| honestly there are many things to say and the many lips that speak them will not stop all is said in little pieces one at a time that look to be true but aren't or are and the words are patented even though who spoke them is a spark words are bits of sparks they all are too much alike alike with all and so blows death yes excuse me for it's tired blowing came up because of the wind outside. so what? haven't written for days what can I give but facts I'm out of practice at other things but the wind is blowing and I've been talking many times today about Our Fate it's a major topic lately what concern it is is everybody's and nobody's of course I know (don't you guess it) what my fate is or I think so since it's here already just in these words --Marc Weber -------------------------- AT EASE Most wounds can Time repair; But some are mortal -- these: For a broken heart there is no balm, No cure for a heart at ease -- At ease, but cold as stone, Though the intellect spin on, And the feat and practiced face may show Nought of the life that is gone; But smiles, as by habit taught; And sighs, as by custom led; And the soul within is safe from damnation, Since it is dead. --Walter de la Mare ------------------------ THE LEADER I wanna be the leader I wanna be the leader Can I be the leader? Can I? I can? Promise? Promise? Yippee I'm the leader I'm the leader OK what shall we do? --Roger McGough ------------------- PIANO Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me; Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings. In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside And hymns in the cosy parlour, the tinkling piano our guide. So now it is vain for the singer to burst into clamour With the great black piano appassionato. The glamour Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past. --D H Lawrence --------------------------- |