If I can’t see, what I feel is real.
I have to make it reality.
Composite sketches depict my life very well.
I look and see the good, bad and tailwind effects and affects of my movements.
I know, I am the master of my domain.
I know, I have over lookers seeing my every move.
But, I know anything is possible.
I can push a botton and put a stop to distasteful circumstances.

Whilst sat at my desk, the other day

A friend turned to me and said “Okay”!

“I have decided I’m giving up chocolate for lent.

You need to help me, I can’t repent!”

I said “Bitch, you be crazy, I’m not helping with that!

Dude I’d eat chocolate till I’m good and fat.

Now go back to the drawing bored and pick something silly,

Like aubergines, ebay or men with small willys!”

(I wrote this poem to commemorate and immortalize that first ever phone conversation with a very special friend who lives in far away foreign land yet I feel she is so close to me).

That voice over the phone
Was like any familiar tone
If not for the sweet bubbly hue
That sprang out of the blue

I was speechless
And motionless
The feeling I can’t apprise
By such a pleasant surprise

Oh, you came down like rain
That’s sprinkled on the plain
To give life and lush
To a green turned flush

That voice over the phone
Came out with undertone
Suggesting from my stupor
One I had always longed for

I was speechless
And motionless
You caught me tongue-tied
Right from where I hide

Oh, you came down like rain
That’s sprinkled on the plain
To give life and lush
To a green turned flush

That…

I know that I shall meet my fate Somewhere among the clouds above; Those that I fight I do not hate, Those that I guard I do not love; My country is Kiltartan Cross, My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor, No likely end could bring them loss Or leave them happier than before. Nor law, nor duty bade me fight, Nor public men, nor cheering crowds, A lonely impulse of delight Drove to this tumult in the clouds; I balanced all, brought all to mind, The years to come seemed waste of breath, A waste of breath the years behind In balance with this life, this death.

– W.B. Yeats

Irish nationalism was an issue known to be very close to Yeats’ heart; its influence on his life was so great that it permeated both his work and love affairs as shown by the fact that he was used by Maud Gonne…

Tell me your tale,

decipher the lines

on your face’s frail

sail,

billowing backwards

into cumming’s curvaceous

biography!

When in spring,

rose

his balloon

above your fenced senses

and sank

down

into the widespread lense

of your

smile ?

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The above portrait of Marion Morehouse  by e e cummings I found here:

http://www.eecummingsart.com/artwork/?eec=1176&gal=s-7-47-42