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Posts Tagged ‘heart button’


Hearts, cupids, and lovebirds abound. Lulu and Francy are making sweet and longing cat-eyes at the fluttering pigeons outside, the cake-decorator at the corner boulangerie is distractedly piping passionate declarations of love on every pâtisserie, and even I feel a little spring in my step. I’m stepping out for flowers, and am wearing weekend spring finery consisting of a leaf green fine cotton lawn shirt with bronze heart buttons, worn 501s, brown cowboy boots, an earthy brown tweed jacket and a green suede cap.
She didn’t say yes
She didn’t say no
For heaven was near
She wanted it so
She wanted to act ad libitum
But feared to lose her equilibrium
So what did she do?
I leave it to you
She did just what you’d do too”

(By J. Kern, O. Harbach)

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I’m on my way to meet you for dinner, and am hurrying from BART to the escalator, when I walk past a woman sitting on a pile of coverlets, strumming some nameless song on an out-of-tune guitar. Homeless folks make me sad; I yearn to be able to hand them energy and healing, but feel inadequate. Whenever I see someone huddled on the city ground, I open my heart, shine love at them, and imagine wrapping them in a soft quilt of graciousness with golden heart-shaped buttons sealing in all that radiance. Does my tiny blessing help? I do not know the answer, yet I continue. And so I run to you, my heart an open shell full of grainy sand, gleaming pearls and salty tears.
“i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

(By ee cummings)

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It is 4 am, and I’m sitting at the counter of my favorite all-night coffee shop….the one where they put metallic sprinkles on their chocolate frosted donuts. I’ve been up all night, and am attempting to fight impending heartburn with a glittering gold donut. It isn’t working, so I loosen the enameled red heart buttons on my black velveteen vest. I notice gloomily that the pile is wearing thin, and I have orange cat fur scattered across my chest. Suddenly the door swings open, and a tall, portly woman holding a ukulele stands there, framed by the faded chartreuse streetlight behind her. She beckons to the waitress, leans over the pink Formica counter, and asks for a small cup of coffee. Sitting on a stool she starts to sing.
Some people like to stay out late, some folks can’t hold out that long
But nobody wants to go home now, there’s too much going on
This night is gonna last forever, last all, last all summer long
Some time before the sun comes up the radio is gonna play that song
There’s gonna be a heartache tonight, the moon’s shining bright
So turn out the light, and we’ll get it right
There’s gonna be a heartache tonight, a heartache tonight I know

(By The Eagles)

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I canned several quarts of English Morello heirloom cherries last year, and am baking 27 cherry frangipane tarts for all my very special friends. As roll out the buttery pastry, I vigorously cackle “Off with their heads!” It is most satisfying, but it startles the cat and so she scuttles off to leave me to my adventures. In order to get into the necessary special loving spirit that making 27 cherry frangipane tarts entails, I’m wearing a red leather double-breasted vest fastened with six gold heart buttons over my worn white lawn shirt. I’ve turned my shirt sleeves up to facilitate the delicate task of rolling out the crust, am wearing old patched 501 jeans, and am barefoot. The smell of cherries and almond paste fills the air.
The Queen of Hearts she made some tarts all on a summer’s day;
The Knave of Hearts he stole the tarts and took them clean away.
The King of Hearts called for the tarts and beat the Knave full sore
The Knave of Hearts brought back the tarts and vowed he’d steal no more.

(Anonymous)

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Sometimes I like to think of my heart as the most fragile of organs, but it is not all that delicate; it is a blood-thirsty bit of well-used muscle that I am fond of throwing to the ground in exasperation. Tonight is no exception, and I anticipate more than one temper fit from my little heart. I dress carefully in a pleated front cream linen shirt with closely spaced pale blue frosted glass heart-shaped buttons, lightweight black wool pants and frock coat, blue and black stripped silk socks, and black wingtip shoes tied with blue velvet ribbon laces. I am meeting you on the corner at 7:30pm, and am bringing a pink and silver checked box filled with home-made caramels. “Blind them with sugar” is my new motto.
Say what you will, and scratch my heart to find
The roots of last year’s roses in my breast;
I am as surely riper in my mind
As if the fruit stood in the stalls confessed.
Laugh at the unshed leaf, say what you will,
Call me in all things what I was before,
A flutterer in the wind, a woman still;
I tell you I am what I was and more.

(From “Eight Sonnets” by Edna St. Vincent Millay)

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