"She felt very young; at the same time unspeakably aged. She sliced like a knife through everything; at the same time was outside, looking on... far out to sea and alone; she always had the feeling that it was very, very dangerous to live even one day." .... Mrs Dalloway... Virginia Woolf

I Smile

I smile

With a secret that shall embrace me in my pyre

I smile

With a mystery that feeds my souls raging fire        

I smile

With love that breathes life into my existence

I smile

With the hate that resides in black oceans deep dense

I smile

With a passion to paint the world white

I smile

With the will to touch the unconquered height

I smile

With the strength to lay invincible giants

I smile

With the shrewdness to tackle impossible clients

I smile

With the wit to bite off your insult

I smile

With the wisdom of an ancient occult

I smile

In face of grief to bring it to shame

I smile

To myself and take my own blame

I smile

To tell you that when needed I am there

I smile

To tell you that the world wont always be fair

I smile

to touch the heavens blue hue

I smile

To realize that some part of me is true

The Smile Of Austerity

The smile of austerity.

looking through hollow eyes

into the darkness of your soul

and asking your humanity

the question it cannot answer

the stillness of its misery

surging through your veins

reaching your grieving heart

tainted and poisoned

asking the meaning of hope and love

asking why God made men

to be born crying, to live sighing and lie dying

why you were born to a rich father

and she to a starving widow

why you could sleep in comforts of the quilt

while winter slaps her numb naked feet

you glanced one glance and strolled ahead

to meet happy friends and celebrate the day

she slept that night in the lap of death

oblivion gently swept her away.

Advice to a Son.. Hemingway

Never trust a white man,
Never kill a Jew,
Never sign a contract,
Never rent a pew.
Don't enlist in armies;
Nor marry many wives;
Never write for magazines;
Never scratch your hives.
Always put paper on the seat,
Don't believe in wars,
Keep yourself both clean and neat,
Never marry whores.
Never pay a blackmailer,
Never go to law,
Never trust a publisher,
Or you'll sleep on straw.
All your friends will leave you
All your friends will die
So lead a clean and wholesome life
And join them in the sky

SEPTEMBER 1913 - W.B YEATS

What need you, being come to sense,
But fumble in a greasy till
And add the halfpence to the pence
And prayer to shivering prayer, until
You have dried the marrow from the bone?
For men were born to pray and save:
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.

Yet they were of a different kind,
The names that stilled your childish play,
They have gone about the world like wind,
But little time had they to pray
For whom the hangman's rope was spun,
And what, God help us, could they save?
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.

Was it for this the wild geese spread
The grey wing upon every tide;
For this that all that blood was shed,
For this Edward Fitzgerald died,
And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone,
All that delirium of the brave?
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.

Yet could we turn the years again,
And call those exiles as they were
In all their loneliness and pain,
You'd cry, 'Some woman's yellow hair
Has maddened every mother's son':
They weighed so lightly what they gave.
But let them be, they're dead and gone,
They're with O'Leary in the grave.

A LOVE'S WISH

In joyous rays of the morning sun
a life is kindled in green
And in ruthless roars of a brutal gun
The red makes it all unseen
My Friend, my brother, my loving child
Thou art my soul's smile
But now your forms in mute have piled
The beats of my heart sound vile
There would be one day when men would laugh
And cheer their friendship aloud
Our futile hate, their love will dwarf
Their children happy and proud.
When you can hold your neighbour's hand
When lines will not be drawn in sand...

Rains..

The wet knock on my window pane

Of a lofty grey cloud

With happy wind comes in the rain

The earth shines aloud.

A musing dove in shelter sits

And longs for her beaming sun

From seven hues the heaven knits

The arc is lovingly done.