Written by
Maggie Estep |
Liner Notes - (from No More Mister Nice Girl)
I was having a foul day. Some
geezer harrassed me on the street and I got completely bent out of shape,
but the guy was huge so I just stuffed my retort. Went home to drink
coffee. No milk. I ripped through the cupboards and found Non Dairy Creamer.
It tasted like ****. I got into one of those senseless rages where you
throw stuff. I hurled the Non Dairy Creamer and it fell into the tub where
I was running some bath water. The creamer erupted and made this bathing
gel of Non Dairy Creamer. I was ready to kill myself. Instead I wrote Hey
Baby.
So I'm walking down the street
minding my own business
when this guy starts with me
he's suckin' his lips goin'
Hey Baby
Yo Baby
Hey Baby
Yo
and I get a little tense and nervous
but I keep walking
but the guy, he's dogging my every move
hey Miss, he says,
Don't miss this!
And he grabs his crotch and sneers ear to ear
so finally, I turn around
Hey Buddy, I say
I'm feelin' kinda tense, Buddy
I got a fuckin' song in my heart
so come on,
Let's go
I got a huge bucket of non-dairy creamer
and some time to kill
so let's do it
we'll make some foul-smelling artifical milk
and drink gallons and gallons and gallons of it
Get our bladders exceedingly full then
sit on the toilet together and let
the water run in the shower
and torture ourselves by not letting ourselves urinate
as the water rushes loudly
into the bathrub, okay?
We'll do it together
writhe in utter agony
Just you and me
and I'll even spring for some of that blue ****
for the toilet bowl, all right?
I mean, that's my idea of a good time
so how bout it, you wanna?
The guy backs up a bit
Whatsa matter, Baby?
You got somethin' against men?, he says
No, I say
I don't have anything against men
Just STUPID men
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Written by
Seamus Heaney |
1. Sunlight
There was a sunlit absence.
The helmeted pump in the yard
heated its iron,
water honeyed
in the slung bucket
and the sun stood
like a griddle cooling
against the wall
of each long afternoon.
So, her hands scuffled
over the bakeboard,
the reddening stove
sent its plaque of heat
against her where she stood
in a floury apron
by the window.
Now she dusts the board
with a goose's wing,
now sits, broad-lapped,
with whitened nails
and measling shins:
here is a space
again, the scone rising
to the tick of two clocks.
And here is love
like a tinsmith's scoop
sunk past its gleam
in the meal-bin.
2. The Seed Cutters
They seem hundreds of years away. Brueghel,
You'll know them if I can get them true.
They kneel under the hedge in a half-circle
Behind a windbreak wind is breaking through.
They are the seed cutters. The tuck and frill
Of leaf-sprout is on the seed potates
Buried under that straw. With time to kill,
They are taking their time. Each sharp knife goes
Lazily halving each root that falls apart
In the palm of the hand: a milky gleam,
And, at the centre, a dark watermark.
Oh, calendar customs! Under the broom
Yellowing over them, compose the frieze
With all of us there, our anonymities.
|
Written by
Joyce Kilmer |
A few long-hoarded pennies in his hand
Behold him stand;
A kilted Hedonist, perplexed and sad.
The joy that once he had,
The first delight of ownership is fled.
He bows his little head.
Ah, cruel Time, to kill
That splendid thrill!
Then in his tear-dimmed eyes
New lights arise.
He drops his treasured pennies on the ground,
They roll and bound
And scattered, rest.
Now with what zest
He runs to find his errant wealth again!
So unto men
Doth God, depriving that He may bestow.
Fame, health and money go,
But that they may, new found, be newly sweet.
Yea, at His feet
Sit, waiting us, to their concealment bid,
All they, our lovers, whom His Love hath hid.
Lo, comfort blooms on pain, and peace on strife,
And gain on loss.
What is the key to Everlasting Life?
A blood-stained Cross.
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