Rill Rill
by Sleigh Bells
So this is it then?
You’re here to win friend
Click click saddle up see you on the moon then
And all alone friend
Pick up their phones then
Ring ring call them up
Tell them about the new trends
Have a heart, have a heart, have a heart
Sixteen six six six like a heart attack
We form a tarot pack
And I’m aware of that
But we could fist fight drunk like the parent trap
Keep thinking about every straight face yes
Wonder what your boyfriend thinks about your braces
We never blink see
And you can see me
We fell asleep in the middle of the fury
Beastly child (book project/no. 1)
by me
Beastly child, you’re less adored
small, deformed, homely, abhorred
Teeth like a broken window pane
It’s ok, child, you need not explain
It’s fine child, don’t mind a great deal
You’ll never have much appeal
Your ears are big, your bones are brittle
Your gangling toes are far too little
Learn to love your imperfections
After all, it’s just perception
You’ll never be a beauty queen,
prince charming or something in between
You’ll never be a shimmering jewel
It’s a shame child, life can be so cruel
Oh, but child wipe away your tears
Not everything is as it appears
You’re not horrid, spoiled, or awfully hateful
It’s ok, child, you should be grateful!
© Cassie Dixon
Evening Song of Senlin
- by Conrad Aiken
- There are roses to kiss: and mouths to kiss;
- And the sharp-pained shadow of death.
- I remember a rain-drop on my cheek, —
- A wind like a fragrant breath . . .
- And the star I laugh on tilts through heaven;
- And the heavens are dark and steep . . .
- I will forget these things once more
- In the silence of sleep.
Ode
by A. W. E. O’Shaughnessy
We are the music-makers.
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;
World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams;
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world forever, it seems.
With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world’s great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire’s glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song’s measure
Can trample a kingdom down.
We in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o’erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world’s worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.
