I still completely love yoursite. I am sending the link to ALL my friends. To show you my appreciation, I’m sending you my dental haiku, completely original (who else would claim it LOL) and in honor of my visit to the dentist tomorrow morning. I’m a chicken about dentists in case you cannot tell. hehehehehe. I lveo sarcastic haiku. I cannot remember if I’m the one that sent them to you, or if I saw them on your site, but I think one of us showed them to the other….. anyway those computer error message haiku just crack me up!!!
xoxo
Lisa
I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, If you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain!
I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with JOY, mine or your own: if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, or to remember the limitations of being a human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you’re telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul, I want to know if YOU can be FAITHFUL and therefore be trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is not pretty every day, and if you can source your life from ITS presence. I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still Stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "YES!"
It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up after a night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you are, how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away. I want to know if can be alone with yourself, and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
Had we but world enough and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down, and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love’s day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side
Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood:
And you should if you please refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow.
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze.
Two hundred to adore each breast:
But thirty thousand to the rest.
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For lady, you deserve this state;
Nor would I love at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear
Time’s winged chariot hurrying near:
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long preserved virginity:
And your quaint honour turn to dust;
And into ashes all my lust.
The grave’s a fine and private place,
But none, I think , do there embrace.
Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may;
And now, like am’rous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour,
Than languish in his slow chapped power
Let us roll all our strength, and all
Our sweetness, up into one ball:
And tear our pleasures with rough strife,
Through the iron gates of life.
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
Shall I, wasting in despair,
Die because a woman’s fair?
Or my cheeks make pale with care
‘Cause another’s rosy are?
Be she fairer than the day
Or the flowery meads in May–
If she be not so to me,
What care I how fair she be?
Shall my foolish heart be pined
‘Cause I see a woman kind;
Or a well-disposed nature
Joined with a lovely feature?
Be she meeker, kinder than
Turtle-dove or pelican,
If she be not so to me,
What care I how kind she be?
Shall a woman’s virtues move
Me to perish for her love?
Or her merits’ value known
Make me quite forget my own?
Be she with that goodness blest
Which may gain her name of Best;
If she seem not so to me,
What care I how good she be?
‘Cause her fortune seems too high,
Shall I play the fool and die?
Those that bear a noble mind
Where they want of riches find,
Think that with them they would do
Who without them dare to woo;
And unless that mind I see,
What care I how great she be?
Great or good, or kind or fair,
I will ne’er the more despair;
If she love me, this believe,
I will die ere she shall grieve;
But if she slight me when I woo,
I can scorn and let her go;
For if she be not for me,
What care I for whom she be?
Dear Steph, I wrote these in contemplation of my neighbor Guido’s horrible little yapping inbred cocker spaniel. perhaps they are worthy of publication
also? hehehe. more to come. (the dog continues to bark)
xoxo
Lisa
When I have baked white cakes
And grated green almonds to spread on them;
When I have picked the green crowns from the strawberries
And piled them, cone-pointed, in a blue and yellow platter;
When I have smoothed the seam of the linen I have been working;
What then?
To-morrow it will be the same:
Cakes and strawberries,
And needles in and out of cloth
If the sun is beautiful on bricks and pewter,
How much more beautiful is the moon,
Slanting down the gauffered branches of a plum-tree;
The moon
Wavering across a bed of tulips;
The moon,
Still,
Upon your face.
You shine, Beloved,
You and the moon.
But which is the reflection?
The clock is striking eleven.
I think, when we have shut and barred the door,
The night will be dark
Outside.
When you came, you were like red wine and honey,
And the taste of you burnt my mouth with its sweetness.
Now you are like morning bread,
Smooth and pleasant.
I hardly taste you at all for I know your savour,
But I am completely nourished.
If Dr. Seuss were President Clinton’s lawyer, his deposition might have read something like this.
I did not do it in a car
I did not do it in a bar
I did not do it in the dark
I did not do it in the park
I did not do it on a date
I did not ever fornicate
I did not do it at a dance
I did not do it in her pants
I did not get beyond first base
I did not do it in her face
I never did it in a bed
If you think that, you’ve been misled
I did not do it with a groan
I did not do it on the phone
I did not cause her dress to stain
While talking to Saddam Hussein
I did not do it with a whip
I did not fondle Linda Tripp
I never acted really silly
With volunteers like Kathleen Willey
There was one time, with Margaret Thatcher
I chased her ’round, but could not catch her
No kinky stuff, not on your life
I would not, could not, with my wife
Now, that Miss Flowers’ tale of woes
Was paid for by my right-wing foes
And Paula Jones, and those State Troopers
Are just a bunch of party poopers
I did not ask my friends to lie
And then just hang them out to dry
I did not do it last November
And if I did, I don’t remember
I did not do it in the hall
I could have, but I don’t recall
There was no sex at Arlington
There was no sex on Air Force One
I might have copped a little feel
And then endeavored to conceal
But never did these things so lewd
At least not ever in the nude
These things to which I have confessed
They do not count if we stayed dressed
I never used that big cigar
You must believe me, Mr. Starr
I did not know this little sin
Would be retold on CNN
I broke some rules my Mama taught me
I tried to hide, but now you’ve caught me
But I implore, I do beseech
Do not condemn, do not impeach
I might have got a little tail
But never, ever did inhale
The carpenter I hired to help me restore an old farmhouse had just finished a rough first day on the job. A flat tire made him lose an hour of work, his electric saw quit, and now his ancient pickup truck refused to start.
While I drove him home, he sat in stony silence. On arriving, he invited me in to meet his family. As we walked toward the front door, he paused briefly at a small tree, touching tips of the branches with both hands. When opening the door, he underwent an amazing transformation. His tanned face was wreathed in smiles and he hugged his two small children and gave his wife a kiss.
Afterward he walked me to the car. We passed the tree and my curiosity got the better of me. I asked him about what I had seen him do earlier. Oh, that’s my trouble tree," he replied. "I know I can’t help having troubles on the job, but one thing’s for sure, troubles don’t belong in the house with my wife and the children. So I just hang them up on the tree every night when I come home. Then in the morning I pick them up again."
"Funny thing is," he smiled, "when I come out in the morning to pick ’em up, there ain’t nearly as many as I remember hanging up the night before."
In the poem below, on the line after “the stride of my steps” there should not be any asterisks. But for some reason my content management system blows up whenever I try to take them out.
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies
I’m not cute or built to suit a model’s fashion size
But when I start to tell them
They think I’m telling lies.
I say
It’s in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips
The stride of my steps
t*h*e*c*u*r*l*o*f*m*y*l*i*p*s
I’m a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That’s me.
Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say
It’s in the click of my heels
The bend of my hair
The palm of my hand
The need for my care.
‘Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That’s me.
