hope to the hopeless and
a smile to the ones who have already given up

back to my dream where
my lips aren’t sealed, but my hands are
a cupped offering of sweetness, concentrated
But honey, your ******* is crooked
And I wake again in a warm sweat.

My perfect hands are lonely
And impatient
They want to be warm again
Like they used to be when they were perfect
Whole, like when they held another.

I wake up some days not loving who I am,
and on these days that come just a little too often, I look at my hands.
But on some days, I forget about my crooked *******.

She preferred to take her smoke
break in the bathroom facing
the mirror, losing herself
with each deep breath on the
soapstreak glass.
The single was her
speakeasy, her dressing room,
her long, French cigarette parting
her lips to keep her lipstick from
gluing them shut. She pulled on the
paper towel lever for a temp lover
to kiss until her lips stopped bleeding
Revlon. And the tissue lay balled up
in the trash
having only known her tar love
for a few moments.

Mama's hands were smooth and cool
When she pushed my hair back and told me not to worry
Because sometimes mommies and daddies fight, but that's okay.
My childhood stretched before me
A long dirt road where daddy's absence hung in the air like
The sour smell of whiskey
On his breath
When he tucked me in at night
He always had the same shade of lipstick smeared on his neck
I found it later in a Walgreens downtown
Revlon number seven, Not Your Mother's Mauve
How ironic, I thought.
Because Mama never did wear lipstick

I remember nights where she sat in the living room
Painted blue, she kept her anguish in a secret place
Where I am not, and daddy always will be
She kept him there
Suspended in a light
Not of scrutiny but of love
And I hated him for it
Because my mother's loss would tear her apart
And I was left behind a closed bedroom door
The grieve for my happy family.

She intertwined her thick fingers
behind both shelves of the medicine
cabinet and embraced them clamorously
into the sink.

I.

Maybelline, Rimmel, and Revlon
now spotted with flakes of dried toothpaste
and ****** hair.

Just.

Her hands dove wrist deep into the pool
of glamor and acceptance before her
and emerged with scarlet lipstick.

Want.

She uncapped and carefully ran it across
her stiffened lips, accidentally coloring
her skin and the corners of her open mouth.

To.

She mashed a makeup brush into a jar
of powdered blush and swept it over
her cheekbones like a blood red sunset
overtaking a mountain.

Be.

With black tears running down her face
and staining her white shirt,
she reapplied her mascara.


**Beautiful.

The runt of the litter?
the floppy eared one?
just **** on the carpet
because you'll soon be gone..

It's a cruel thing to say, but today
nobody wants what's
not classed as perfection.
If the reflection they see isn't Gucci or
Revlon they're gone,
so are you.

Look on the bright side and
that is the right side, your good side,
your blind side or even your hind side
but look on the other side there's always
some sob story hogging your old glory.

We used to wrap chips in the papers
and the face of Churchill
often popped up in the grains of salt, vinegar faced,
didn't alter the taste though.

The runt of the litter?
don't be bitter
we all were that dog
at one time.

I could be at home listening to music
…instead im here,
A place where music wouldn’t dare resound.
Only vibes here reverbate from faults
That rival san andreas,
Understructure in slow motion grind that drowns
Out all frequencies in the air.
Revlon reinforced foundation
But
Skin makes for brittle mantle
Ridges run the length and price of pride.
“I’m better than you, at least i’m______.”
Fill in the blanks,
Emotions get a babysitter and pacifier
So the ground can hold the pressure.
The grass will grow to cover the cracks
And if not
Buy a fake garden.

And the music stays away.
No ******* in harmony,
It needs to flow.
I look around……                          

At least im not like them.

Feel myself tremor a bit.

Mama's hands were smooth and cool
When she pushed my hair back
and told me not to worry
Because sometimes mommies and daddies fight,     But that's okay
My childhood stretched before me
A long dirt road
where daddy's absence hung in the air
like
The sour smell of whiskey
On his breath
When he tucked me in
but that's okay.
at night he always had the same shade of lipstick smeared on his neck
I found it later
in a Walgreens downtown.
Revlon number seven,
"Not Your Mother's Mauve"
How ironic, I thought.
Because Mama never did wear lipstick
I remember nights
when she sat in the living room
Painted blue,
she kept her anguish
where I am not,
and daddy always will be
She kept him there
Suspended in a light
Not of scrutiny
but of love
And I hated him for it
Because my mother's loss would tear her apart
And I was left
behind a closed bedroom door
to grieve for
my
happy
family.

The smells of lilacs, hyacinths A+ grade
Singing Sade smooth operator
A Bed money growing on the tree
in her shade
Fifty shades darker pick your lover
And know who is the shady mentor

We got enhanced our bodies
like the prancer the globetrotter
Flaming heats he's the romancer

In trance-like money commodities
So hooked on a feeling, her bedroom eyes
The hot velocity eyes set to the sunset
tranquility
uncontrollably, Colliegable. sometimes
unbearable, you could read her
French Provential
bed of the Constable

His food like rich money for the soul for
his taking she is the loving so able
A-Bed saleable but
very innocently gullible under rulable

Seeing the Oak trees cherry blossoms so feasible
The sponsors  and teachers of the  Princeton University
their beds were racing minds Einstein like Cougars'

The shades of her lips raced his money abed
Like Truman said Romeo and Julliete lovers
You all attend this Gala or the jokes on you Ha Ha
She felt like the Medusa head on the side of her bed
The stars moon Luna Bleu she was the coolest
of them all

Going to the ball what a head start to lie abed
like a loaf of soda bread the fairest of them all
The revolution led to a disaster up ahead
She loves to drink in her ladybug mug abed
He was the slug a dug like two men in a
Volkswagen yellow Bug

