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• Poem-a-Day Collection (16)
• Paranoia (015 of 170)
• Robin Hood (15 of 79)

Poem-a-Day Collection (16) Posted: 12 Jul 2011 09:30 AM PDT 16 Poem-a-Day Collection by Knopf A Message from DailyLit Question of the Week: What's your Proustian moment (i.e., is there a smell or taste that evokes a particular memory)? Click here to share. COPYRIGHT Poem-a-Day Collection by Knopf. Compilation copyright 2009 by Knopf. All Rights Reserved. Sharing not permitted. You're Beautiful By Simon Armitage because you're classically trained. I'm ugly because I associate piano wire with strangulation. You're beautiful because you stop to read the cards in newsagents' windows about lost cats and missing dogs. I'm ugly because of what I did to that jellyfish with a lolly stick and a big stone. You're beautiful because for you, politeness is instinctive, not a marketing campaign. I'm ugly because desperation is impossible to hide. Ugly like he is, Beautiful like hers, Beautiful like Venus, Ugly like his, Beautiful like she is, Ugly like Mars. You're beautiful because you believe in coincidence and the power of thought. I'm ugly because I proved God to be a mathematical impossibility. You're beautiful because you prefer home-made soup to the packet stuff. I'm ugly because once, at a dinner party, I defended the aristocracy and wasn't even drunk. You're beautiful because you can't work the remote control. I'm ugly because of satellite television and twenty-four-hour rolling news. Ugly like he is, Beautiful like hers, Beautiful like Venus, Ugly like his, Beautiful like she is, Ugly like Mars. You're beautiful because you cry at weddings as well as funerals. I'm ugly because I think of children as another species from a different world. You're beautiful because you look great in any colour including red. I'm ugly because I think shopping is strictly for the acquisition of material goods. You're beautiful because when you were born, undiscovered planets lined up to peep over the rim of your cradle and lay gifts of gravity and light at your miniature feet. I'm ugly for saying "love at first sight" is another form of mistaken identity, and that the most human of all responses is to gloat. Ugly like he is, Beautiful like hers, Beautiful like Venus, Ugly like his, Beautiful like she is, Ugly like Mars. You're beautiful because you've never seen the inside of a car-wash. I'm ugly because I always ask for a receipt. You're beautiful for sending a box of shoes to the third world. I'm ugly because I remember the telephone numbers of ex-girlfriends and the year Schubert was born. You're beautiful because you sponsored a parrot in a zoo. I'm ugly because when I sigh it's like the slow collapse of a circus tent. Ugly like he is, Beautiful like hers, Beautiful like Venus, Ugly like his, Beautiful like she is, Ugly like Mars. You're beautiful because you can point at a man in a uniform and laugh. I'm ugly because I was a police informer in a previous life. You're beautiful because you drink a litre of water and eat three pieces of fruit a day. I'm ugly for taking the line that a meal without meat is a beautiful woman with one eye. You're beautiful because you don't see love as a competition and you know how to lose. I'm ugly because I kissed the FA Cup then held it up to the crowd. You're beautiful because of a single buttercup in the top buttonhole of your cardigan. I'm ugly because I said the World's Strongest Woman was a muscleman in a dress. You're beautiful because you couldn't live in a lighthouse. I'm ugly for making hand-shadows in front of the giant bulb, so when they look up, the captains of vessels in distress see the ears of a rabbit, or the eye of a fox, or the legs of a galloping black horse. Ugly like he is, Beautiful like hers, Beautiful like Venus, Ugly like his, Beautiful like she is, Ugly like Mars. Ugly like he is, Beautiful like hers, Beautiful like Venus, Ugly like his, Beautiful like she is, Ugly like Mars. -- Buy Simon Armitage Tyrannosaurus Rex Versus The Corduroy Kid from Amazon here. Buy Simon Armitage Tyrannosaurus Rex Versus The Corduroy Kid from IndieBound here. Visit poem-a-day.knopfdoubleday.com for more about this poem and to sign up for Knopf's 2010 Poem-a-Day email. Excerpt from the TYRANNOSAURUS REX VERSUS THE CORDUROY KID. Copyright © 2009 by Simon Armitage. Excerpted by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher. A Message from DailyLit Question of the Week: What's your Proustian moment (i.e., is there a smell or taste that evokes a particular memory)? Click here to share. Message from DailyLit Question of the Week: What's your Proustian moment (i.e., is there a smell or taste that evokes a particular memory)? Click here to share. Want more? Get the next installment right now. Ideas or questions? Discuss in our forums Need a break? Suspend delivery of this book. Want to adjust your reading schedule or make other changes? Manage all your settings.

