And We Provided Frances Crammer Greenman with a Model

The telephone rang in the Newspaper Room. It was
Francis Crammer Greenman. A friend had just called
from the Library to tell her
that a type she had been looking for for a picture
was sitting in the Newspaper Room.
It was an old man with a beard.

Would the assistant hold him until she got there —
she was six blocks away?
The man had left.
But they thought he had gone to the Magazine Room.
The call was transferred: the man was found
by Reference in our room.
He stayed. She came.
They left together.

(From the Daily Happenings log of the New York Public Library Reference Room, June 1952. Submitted by John FitzGerald)

Louboutin pas cher

Sometimes weak
with your face about powerful creatures
their assailants, louboutin pas cher

Numerous times
for more information on forg louboutin
et the fear, forget escape

People call
this condition called scared no point
Qin Feng today, everywhere

In the such and all, in one state

(WordPress spam. Submitted by Ffion Lindsay)

Joy

Remove all sharp objects from jumper!
Do not use when smoking!
Do not use with high blood pressure!
Do not use during pregnancy!
Do not use when suffering!
Do not use somersaults!
Use only bare foots!

(Warning notice with a Big Bounce trampoline. Submitted by Emma Neale)

Doing your duty!

I’m a patriotic husband,
you my patriotic wife,
lemme book into ya camp
and manufacture life.

Only financially secure adults
in stable, committed, long-term
relationships should participate.

(A song encouraging Singaporeans to have more babies, reported in Baby Love. Submitted by Rishi Dastidar)

A holiday from time

It makes me remember
all the times we’ve been together
absolutely alone in some suspended hour
a holiday from Time
prowling about in those quiet places
alienated from past and future
where there is no sound save listening
and vision is an anesthetic…

When I see how handsome you are
my stomach will fall
with many unpleasant emotions
like a cake with too many raisins
and I will want to shut you up in a closet
like a dress too beautiful to wear.

(Zelda Fitzgerald writes to her husband F. Scott Fitzgerald in 1931. Submitted by Grace Andreacchi)

I’m a Nurse with a Vice

off duty without a friend, a hobby to console me,
or the price of a cinema ticket, what can I do?

I enter a little shop down the road, furtively,
and ask the woman for my favourite brand.

I sneak back to my room and lock the door
against everyone. Then out comes the teaspoon

I filched from the dining room. I indulge in an orgy
of onions, gherkins, piccalilli, mustard and spice.

Yes, I finish the whole jar. Then I wash my hands,
clean my teeth, and can face the world. Maybe

it’s because pickles aren’t provided in our meals.
Or maybe my nature requires still more acid.

Mother says the vinegar will dry up my blood
and I’ll be preserved. But, oh, what a glorious end.

(From a letter to an old edition of Woman magazine. Submitted by Angela Readman)

When love goes cold

She was going out with him,
she was supposed to love him,
but she left him in the fridge
and let the council deal with the body.

(Overheard in the street in southern England. Submitted by Mark Totterdell)

Woman to woman

I know I am not the only woman in the world
with a sort of hurt feeling about fruit shops.

The windows are always so full of delicious
looking fruit. The rosiest of apples, succulent

black grapes, oranges and grapefruit that make
my mouth water. The greenest of watercress,

and sprightly mustard cress just ask for a plate
of thin bread and butter and a cup of strong tea.

Brussel sprouts are so neat and compact.
And every potato is round, neat and eyeless,

– just right to bake with half a dozen of its brothers.
Why is it then, when I get home with my basket

I find little shapeless many eyed potatoes, sprouts
dirty and loose-leaved, cress yellow and limp?

I know every fruit and vegetable can’t be perfect.
But I think some of the window fruit should get

into the shopping basket more often – in fact I know.

(From a letter to Woman magazine, 1940s. Submitted by Angela Readman)

Violets and motorcycles

I started thinking about smell,
the strange olfactory world,

and made a collection
of evocative aromas.

Rubber, naphtha, motorcycle dope,
cuir de russe, gasoline, ammonia.

Juniper wood, styrax, patchouli,
frangipani, amber, myrrh, geraniol.

Opoponx, heliotrope, nardo
spikenard oil, civet, coumarin.

Where does karanal stand
in relation to tuberose?

Or sandalwood to sage?
Don’t ask me.

(From Scents and Sensibility by Brian Eno, 1992. Submitted by Dale Wisely)

A nice place to visit

Mommy, the universe
is such a big scary place,
says the little girl with red hair.
Oh, yes, it is such a big scary place,
says the red-headed mother
of the little girl with red hair.
But don’t worry, dear,
we’re not going there.

(Overhead in the Hayden Planetarium, New York City. Submitted by J.R. Solonche)