Princess Diaries Part 2

I found myself watching this sequel , bleary eyed, till one at night.

The typical chicklit , teenage fantasy stuff in pink powder puffs - is just not my scene!

But glad I persisted. I think it was Julie Andrews. Still untouched, decades after her unforgettable performance as the loveable singing nun Maria- she got to me.
She played the quintessential queen-mom to the hilt complete with that gilded voice!

Here are some gems I found in the most unlikely places- which is
where gems are usually found!I quote:

Sir! The word 'fear' is not in my vocabulary!"
"But it is in your eyes!"

Other people lose it, but we are supposed to find it!

Being married is about being yourself...but with someone else.

The heart does things for reasons that/which reason doesn't understand.

Courage is not the absence of fear...it is the ability to choose that
which is other than fear.

"Power, my boy, means ,never having to say you're sorry!"

Not sure whether the last was a good thing..but definitely made me sit up...
and think of the commonality between all the uptight push-oversI've ever
met in all my life...they are usually quite unappologetic!)

To the Giver Of Rhymes

I will not ask

I will not ask of you for,
Say,
Straight dark sheets of endless hair
Or white even teeth true to the core

If I must
So let it be
White endless sheets of even verse
No hearse or dead scores to drag
Behind me but
Just straight ahead
Long lustrous lines
Smooth unblemished
Flawless rhymes.

I could do worse.

No more
Of whip lashed eyes which
Drown a million daring men
And pull them naked fighting
Back ashore
Make them
Blindly climb compel
Stride down endless mounds
Of kneaded hips
And lose their pride to
Flushed exhausted mindless sleep
Crushed down on open ocean shores
Which neither take to task nor teach
Nor ask nor risk, give in or reach
Or try to bind

Just lines.

Well pounded
Ground by hand
Smoothed blended perfect
Rhymes.

No husk to bind.

No more
Will I solicit for
Snow crushed breasts
Pink flocks of rising flamingoes
Flaming nipple moons
Which grow and wane
I will not strain for crested peaks
Stripped bare brown naked sunset lips
Lest lost words drown
In mighty struggle
To be formed

Still not born.

Just herds and droves
Mile after mile of heady lines.

A curse of verse unending.
A ready milk-heavy flow
Which gush and grow
In leaps of rhymes
Unbound by style
Unreaped by reason
Bending, wending in and out
Spare swinging careless bold and sure
Ful,l lush and ripe and strong they grow
Right down the seasons

A steady flow

That’s all I ask.