| Cee 的个人资料A Lady and her Dog share...照片日志列表 |  工具  帮助 |
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5月3日 I saw it coming: A short story
I saw it coming, but I was too slow. The solid, right hook knocked me off the dining room chair. I plopped on the hardwood floor in a muffled thud. Surprisingly, the chair was undisturbed. I was the target. I was continuously dazzled by the perfect execution and precision of it. I landed painful on my right hipbone, a sudden rush of nausea forming in my throat. I didn’t hear bells, but I did note an imaginary rattling as if something was out of place in my skull. I tasted blood; my teeth cut a gash in my lower lip. I swiped nervously at my mouth and stared at the crimson droplets falling on my Carolina Blue polo shirt. The delicate aroma of chicken cordon bleu, buttered rolls, and garden vegetables surrounded us mockingly. It would send the message to outsiders that we had a loving home. My mind rattled with the Miles Davis jazz playing in the background. I glanced at the partially made table and sighed. Dinner was late and not on the table. The Afro-Modern décor of our home was the latest backdrop of “Kick Earl’s Ass” play I’ve been living. When I landed, I had barely missed the corner of the intricately carved china cabinet. The gold-gilt china was on display, The Oriental carpet, twined with colors of blue, gold, and green, lay underneath the cherry-stained dining set. The table was only set for two; the extra settings were placed aside. The feeble glow of the overhead lights gave the pearly-white walls a shell-pink haze. Beyond the dining room is the warm, cozy kitchen with state of the art appliances. We live in a modest, middle-class cul-de-sac on Summit Street. Ah, the classic image of material prosperity. Ha! Our home is a backdrop. It is the ultimate fool’s paradise. We sure had it going on. At least that’s what I read on the faces of visitors who hover on our doorstep. The curious visits from our concerned (or was it “nosy”?) neighbors made getting close to anyone out of the question. The High Point Police are our most frequent ones. The boys in blue come at least once a month. Once, I rallied my courage to make it to the downtown police department only to hesitate at the foreboding doors. I would touch the door with shaky hand, hesitate and, dejected, retrace my steps to my car. What would I say? How would I make anyone understand? I shuddered. I am a popular and talented architect. My office is in the arts district where I can see my visions as far as I can possibly see from my office window. Not only would this pariah of secrets get out, I would be ridiculed. Probably ruined! After all, High Point is a small city and the African American community knows each other’s business. I won’t give them any more of mine. A sharp kick jolted me back to the present. I curled up in a fetal position to protect myself. Whether this was rage or dead accuracy (I had to think “dead!”), the pointed shoes found every vulnerable spot I couldn’t cover. Maliciously, Johnnie screwed her spiked heels in my left hand. I swooned as a reluctant, high-pitched yelp escaped my throat. I hate the kids are hearing this. Especially EJ. I see the barely concealed scorn on his young face. Lord, just take me now. If God is merciful, I will be unconscious when Johnnie spews her lies to the ER nurse. Her full, chocolate face would mirror concern for “her man”. Her pudgy body would have on the latest fashion a size too small, and her color treated hair styled too young for her age. A tear or two forced from heavy, droopy eyes will be dramatically effective. The nurse (just like the police) would cast dubious glances and ignore what I’ve tried to. This 300-pound woman slaps around her 150 lb man.
1月25日 A different way to say "hi"
Recepción a mis visitantes españoles. Tengo deseé siempre aprender español, y deseo tener amigos españoles. Me disculpo por ser perezoso y no iniciar un espacio de invitación para que visites. Soy Cee. Comparto este espacio con mi perro querido, Kovu. Escribo básicamente sobre cosas del corazón (así que hace Kovu!) Soy también escritor de la poesía. ¡Gota cerca en caulquier momento!
* * * * * * * * * *
Welcome to my Spanish visitors. I have I always wished to learn Spanish, and want to have Spanish friends. I apologize for being lazy and not making this space inviting to visit. I am Cee. I share this space with my beloved dog, Kovu. I write basically from the heart (so does Kovu) I also write poetry. Feel free to drop by anytime!
 12月20日 The Little Ones: Sister RoseWhen I was young and went to church like I usta,
When sisters were decked out in Sunday finery an
Wavin' the heat away with a sea
Of paper funeral home fans
And the brothers could only hope to look that good,
As they served the congregation, beads of sweat
Trickling down their necks and dampening their shirt collars,
I always wanted to sit next to Sister Rose
A corn-bread colored woman, wearing the color of her name
With a pill-box hat scattered with pearls,
That sat on top of her shiney-black hot-combed pressed hair,
And a gold outlined smile that
Smiled at me when I smiled at her.
