Kindchenschema

And then those hormones hit you with a brick!

Next I'll be wanting to cuddle with babies.... Ugh.

THE TIGRESS

Was it doom's or heaven's sigh

When the tigress came upon you?

Say where do your wishes lie

As her claws enthrall you?

Does your heart beat strong with pain,

With fear, or is it yet desire?

Is that conformity I hear

In her eternal fire?

Hark now, have I caught you bare?

Seen right through your jungle heart?

Be cautious of the witch's stare,

It might catch you off your guard.

[ This is all mine. : ) ]

Ich bin ein nimmermüder Born unnützen Wissens.

[Was that PROUST who said this?]

Anyway, it's ever just so true for me.

Poppy-Day

It's Poppy-Day today and the Germans are starting Carnival.
Well... what can you say....
Do not live in Cologne then!

The first person I saw today was a cow. Followed by a tiger and a chicken.

While I was on my way to have my wisdom-tooth extracted.

Odd day. Very odd.

O Tell Me The Truth About Love

Some say that love's a little boy,
And some say it's a bird,
Some say it makes the world go around,
And some say that's absurd,
And when I asked the man next-door,
Who looked as if he knew,
His wife got very cross indeed,
And said it wouldn't do.

Does it look like a pair of pyjamas,
Or the ham in a temperance hotel?
Does its odour remind one of llamas,
Or has it a comforting smell?
Is it prickly to touch as a hedge is,
Or soft as eiderdown fluff?
Is it sharp or quite smooth at the edges?
O tell me the truth about love.

Our history books refer to it
In cryptic little notes,
It's quite a common topic on
The Transatlantic boats;
I've found the subject mentioned in
Accounts of suicides,
And even seen it scribbled on
The backs of railway guides.

Does it howl like a hungry Alsatian,
Or boom like a military band?
Could one give a first-rate imitation
On a saw or a Steinway Grand?
Is its singing at parties a riot?
Does it only like Classical stuff?
Will it stop when one wants to be quiet?
O tell me the truth about love.

I looked inside the summer-house;
It wasn't even there;
I tried the Thames at Maidenhead,
And Brighton's bracing air.
I don't know what the blackbird sang,
Or what the tulip said;
But it wasn't in the chicken-run,
Or underneath the bed.

Can it pull extraordinary faces?
Is it usually sick on a swing?
Does it spend all its time at the races,
or fiddling with pieces of string?
Has it views of its own about money?
Does it think Patriotism enough?
Are its stories vulgar but funny?
O tell me the truth about love.

When it comes, will it come without warning
Just as I'm picking my nose?
Will it knock on my door in the morning,
Or tread in the bus on my toes?
Will it come like a change in the weather?
Will its greeting be courteous or rough?
Will it alter my life altogether?
O tell me the truth about love.

[W.H. Auden ]

There'll be Winter

Ich glaube ja eigentlich nicht so an böse Omen,
aber wenn sich morgens schon der Duschvorhang an einen ranwanzt,
kann aus dem Tag ja eigentlich nix Gutes mehr werden....

For now

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My candle burns at both ends

It will not last the night

But, ah, my foes, and, oh, my friends

- it gives a lovely light.

[Edna Saint Vincent Millay]