New Abode 777 lucky hicks of the road
Sticks and stones won't break her
bed bones
Her money abed Apple I phones
Her spyware secret agent ****** tunes
Became a showroom
New York City hot fun in a bed event
What did Confucius say
The British Colony

Money ABed it wasn't payday
Without the money no company

The Budha insight
After hours all A-Bed hell of a night
Lullaby Lula Belle the dictator came
Seeing Antionette with her tea ***** set
The State trooper the day tripper
Overnight A-Bed traveler looper
What a commutator acts like the
green alligator Grecian times
Chariots and Titans
Purple passion the
liaison his name is Devlon
This wasn't a cosmetic mistake
like Revlon strangers in the bed
Like a head of the lettuce seedy felon
Skin peachy clean like a melon
The Estee Lauder dictator
Attention Riveria head beaded bed
For the Queen of Sicily
Borghese bewildered like a pony
The platter of cheese Gromit

Or going to the Estate sale for all
the Kingsmen **** it
The money jars of Mason
by his water (ABed Bitcoins)
The holy water he got thirsty
Mighty high bed of the mutiny
Humphrey Bogart here's looking
at you kid and well fed
What looms ahead
Those wedding bells
She said I rather stay in my
Feminine Flower
Tulip A-MEN Bed

Her key to the trunk treasure bed
She bunked into God her virginity lifted
the gravity of her sexuality
Her cheeks came alive
like a  plum pie
Money A-Bed to be wed

Oooh Lord,
Just came from the doctor's office , and was told I am 5’1,
What excuse me ? …
I was 5’2  
come...on... now,
5’3 if trying  to impress somebody,
5’5 in heels,
looking cute, right dress, hair fine “beauty shop style,”
Come... on... now,
I am 46
I have friends, THEY don't look this good.
Come...on….now.
I have secret friends Revlon, Dark and Lovely,
Who has grey hair? Honey; you never seen grey hair on ME
No sir, as long I have 12.99.
Yes, and. I walk into a room. They take notice.
I am a strong powerful black woman,
But an INCH
Now I'm just
I am a short woman
Oooh Lord an INCH
I have lay down
I have a headache.
Dream of the being tall again.

Moment

Honey boo it has been a mission with you
Sometimes you're revlon to my menthol
Ease my smarts emotionally when life has left my heart sore
Appease my fears when I ought to do something overwhelming
There was a time when I stared into your eyes and it left my hands shaking
My body was being given a signal that something seismic was happening
I would hold you and it would feel like my world is coming together like the fusion of broken pieces of the the earth's crust

But now all we ever have is distance
Whenever we're together it's like we'd rather be with other people
Having *** is like reading about some mundane dramatic story with PG16 restriction
Writing you poems has become insurmountable like I need a prescription for heightened perception
Talking has become more ritual rather than something enlivening and influential
I document the way I used to feel by writing haikus to other broads so I can have emotional satiation vicariously through them

You say you want more love and affection
But it seems I am just security and a thawing tool when you need warmth and attention
Our love needs some external spiritual inspection
There has been a third party infection
All that is left now is remedial selection
Selection from the options that have sprouted from our detachment
A tree has grown that is not rooted from our vows and affectionate disposition
It grows weeds that act as a fungus poisoning our garden of passion
But like a reenactment, you just assume a role you would if you were still in love
It looks so simulated I am not at the least stimulated

I remember how like a tree and its leaves we were euphonic - we collocated
But now we are like familiar strangers who are unrelated
So for the familiar feeling I go to a bordello for an ****** massage or beyond; I don't know the *** worker but I know you so atleast with her neither of us has to be two faced about it
There was a time when I called you and came to see you and you had this gleaming countenance
Now whenever I text, you don't reply like I'm something you wanna forget like the fallen continents
It is no secret that our love has been drooping low and at the danger of an apocalypse
I would pretend that this is something on the telly and I'd act Nelly that this will end fairly but I am not a dramtist...

I am a realist and the pure feeling is I haven't stopped loving you
But I would be lying if I said I am still 'in' love with you
So I don't know if you wanna see this through
Maybe if it works you and I can enjoy the oleander view
Kiss each other a few more times and get lost in the breeze of azure blue
Time has been a rhyme fine where on the clock I'd climb and rewind to the times when we were twinned or to be right intertwined and it was fine, love was blind, there was ******* moaning but scarcely whine, so I would like to find if you would mind being on that train one more time....?
Maybe this time we won't derail but maybe our souls can soar and our hearts sail
Our memories are my bait so maybe if we reminisce we can bail out the imprisoned trysts
If you say you'll stay maybe there is colour beyond the pale
But if you choose to end it just know my emotions for you will never fail.

~Anastasia

Sweety bae envision this...
Our arms locking
Lips folding
Cardiac muscles holding
Time to time I let loose mine to your eyes
And it leaves my heart frozen
The pulse lets lose my synapses
For a more aromatic induction
Our love a tower
My body feels like Summer in your cold arms

What amnesia is this!
You forgotten how we met?
It felt weird...your calm posture
Your weird face with that lavish smile
You looked at me from a mile
Bewildered I held back
In a while...
You said to me "Hi"
I gave a smile and passed my greetings
We battered sentences with illusions of paragraphs
But it stayed with the distance
I thought of you ever since.

Moment & Anastacia

I remember when March wore me
like an old pair of jeans ( tribe, 2019)
but last year seems like this year looks,
old and haggard.

Where is this new age?

I don't want
Draylon
I want
Revlon
and
Balenciaga
want to ride in a Porche
not an Astra and
need a Rolex
not a Timex,

March?
I can barely crawl,
I need an airlift
a stairlift, but
a facelift will do.