I would sit all grown and feelin' grown,
With my white, lacy knee socks
And Mary Jane patent lether shoes
And my bob-tail dress (that's what my mama called it 'cause it would
ride up on my behine) and those dumb glasses I had to wear 'cause
I couldn't see a thing without them!
Somehow, I made it to the seat next to her before the other girl who wanted to sit there.
(She stuck out her tongue, and I didn't care, 'cause I won!)
I try hard to make my feet touch the floor, all flat and grown up like Sister Rose.
I would stretch and slouch in the hard wooden pew in the hot church that
Wouldn't get any cooler no mater what was done, just so my feet could touch
The floor like hers. Even in the heat, she was cool
And serene
With no sweat
Goin' down her neck
And no fan in her hand.
She smelled like I wanted to when I grew up.
And when I got tired of strethin' and touchin'
'cause stretchin' and touchin' was hard work for
A little kid, I would lay my head in her softer-than-a-pillow lap.
Happy for that moment I was still a little kid!
And fall asleep to her melodious alto singing voice ..
Nowadays, I am older and sometimes, my feet still won't touch the floor, even tho
I am a grown woman. My sons compete to lay their heads on my full cocoa-brow lap
While my essence is that of citrus and coffee.
And when I feel lost and pressures are pressing on my shoulders,
And tho' I frown and sometimes cry,
I know I, too, am cool and smile!
Like Sister Rose!
Cause I don't have to wave a paper fan.
I keep looking up,
Cause by looking up,
I know I am not alone.
cee rankin
4-2-1997 11月21日 I am thankful for:Kovu: My brother TJ. No one plays and tortures me
like he does!
Cee: My darling TJ
My first sweetheart was born January 1986. I labored with him almost 24 hours. When I got to see him, he was shielding his eyes from the bright light. I worried over him constantly. If Gerber baby foods were to have him, he would've been perfect. He had soft cheeks, bright brown eyes and an infectious smile.
I called my dad not long after I conceived him. I was so worried I wouldn't have any patience with a baby. My dad's simple wisdom was "patience grows with the child". It's been true. When he got his first shots, I was crying with him. When he was in his first play, I cried because he was so cute. T's been many things along the way. The hardest was stepping back while he became a man. During the last few years, he took off forty pounds. He motivates me to keep it up.
He's a few weeks shy of twenty one. I'm shocked that this big man is my son. All I have to do is see his smile, and I know he's mine.
11月20日 I am thankful for:Kovu: My seriously comfy couch! Cee: My Darling Nickolas. ********* On Wednesday, January 3, 1990, Nick came into our lives. He was a beautiful baby boy! At age two, he was diagnosed with Autism. In the beginning, I felt I was to blame for it. (Most mothers feel this way.) There seemed to be no hope in correcting his "problem" or making it better. With services given by the county and the school, plenty of love at home, and devoted advocacy for him from Terry and me, autism is only a part of Nick, not the other way around. (He has Asperger's Autism.) He will be 17 in January, and is already talking about graduating high school in 2008. He's taken driver's ed. He's so responsible and serious. Just this morning, he was telling me he wanted to play the lottery so he could have enough money for the new Nintendo system. Gads! How grown can a kid be? He has taught me so much about patience and unconditional love. As time went on, I believe God favored us with one of his truly special angels to take care of. I wouldn't trade him being "perfect" for anything. If I changed him, it wouldn't be the Nick I love so much. 11月18日 The Little Ones: Kemi and the Bag It was not that long ago, Life turned his attention to a young lad named Kemi. Kemi had skin as brown as coffee bean. He had very sturdy legs and a set of strong shoulders. He also had kind, curious eyes in an open face surrounded by a cloud of springy black hair. He lived with his mama and sister in a safe, but weather worn hut near the sea. Since he was serious for one so young, he helped his mother with the laundry. The laundry helped to bring in money so they could eat. He would often carry the laundry to Mr. Weens, the richest man in the province. Mr. Weens lived near the market place, which was always busy with vendors and tourists and others from the neighboring village. On the days he had to go into the market place, Kemi would have to carry the heavy bag five miles before he got there, and up twenty stone steps. Mr. Weens would open the door and inspect the clean shirts. He would give Kemi some cool water, some gold coins and some more laundry. Then Kemi would carry his load back home. Now being a young boy, it was hard for hiim to understand why he was to do this un pleasant chore over and over again. The path was hot and long and hard on his feet. He would rather stay at home and play with his friends, or throw rocks in the deep blue sea, or chase his sister with old snake skin. She sure hated that! Kemi even begged Mama for another chore, but she was steadfast in her desire for him to do this one. He didn't argue anymore, for it would not do any good. What bothered him as much as the heaviness of the bag, was the heaviness in his heart. He just was tired of the pebbles that he felt under his sandals, and how rough and dry his mama's hands were from the hot water and soap. Mr. Weens didn't seem to know how hard she