I think the Gold Flake people should pay me -

It's a Rupert Brooke Day!
Pictures and the poems of Rupert Brooke's they each remind me of -
Okay, I'm putting this up without permission. They won't mind since they look so nice anyway. This reminds me of 'Thoughts on the Shape of the Human Body'
'No perfection grows
’Twixt leg, and arm, elbow, and ear, and nose,
And joint, and socket; but unsatisfied
Sprawling desires, shapeless, perverse, denied.
Finger with finger wreathes; we love, and gape,
Fantastic shape to mazed fantastic shape,
Straggling, irregular, perplexed, embossed,
Grotesquely twined, extravagantly lost
By crescive paths and strange protuberant ways
From sanity and from wholeness and from grace.'

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This next one's of Brooke's poem 'On the Death of Smet-Smet, the Hippopotamus-Goddess.'
A friend made this picture of me.
There's something extremely sordid and vulgar-looking about it...I guess it's all the red. Reminds me of red-light districts. 'SHE was wrinkled and huge and hideous, She was our Mother.
She was lustful and lewd—but a God; we had none other.
In the day She was hidden and dumb, but at nightfall moaned in the shade;
We shuddered and gave Her Her will in the darkness; we were afraid.'

Under the harvest moon,
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over the garden nights,
Death, the gray mocker,
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.

Under the summer roses
When the flagrant crimson
Lurks in the dusk
Of the wild red leaves,
Love, with little hands,
Comes and touches you
With a thousand memories,
And asks you
Beautiful, unanswerable questions.

Carl Sandburg