Paranoia (015 of 170) Posted: 11 Jul 2011 09:30 PM PDT 015 —of — 170 Paranoia by Joseph Finder A Message from our Sponsor: Macmillan | Become a Sponsor COPYRIGHT Paranoia by Joseph Finder. Copyright 2004 by Joseph Finder. All Rights Reserved. Sharing not permitted. 7 After ten grueling days of tutoring and indoctrination by engineers and product marketing types who'd been involved with the Lucid handheld, my head was stuffed with all kinds of useless information. I was given a tiny "office" in the executive suite that used to be a supply room, though I was almost never there. I showed up dutifully, didn't give anyone any trouble. I didn't know how long I'd be able to keep this up without flipping out, but the image of the prison bunk bed at Marion kept me motivated. Then one morning I was summoned to an office two doors down the executive corridor from Nicholas Wyatt's. The name on the brass plate on the door said JUDITH BOLTON. The office was all white—white rug, white-upholstered furniture, white marble slab for a desk, even white flowers. On a white leather sofa, Nicholas Wyatt sat next to an attractive, fortyish woman who was chatting away familiarly with him, touching his arm, laughing. Coppery red hair, long legs crossed at the knee, a slender body she obviously worked hard at, dressed in a navy suit. She had blue eyes, glossy heart-shaped lips, brows arched provocatively. She'd obviously once been a knockout, but she'd gotten a little hard. I realized I'd seen her before, over the last week or so, at Wyatt's side, when he paid his quick visits to my training sessions with marketing guys and engineers. She always seemed to be whispering in his ear, watching me, but we were never introduced, and I'd always wondered who she was. Without getting up from the couch, she extended a hand as I approached—long fingers, red nail polish—and gave me a firm, no-nonsense shake. "Judith Bolton." "Adam Cassidy." "You're late," she said. "I got lost," I said, trying to lighten things up. She shook her head, smiled, pursed her lips. "You have a problem with punctuality. I don't ever want you to be late again, are we clear?" I smiled back, the same smile I give cops when they ask if I know how fast I was going. The lady was tough. "Absolutely." I sat down in a chair facing her. Wyatt was watching the exchange with amusement. "Judith is one of my most valuable players," he said. "My 'executive coach.' My consigliere, and your Svengali. I suggest you listen to every fucking word she says. I do." He stood up, excused himself. She gave him a little wave as he left. You wouldn't have recognized me anymore. I was a changed man. No more Bondomobile: now I drove a silver Audi A6, leased by the company. I had a new wardrobe, too. One of Wyatt's admins, the black one, who turned out to be a former model from the British West Indies, took me clothes shopping one afternoon at a very expensive place I had only seen from the outside, where she said she bought clothes for Nick Wyatt. She picked out some suits, shirts, ties, and shoes, and put it all on a company Amex card. She even bought what she called "hose," meaning socks. And this wasn't the Structure crap I usually wore, it was Armani, Ermenegildo Zegna. They had this aura: you could tell they were handstitched by Italian widows listening to Verdi. The sideburns—"bugger's grips," she called them—had to go, she decided. Also no more of the scraggly bed-head look. She took me to a fancy salon, and I came out looking like a Ralph Lauren model, only not as fruity. I dreaded next time Seth and I got together; I knew I'd never hear the end of it. A cover story was devised. My co-workers and managers in the Enterprise Division/Routers were informed that I had been "reassigned." Rumors circulated that I was being sent to Siberia because the manager of my division was tired of my attitude. Another rumor had it that one of Wyatt's senior VPs had admired a memo I'd written and "liked my attitude" and I was being given more responsibility, not less. No one knew the truth. All anyone knew was that one day I was suddenly gone from my cubicle. A Message from our Sponsor: Macmillan | Become a Sponsor Message from DailyLit Share the DailyLit experience. Click here to invite friends to read with you. Want more? Get the next installment right now. Ideas or questions? Discuss in our forums Need a break? Suspend delivery of this book. Want to adjust your reading schedule or make other changes? Manage all your settings.