toiled to make his clothes so clean. A few days later, Kemi left for the market place. The sun seemed much hotter. He was sweating and he was already thirsty. It didn't seem fair. He wanted to be back home with his mother and sister. The dust was caked on his skin. He didn't know he had tears streaking down his face. They were the only marks of his misery. After a mile, he happened upon an old priest. The priest was content with his smaller pack. Suddenly, Kemi felt angry. Why, at best, couldn't his bag be as light the priest's? Maybe he would be happier then. His load would not be as heavy. Kemi didn't think it was fair for him to have all of the weight on his shoulders. It was as if the priest could read his mind. The priest slowed and stopped. He dropped his sack in the middle of the road. Then, the old one took out a rag and dragged it across his brown. He looked as hot as Kemi felt. The priest dragged his little bag to the side under a shade tree. He sat down, but not before he took out his water skin and took a drink. Looking at Kemi, he offered the young one a drink. "Water?" Slowing his travel and accepting gratefully, Kemi drew greedy gulps of water down his dry throat. He remembered his manners, and replied "thank you". Then, Kemi decided to take a rest with the older one. It was a cool oasis from the heat, with occasional threads of soothing air skimming across their faces. "Where are you going?" the priest asked after a moment. "To the market place. I am to deliver this to Mr. Weems" said Kemi. "Ah, as I" nodded the old one. Kemi was angry again. The priest had such a light bag. It would be so much easier if he had the load the priest had. "Well" remarked the priest. "We best be on our way." The priest looked dubiously at his bag. Sighing he reached for it. Looking at Kemi, he asked "Would you mind carrying this for a while?" I will take it back from you in a little while. "Sure!" Kemi could not believe his good fortune. The poor priest! He had no idea how heavy Kemi's bag really was. Each heaved the other's bag on his shoulder and off they went. Kemi was excited. His bag was so much lighter. This wil be an enjoyable journey. They traveled together in companiable silence, each lost in his own thoughts. Kemi watched others pass him as they passed him. He saw an old woman leading oxen, and a Latina mama scolding her little ones. An oriental couple tended to a little baby wrapped in a blanket. An american girl, close to his age, lead her blind grandfather by the hand. There were others doing various chores as well. Some were smiling, some were sad. So many people doing so many things! Everyone had something to do! As he looked at everyone else, the litte pack felt like it grew rocks. It felt heavier and heavier. This is strange! How could this be? The bag I had was much heavier! But the more he walked, the heavier it became! He looked at the old priest. The priest handled Kemi's bag like it was as light as a feather. The old one walked taller and was not bent over. Why was that? Finally, the two made it to the market place. Kemi was more sweaty and hot than he'd ever been. He felt like he had three of his best friends upon his shoulders. He was sore. He was as bent as the priest was when he first saw the old one on the road. The two climbed the stone steps to Mr. Weems. Kemi was tired. The priest, however, stood tall. He even had a smile upon his wizened face. Mr. Weems opened the door, and bade them both to enter. Kemi enjoyed the cool water, and he noted how much Mr. Weems smiled when he looked at the clean white shirts. That's strange. Kemi didn't remember Mr. Weems smiling like that before. The merchant paid Kemi the gold coins and gave him the laundry for the week. The bag felt lighter. Mr. Weems gave the priest gold coins and thanked him profusely. The old one smiled smiled in gratitude and left. Curiously, Kemi asked Mr. Weems what was in the bag the old priest had. "The old one had a special stone to place upon my wife's grave" he told Kemi. Kemi looked amazed. That's why the priest had such a heaviness to his shoulders. Mr. Weems went on to explain. "My wife was loved by everyone in the province. She was kind person and she was nice to everyone she knew. She became sick and died. I was always too busy to be kind. It is because everyone loved her so much that I was taught how to be kind. Everyone was kind to me because of that. Kemi blurted out "I thought the old one had an easy thing to carry." Mr. Weems smiled. "Everyone has a job to do. It may not seem fair or easy when you look at someone. Yours may seem heavier and unfair. However, you will always have something special that only you can handle. All jobs are not meant for everyone to do. You have a special job and you are appreciated for it. Thank you, son. Because of you and your family I have clean clothes. My wife did our wash. I don't have that anymore." Kemi left Mr. Weems. The bag he carried now was lighter, much lighter than before. I thought no one noticed what I did, he thought. I guess what I carry was made for me to carry. He walked back to his little home at the edge of the sea. He handed his mama the gold coins and gave her a kiss and a hug. He scooped up his sister and sat down upon the pillows to read her a story. His mother watched them wonderingly, a smile upon her lips. Now, what happened to him?? cee_r 10月26日 Pennies from HeavenA puff of baby's breath so sweet,
A bowl of ice cream as a treat,
Sleeping on fresh-washed cotton sheets
A little taste of heaven.
