poetry please! (for vicus and shot)(exclusively)

(and with HUGE apologies to mel)

The Eve of St Agnes (1863)
Sir John Everett Millais (1829-96)

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The subject of the painting refers to the superstition that a girl could see her future husband in a dream if she performed certain rites on 20 January, the evening before the feast day of St Agnes. St Agnes was a young Roman girl who was martyred for her faith in the 4th century. The tale inspired poems by both John Keats (1819) and Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1837), and Sir John Everett Millais produced a number of drawings and paintings on the same theme. . .
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verse 6

They told her how, upon St. Agnes' Eve,
Young virgins might have visions of delight,
And soft adorings from their loves receive
Upon the honey'd middle of the night,
If ceremonies due they did aright;
As, supperless to bed they must retire,
And couch supine their beauties, lily white;
Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require
Of Heaven with upward eyes for all that they desire.

verse 25

Full on this casement shone the wintry moon,
And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast,
As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon;
Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest,
And on her silver cross soft amethyst,
And on her hair a glory, like a saint:
She seem'd a splendid angel, newly drest,
Save wings, for heaven:--Porphyro grew faint:
She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint.

(-:
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XXX

as flat as a proverbial

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and no, I'm not referring to my breasts. . .
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(but while we're on the subject, perhaps we'll contemplate it for a while. . .)
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( . . .and I feel perfectly comfortable doing that because since Saturday evening I have been accompanied to the loo and bathroom everytime nature has called or I've needed a wash and brush up)

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(I had told them I pushed the blades down the plughole) (which I had done, seeing as at the time I didn't think I'd be using the bathroom again and didn't want anyone else to get hurt by mistake) (but seeing as how I wasn't supposed to have blades in the first place you can hardly blame them for wanting to make sure I don't find some other way to do something that they don't want me to do)

..

(the only reason I had a blade in the first place was cos I'd asked XCH if he could bring me a lady-shave as my underarms were looking slightly like a bush [and I knew I wasn't allowed a razor, which is why I'd asked for a lady-shave] but only being a bloke he didn't know the difference and so brought me a pink girly razor from home. . .)
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(at the time my head was so screwed up by the non-dominant-unilateral-ECT I'd had on Friday [the bilateral procedure producing too many memory issues for TGD to be comfortable with] that I kind of thought it was providence) (of sorts) (obviously the fact they say I am seriously depressed must have played a part too, right? for me to want to pop the little blades out of the razor and slice up the inside of my arm and the back of my hand) (the back of my hand cut went straight into an artery and blood spurted right up and out of me and across the bathroom to the wall on the other side) (just like it does in the films) (the inside of my arm slicing proved more difficult, I only managed to get to a few veins, and my veins are crap and just pack up at the slightest interference anyhow, as many a phlebotomist has found over the years) (the thick white thing I thought was the artery that the silly little blade wouldn't cut thru, was a tendon, apparently) (I only studied Head & Neck and Chest Anatomy at Uni) where was I? oh, I know. . .

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a body is only a body, we've all got them, there's nothing special about mine, and seeing as how it might have made its way into the ground by now, via a crematorium, I have no problem with someone joining me in the bathroom

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but that wasn't what I was going to say

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what I was going to say was that the dose of the new drug that they put me on at the weekend, which apparently is a "mood stabilizer", and which had actually vaguely enhanced (in a +ve manner) my mood by Monday, has been increased with the result that my mood has stabilized to a flatness equivalent to Table Mountain

..

(I did have a nice piccie of Table Mountain, only blogger's playing silly buggers tonight) (I also had a picture of a salt lake in Bolivia that's equally flat, but that wouldn't load that either) (so you're stuck with the Nazca Plains. . .)
.