Robin Hood (15 of 79) Posted: 11 Jul 2011 09:30 PM PDT 15 —of — 79 Robin Hood by J. Walker Mcspadden A Message from DailyLit Buy this book--or others--from Amazon and help support DailyLit SHARING We encourage sharing--forward to a friend! Chapter V: How the Sheriff Lost Three Good Servants and Found them Again "Make good cheer," said Robin Hood. "Sheriff! for charity! And for the love of Little John Thy life is granted thee!" The cook gasped in amazement. This Robin Hood! and under the Sheriff's very roof! "Now by my troth you are a brave fellow," he said. "I have heard great tales of your prowess, and the half has not been told. But who might this tall slasher be?" "Men do call me Little John, good fellow." "Then Little John, or Reynold Greenleaf, I like you well, on my honor as Much the miller's son; and you too, bold Robin Hood. An you take me, I will enter your service right gladly." "Spoken like a stout man!" said Robin, seizing him by the hand. "But I must back to my own bed, lest some sleepy warden stumble upon me, and I be forced to run him through. Lucky for you twain that wine flowed so freely in the house to-day; else the noise of your combat would have brought other onlookers besides Robin Hood. Now if ye would flee the house to-night, I will join you in the good greenwood to-morrow." "But, good master," said the cook, "you would not stay here over night! Verily, it is running your head into a noose. Come with us. The Sheriff has set strict watch on all the gates, since 'tis Fair week, but I know the warden at the west gate and could bring us through safely. To-morrow you will be stayed." "Nay, that will I not," laughed Robin, "for I shall go through with no less escort than the Sheriff himself. Now do you, Little John, and do you, Much the miller's son, go right speedily. In the borders of the wood you will find my merry men. Tell them to kill two fine harts against to-morrow eve, for we shall have great company and lordly sport." And Robin left them as suddenly as he had come. "Comrade," then said Little John, "we may as well bid the Sheriff's roof farewell. But ere we go, it would seem a true pity to fail to take such of the Sheriff's silver plate as will cause us to remember him, and also grace our special feasts." "'Tis well said indeed," quoth the cook. Thereupon they got a great sack and filled it with silver plate from the shelves where it would not at once be missed, and they swung the sack between them, and away they went, out of the house, out of the town, and into the friendly shelter of Sherwood Forest. The next morning the servants were late astir in the Sheriff's house. The steward awoke from a heavy sleep, but his cracked head was still in such a whirl that he could not have sworn whether the Sheriff had ever owned so much as one silver dish. So the theft went undiscovered for the nonce. Robin Hood met the Sheriff at breakfast, when his host soon spoke of what was uppermost in his heart—the purchase of the fine herd of cattle near Gamewell. 'Twas clear that a vision of them, purchased for twenty paltry gold pieces, had been with him all through the night, in his dreams. And Robin again appeared such a silly fellow that the Sheriff saw no need of dissembling, but said that he was ready to start at once to look at the herd. A Message from DailyLit Buy this book--or others--from Amazon and help support DailyLit Message from DailyLit Share the DailyLit experience. Click here to invite friends to read with you. Want more? Get the next installment right now. Ideas or questions? Discuss in our forums Need a break? Suspend delivery of this book. Want to adjust your reading schedule or make other changes? Manage all your settings.

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