The nectar of a juicy peach,
A wishing star that's in my reach,
A twilight stroll along the beach,
Are little gifts from heaven.
As the children laugh and play,
On a colorful, brisk autumn day,
I wish they all could stay that way!
Safe and watched from heaven.
When you are sitting next to me,
A lazy, jazzy sax can be
The most seductive melody!
A moment made in heaven.
In your tender eyes I see
The special love that's just for me.
We were always meant to be
Above us, all of heaven!
I'll be yours and you'll be mine,
To love and cherish for all time,
I won't accept not one thin dime!
For my precious slice of heaven.
Cee-R
10月13日 Simple Desire I want to
Run a fingertip
Along you cheek,
And brush my lips
Across the dimple in
Your chin.
I enjoy
Your mystery.
cee-r
9月28日 AYBBAngry Young Black Boy,
Fatherless first born son of a ghetto queen.
Your mama's lost her emotions
Years ago on a sidewalk.
Can't find them, not looking.
Wears her love on his feet,
And bouncing it on the street.
And for her attention against
His brother he must compete.
Angry Young Black Boy.
Full of Mood
Full of Flight
Full of Attitude
Full of Fight
You hit her 'cause she hits you,
For all she is and all she isn't.
Striking out with words and with fist
Try to hold you
You resist, tho I feel
Tenative arms hold me back.
Can't give you all,
But giving what I can.
Hoping what left is enough.
The 'hood's faster,
Scared to raise their own.
Times are more rushed
To make you man grown.
My sister, his mother,
What will it take fo you to see?
His anthem is bling.
His daughter is pretty,
It's too late to sing
I'm sorry.
Are the tubes and pills
And Carvasier the only way
You can cry for him?
AYBB.
So many, I fear.
So many to touch
SO many to hear.
Cee-R 9月24日 Throw Away ChildLittle Girl's not suppose to be here,
She's sitting on the hard bench
Discarded like yesterday's newspaper.
The walls were dirty white
And the corridor echoed
Faraway shouts and cussing
From young voices
Who shouldn't be cussing
And it came behind the forbidden
Metal doors,
The ones that
Locked away
Dreams.
Why didn't anyone see her,
All the important police, the neat ladies
With crisp white shirts
And Slut-Red nail polish,
And the impatient lawyers.
They never saw her
Because they always
Walked to the light.
Her melted butterscotch skin
Was dull by hard living,
The living that belonged to
A hard living woman.
The ceiling light strained
A tired halo over
Her bent head.
Her bony, agitated fingers
Worked through her tangled,
Course hair.
She was brittle enough to crack from fear,
so she borrowed some
Dignity from a passing
Tight-skirt and tied
Her red bandana
Above her right knee
To cover the tear
She'd earned in the fight.
It made her look tough.
She was still unnoticed.
The sun shifted on the walls.
Night took over outside
No one came to get her.
Again.
The world-weary counselor
Bustled over.
What was her name?
The practiced smile
Repasted on her grim, little face.
Little girl strutted behind the woman,
Hoping tonight she wouldn't
Be there too long.
Cee-R
9月3日 My Sacred path
How sacred my path.
How gracious are Thee
My God! You are the light
That is guarding me.
How blessed my travels
In every step I take
For You watch when I slumber
And when I'm awake
How uncertain my steps
When I am guided by fear.
I lean on You, Father
When the road is unclear.
So, lead me, my Master
In all that I do.
I pray every moment
Not to loose sight of You!
