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Laurel's Blog

This is my blog.

8.5.04

O Say Our Father


Our Father, who art in heaven,
o say, can you see?
Hallowed(1) be thy name
by the dawn's early light.

Thy kingdom come and
so proudly we hail'd
and thy will be done
at the twilight's last gleaming
on earth as it is in heaven.

Whose broad stripes and bright stars
give us this day our daily bread
thro' the perilous fight?

Forgive us our trespasses,
o'er the ramparts(2) we watch'd
as we forgive those who trespass against us
(while so gallantly streaming.)

And lead us not into temptation,
to the rockets' red glare, - the bombs bursting in air
that delivered us from evil -
and gave proof thro' the night
that thine is the kingdom,
that our flag was still there,
that the power,
that star-spangled
glory,
the banner yet waves
for ever and ever
o'er the land of the free(3) and
Amen(4)
to the home of the brave(5).

(1)to make or set apart as holy; to respect or honor greatly; revere
(2)an embankment built around a space for defensive purposes
(3)not imprisoned or enslaved; being at liberty; not controlled by will of another; unguarded in expression or manner; not subject to external restraint
(4)also Amon, the Egyptian god of life and reproduction, represented as a man with a ram’s head; also used at the end of a prayer to express approval
(5)valiant, displaying courage; making an impressive display; to challenge, to dare; a Native American warrior


posted by Laurel  # 4:33:00 PM
Dressed

tonight she’s shunning pants
for a Vegas-dancer skirt
that barely touches her thighs
and allows your eyes
to pry
a little further than they’re supposed to,
if you want to

and she’s given up pale mauves,
ivory hues of eyeshadow
for scarlet red, electric blue-
berry and sassy grape eye-liner
to make sure
that your
wandering eyes
get caught
in thickened extended midnight black sparkle lashes

aquamarine contacts,
hair dye #39, #12
to be Marilyn on Friday
and Jackie O by Monday morning in office hues
as the girl
who serves your coffee
as the girl
who takes notes in class but
by Saturday your view will be in shimmers
of disco ball champagne shadow,
ruby corvette lips,
turquoise lined eyes,
and Vegas-dancer skirted thighs.





posted by Laurel  # 4:27:00 PM
dried blood on my hand is it mine or yours telling stories of nights before, and with your lips and mine we spilled secrets of who we were, dried blood and roses like the ones in my hair tried to steal beauty from that cold summer air, when we quieted and listened we could spill ourselves too leaking onto the sidewalk all we thought was true i don't dance you said instead holding me tight don't live to bleed don't dance to fight we fumbled with keys and cut our hands on the edge, never feeling the blood 'til it dripped and you fed me sweet words of spanish and your language not mine we woke up still sleepy killing time stealing time like the ticking surrender of our moments passed don't hold me, don't let the blood drip too fast
posted by Laurel  # 4:24:00 PM

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