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I'll skip the more obvious comments about aliens and Erik Von Daniken and just apologise for the fact I'm probably coming across as a little bit grumpy and lacklustre and haven't really had the energy to visit you (yes you!) and say something amusing or interesting (she writes, hoping that that's what she normally does) but presumably at some stage in the not too distant future they'll get the meds right and I'll be back to my old self

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or a new version of her

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and in the meantime, just be pleased that you're not a member of the 24hour care staff who has to watch and be present at my every action - the food in here is gruesome
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(and the management don't provide pegs for noses)

vicus reveals his new hobby: archeology

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All the old paintings on the tombs
They do the sand dance don't you know
If they move too quick (oh whey oh)
They're falling down like a domino
All the bazaar men by the Nile
They got the money on a bet Gold crocodiles (oh whey oh)
They snap their teeth on your cigarette
Foreign types with the hookah pipes say
Ay oh whey oh, ay oh whey oh
Walk like an Egyptian
Blonde waitresses take their trays
They spin around and they cross the floor
They've got the moves (oh whey oh)
You drop your drink then they bring you more
All the school kids so sick of books
They like the punk and the metal band
When the buzzer rings (oh whey oh)
They're walking like an Egyptian
All the kids in the marketplace say
"Ay oh whey oh, ay oh whey oh"
Walk like an Egyptian
Slide your feet up the street bend your back
Shift your arm then you pull it back
Life is hard you know (oh whey oh)
So strike a pose on a Cadillac
If you want to find all the cops
They're hanging out in the donut shop
They sing and dance (oh whey oh)
Spin the clubs cruise down the block
All the Japanese with their yen
The party boys call the Kremlin
And the Chinese know (oh whey oh)
They walk the line like Egyptian
All the cops in the donut shop say
"Ay oh whey oh, ay oh whey oh"
Walk like an Egyptian
Walk like an Egyptian
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THE BANGLES

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(or dance like one, chez vicus)
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POST SCRIPT a request from the witchy one. . .
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read this
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and the following translation will make sense
(I'm good with hieroglyphics, me):
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Put your head against my life
What do you hear
A million words just trying to make
The love song of the year
Close your eyes, but don't forget
What you have heard
A man who's trying to say three words
The words that make me scared
A million love songs later
And here I am trying to tell you that I care
A million love songs later
And here I am
Looking to the future now
This is what I see
A million chances pass me by
A million chances to hold you
Take me back, take me back
To where I used to be
To hide away from all my truth
Through the light I see
A million love songs later
And here I am trying to tell you that I care
A million love songs later
And here I am
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or, more simply put:
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time goes by

for dave who wanted to explore the word rude

*thinks*
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(what can dave possibly mean by the word "rude"?
to me "rude" is when you say something nasty and spiteful
to someone, on purpose. . .)
(or when you talk with your mouth full of half chewed food. . .)

(*remembers* dave is an XY,
so probably doesn't share the same definition. . .)
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(it's all a drop in the ocean
of semantics and experience, isn't it. . .)
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let's explore the water, shall we!
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what happens when I go on my hols?
....
and if you believe that,
you'll believe anything!
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(the top two, very possibly, but that red one -
I'm far more flatchested than her. . .)

but a little imagination never goes amiss, eh. . .
..
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hmmmmmmmm. . .
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what else could he possibly mean
by the word "rude"?
..

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checking out whether one's bikini
coordinates with the fridge?
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draw your own conclusions. . .
.. .
dave's definition of the word "rude"?
it's like trying to find a needle in a haystack!

found it!!!

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this?

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but, dear dave that. . .
is what happens when you have an accident with the Immac
and then go for a roll around in the compost heap. . .
...
you see, I wouldn't even call the following "saucy"
(a little "cheeky", possibly, but that's only a play on words
and visual imagery, eh):
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I'd call that underwear shopping. . .
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sauce is something you put on your fish and chips
or have on the side next to a lamb chop
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anyhow, back to the underwear shopping:

she didn't make the same mistake that I did
with the haircut!
...

YUP!
that's my excuse
and I'm stickin' to it!

..
yee g*ds, how did I get pulled into this?
obviously haven't had quite enough coffee yet this morning

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*has another cup*
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now this, I find rude:

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let me know what your conclusions are, ok!
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and just to prove I'm not Julie,
the following is me:

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XXX

(and if this submission doesn't get a comment out of vicus,
I may as well give up)
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(however, he probably does have
more important things to do with his time)

(don't you?!)