Cee-R
8月29日 Night SongBeloved,
I turn to watch you sleeping. Hands casually tossed over Your head as in surrender And your cognac eyes, So piercing and knowing when opened, Are closed from my dreamy gaze. My eyes are touching you, Can you feel the heat of them? Our loving is a soft fragrance A slow, intimate dance with the Earlier rain shower. Tangy. Sweet. Moist. On your dark brown sugary skin, I waxed on you I smeared on you I rubbed in you A glaze of honey I could no longer hold Within my quivering body. I sung out more than you. Why am I going? I leave more of me with you Than I take with me. My perfume is on you skin. I’ll haunt you as you awaken. But as I go, Your essence walks as if It was my protector. So noticeable is the sparkle in my eyes, And the prancing in my steps, And the visible dreaming on my face. No one can reach my thoughts, Or know my hunger Or know how much I am Loving you, Constantly, Laughingly, Reach for me, my beloved. I am there .. c r rankin 8 - 2005 Unspoken
Her almond shaped eyes Whispered to the soul in his,
The spark was sudden, Tense, and deliciously Unexpected … Engulfing them in sudden heat. The glow of light From the forlorn TV screen casts flickering shadows above them. Chocolate and cinnamon Melted on the Carpet. Dark night makes A cool room. Cocooned in a gold and blue backdroop She worshipped him At the alter Of Congo, the serenade Of Jason’s Lyrics Sweet and forgotten She trailed her fingertips Across his lips. She smiled. Journals can be read By one, but why not share? She could read him. She was his. c r rankin, 8-2005
8月20日 Such A Pity (Graphic)Note: Since I've been around the college crowd, I hear this often among the young women. One, a pretty young woman a la Beyonce, was so violently mad at herself, I felt it. I lived it. I've been there. Unfortunately, this happens more often than not with a supposedly "platonic" male-female relationship. I choose not to ignore it. If by chance this offends your sensibilities, I seriously encourage you to pass over this and explore my mostly PG rated site.
Its easy how often a person chooses not to honor his/her body in order to make someone feel better .. Such a pity!
********
Such a PityI’m back in the place I’d Promised myself I wouldn’t be,
But I lied to myself. Same room, same bed, Same music. Same trap!
I swore to myself No Mo’ Pity Pussy! Friends don’t let friends drive drunk. Friends don’t beg friends for pussy! Why do you?
Resigned, I sigh yes to The question You ask over and over again. You knew I’d give in Again. How did a no become maybe?
Damn! Here I am again! My arms loop mechanically around your neck. I shift in mock rhythm and look away So you can’t see my blank, bored eyes. Quickly licking my finger, I dampen my dry spot so I won’t Get friction burn. At least you’ll have fun! Where's my Jet Magazine? No Mo’ Pity Pussy! Don’t take too long!
I shift a little, Scratch a little, Groan a little, Hoping to hurry you up! I got things to do! Finally! Ooh-Ahh-ooh!
I lay for a minute, Then I jumped off that Too-soft bed. Tossing a glare at you Over my shoulder, I snatch my clothes on, And I slam the door as you Yell behind me. You’re no friend of mine! I’m no friend of mine.
There’s no more pity here No Mo’! c. r. rankin 12-17-05
8月17日 Morning SongIn the cozy recesses
Of my mind's night play
A damp, moist kiss
Drew my attention away.
I sighed in mock protest,
With a smile of awaiting
I rolled towards my guy,
Hmmm! I may be a little late! In
Freshly washed bedclothes,
And the sun's slanted light
His whimpering sounded insistant,
I giggled in feline delight!
I pried my lids open,
My dreams turned to dread!
The liquid, brown eyes
Were of my puppy instead!
On went my t-shirt,
My plan was no more.
Bemused, I watched my pup, Kovu
Dash out the back door!
-- Cee Rankin 8月14日 Gathering DandelionsWhen I first heard
You, you were under
My sister's heart, and
When she listened to you,
I did, too,
And you Mama was so
Beautiful in her unexpected joy,
I cried.
Then she cried,
Because that's what sisters do ..
I called you
My little bird
For you were no
Bigger than the palm of my hand
So tiny and fragile!
Such a Pee Wee Woman you were!
My beloved niece, my Maya-girl
Soon to be seven going on twenty five,
A wild woman like no other
There's your mama and four aunts
In just one of you ..
Bless your heart!
If I could l make
The seedlings in a boquet of
Dandelions wishes,
I would gather a
Basket of Dandelions,
So careful not to lose
Any, and place
Them all in front of you ..
So you could blow
Them all way, all your
Imaginings and wishes,
And little-girl wonder,
And watch your brown eyes
Light up like a lighning bug's
Bottom.
And when
You puffed them all
Into the skies to
Climb upon butterflies,
And others to
Petal blossoms
Scattered upon the fields
Only then,
Would I call Pegasus,
And we would bounce
on him, and hop
Along the stars
To find out where the seeds went.
c. r. rankin
6-26-05
8月13日 Poem -- untitledIt's strange how
I have to stop
What I'm doing
When all I'm doing
Is being me.
I knew
Who you were
When I met you ..
Guess what, buddy!
You knew who
I was, too!
When I can't
Reach any higher
Or go any farther
Because you feel left behind,
I'll give you
A kiss and a hug
For good luck,
'cause maybe I'm
Wasting my time!
-- c. r rankin
6-20-05 8月4日 Private EnchantmentThe wind chimes
Called to me in the
Early June sunrise It was so melodious, so delicate
In its song, I rose quickly
Pausing to grab a nearby t-shirt
From the fresh, discarded basket of laundry
In the shadowed corner.
Stealing barefoot
Down the hallway,
The click, click of my dog's claws
And the muffled slaps of my steps
On the hardwood floor.
I paused a moment to
Absorb the various
Pitches blending together
to pull me closer to the
compete concert swelling on the
puff of wind on my back purch.
I was drawn into a private painting
Of haunting pastels, the wondrous
Crescendo of earth and sky.
The stacatto greeting of birds chirping echoes
From the distance, and an invisible breeze
Ran silken fingers over each pipe.
Kovu's dark eyes danced,
And his puppy smile delighted me
As if he planned it all
My coffee forgetten, I slid next to my
Pup resting upon the throw
On the porch, and listened.
-- c. r. rankin
6-26-05 8月3日 Kirk versus Pickard (vent) I visited the Blog Three Hour Tour a few days ago (very good writing, and the fond memories of Gilligan's Island I couldn't resist!) and there'd been a brief reference to his likes of Star Trek (Being a late blooming Trekkie, I read this post with interest), and he stated that Captain James T. Kirk was the premier captain the franchise has had.
I say rubbish! Naturally, no one could've played the part like William Shatner. The "swaggering dictator with dillusions of Godhood" (Trouble with Tribbles) was the space cowboy for a disillusioned group of baby boomers. He battled the Doomesday Machine, matched wits with Nomad, tamed Eylan of Trious, and earned the respect of a reluctant Vulcan, (Oh, Spock!) OK! He did have some moments, but the Space Dog (Sorry, Kovu!) seemingly couldn't put a lid on his wandering libido! He wasn't the smooth, diplomatic Jean Luc Pickard!
Yeah, yeah! I said the same thing a lot of you did when Patrick Stewart took the helm. ("My God! What's that old man doing on the bridge?""Has Gene Roddenberry lost his mind!?") But, could Kirk have depended on an android, match wits with a bored Q, have a Klingon for a security chief, and survived the Borg? Not to mention a few trips to the Klingon homeworld? (Would Kirk have drunk Klingon bloodwine?) No! Pickard made Kirk look like a little boy! And the Enterprise continued on ..
There was more comraderie on Pickard's ship than Kirk's and more diversity of species and more utilization of women. (Women were dignated "decoration" under Kirk's command!)
Both captains, however, had excellent "other species" guys! My votes go to Spock, Worf, and Data. There's something about the intellectual, "hard-to-get" guys . .
There'll be a tug of war going on in that question for a while.
The "Three Hour Tour" blog votes for Captain Kirk.
I stand behind Captain Pickard.
Cast your vote. I should've kept my old Star Trek lunch box!
Coffee, Earl Grey, and Bloodwine's on me!
7月30日 "Jealous Eyes"Jealous Eyes
Jealous eyes,
Oh, Jealous Eyes!
I'm just hugging a friend.
Why do you scowl so,
When you know my eyes are only for you?
Jealous Eyes, your jealous eyes
Darken a liquid milky brown,
Then smolder in a golden cognac haze
So intoxicating, I struggle to catch my breath!
Jealous Eyes! Look, Jealous Eyes!
Possession is not my law
And no one owns me!
If I'm your afterthought,
It doesn't matter one bit, does it?
Do I bother you? No one owns me.
Jealous Eyes!
Run!
Catch me if you can!
-- c. r. rankin
6-20-05 |
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