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Gail Sheehy

The delights of self-discovery are always available.

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You are always flowering in an endless spring (in answer to William Shakespeare)

Some similarities do I find
between you and a day in spring
when lovely birds sing
and rain new life brings

and yet far too soon that season is left behind
and still you stay pleasant and kind
a being without any irregularities, noble and pure

and while the sun brightly shines,
the cobalt sky is blue, your eyes have a darker hue

and when the sun declines before the night
your eyes sparkle with more lustre
than any light of the vast darkness:

and you are always flowering in an endless spring,
with a deep beauty that is true, that I find in you.

[Reference: Sonnet 18 “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? ” by William Shakespeare.]

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The Journey To Self-discovery

in closing all windows
and shutting the door

inside the silent belly of the room
you are being consumed

in the content of solitude
you shall find your true self

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The Winners Are Always The Heroes

The winners are always the heroes in life it is always this way
The losers are quickly forgotten though a fine and sporting
game they did play
'Tis only a sport it may well seem where people chase after a ball
But many take football quite seriously though 'tis only a game after all,
The winners are always the heroes and that's how it always will be
The fans of the winners are singing rejoicing in their victory
Life and sports are akin in many ways though some may say 'tis only a game
The winners get all of the applause and the winners can bask in their fame,
The winners are always the heroes and the winners get all of the praise
And always only to the winners the toasters their toasting glasses raise
The losers are quickly forgotten though some must lose for some to win
Yet some look on losing as shameful to them there is no greater sin,
In life as in sport the poor losers are the people the masses ignore
And in football the really big hero is the one who kicks the winning score.

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Paris You Are Always In My Heart

Paris you are always in my heart
And you shine inside my heart
Just like the rainbow
Paris you are a part of my heart

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Spirits that are always willing

Spirits that are always willing
to clean up for the killing,
of the souls of the young,
with us monsters, among
you.

We can't always see
what we want to be
when we murder
when we kill her.
True.

As the spirits that are,
witness us from afar.
Down below, up above.
Kill the heart. Kill the love.
You.

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You are always In my heart

You are always
In my heart
Not in the center
Not on the side
Always deep inside
Light of your love
Burns deep in me
Ignites more
When I think of you
Birds keep chirping,
Wind keeps flowing
My love for you
Keeps growing
Seasons come
Seasons go
Love for you
Shall never go
You’re part of my
Heart and soul
Life without you
Will take
My life’s toll

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Always Available

Some red dirt cowboys know how to cook beans
All red dirt cowboys know how to rope and tie
Some red dirt cowboys can even make a quilt
But one thing they won't ever do is say good-bye

So try to imagine life on the Oklahoma red plains
With early settlers making their dreams come true
Early red dirt cowboys had the best of all worlds
They were always available to love and protect you

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Factory Windows Are Always Broken

Factory windows are always broken.
Somebody's always throwing bricks,
Somebody's always heaving cinders,
Playing ugly Yahoo tricks.

Factory windows are always broken.
Other windows are let alone.
No one throws through the chapel-window
The bitter, snarling, derisive stone.

Factory windows are always broken.
Something or other is going wrong.
Something is rotten--I think, in Denmark.
End of factory-window song.

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Liking the kind of guy you are

i'm loving the kind of guy you are,
when you open up,
you proving to me more and more,
that you are not like the other guys,
you are special,
we both have a past with pain,
i love how you always put me first,
it makes me feel special,
but at times,
i wish you can open up more,
and share your emotions with me,
i will like to know more,
of what's in that big heart of yours,
at times it feels like,
you are just as scared as me,
about opening up,
i won't see you no different,
we are all human,
you will still be my repo man,
my caring, sweet man,
that i am growing to like.

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You Are Always There For Me

(norro wilson, wayland holyfield)
This song is mary and is themesong! it epitomizes
Our friendship through and through!
I know sometimes Im like a child
I disappoint you so
And how you keep forgiving me
Ill never never know
When I stumble and I fall
And need love desperately
You are always there for me
Chorus:
Like an oak in the wind
Like an old familiar friend
Like a harbor in a wild and raging sea
Darlin you are always there for me
When I take your love for granted
Like I often do
Its not that I dont need you so
Its not I dont love you
Its just that Im a fool sometimes
Just too blind to see
That you are always there for me
Repeat chorus x2

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The Authority of Self Expression

Who are you to choose what I do is not suitable?
And...
Who made you the authority of self expression?
Who fell ill and was left crazed?
Who announced you a scholar of prim and proper ways?

Chill that lip around me, please.
My days weren't hand fed by a highly paid nanny.
Nor did I grow to know life through chit chat and gossip.
However...
I have experienced 'intelligent ignorance'.
You know...
The kind that is confined to reading books,
To uncover an interpretation of correctness and etiquette.
Written by someone who deplores common sense.
And suffocates from a corked behind.
That is the way from here it looks.
As if someone is walking,
Trying their best to hold tightly onto a thin dime.

Who are you to choose what I do is not suitable?
And...
Who made you the authority of self expression?
And...
Who announced you a scholar of prim and proper ways?
Who fell ill and was left crazed?

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Oh! Think Not My Spirits Are Always As Light

Oh! think not my spirits are always as light,
And as free from a pang as they seem to you now,
Nor expect that the heart-beaming smile of to-night
Will return with to-morrow to brighten my brow.
No: -- life is a waste of wearisome hours,
Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns;
And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers,
Is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns.
But send round the bowl, and be happy awhile --
May we never meet worse, in our pilgrimage here,
Than the tear that enjoyment may gild with a smile,
And the smile that compassion can turn to a tear.

The thread of our life would be dark, Heaven knows
If it were not with friendship and love intertwined;
And I care not how soon I may sink to repose,
When these blessing shall cease to be dear to my mind.
But they who have loved the fondest, the purest,
Too often have wept o'er the dream they believed;
And the heart that has slumber'd in friendship securest
Is happy indeed if 'twas never deceived.
But send round the bowl; while a relic of truth
Is in man or in woman, this prayer shall be mine, --
That the sunshine of love may illumine our youth,
And the moonlight of friendship console our decline.

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We are the Hindus...

Few thousand year old scripture says,
that the Lord Brahma is the creator,
The Lord Vishnu is the protector and
The Lord Siva is the destroyer.

The destroyer of our pride,
selfish nature and evil attitude.
He has three eyes and
Hindus worship these three Gods.

The doctrines and principles.
weave around our life,
we have ceremonies for entire life,
Naming ceremony, ear piercing ceremony,
attainment of puberty and wedding ceremony,
ceremony for the first pregnancy,
and numerous other ceremonies,
apart from the death ceremony.

We have duties for everyone,
parents, grand parents,
uncles, aunties and children,
and we have to fulfill our duties,
other wise we will become outcast.
We are peace loving people,
who believe in Karma, our deeds,
as we do not have anyone,
to wash away our bad karma,
and Our Gods practice,
the check and balance,
and the division of labor.

Though our brothers and sisters,
call themselves in other names,
we treat them all as one of us,
as we believe the children of
Hindu ancestors are always the Hindus.
We treat them with respect and
we request them to treat us,
with due respect and not to convert,
our poor brothers and sisters,
for a bag of rice and a promise of heaven.

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You Are Always On My Mind

I love you so much that,
I cannot sleep at night;
You are the delight of my dreams and,
I want you to know that.
You are always on my mind,
In this world so sweet is you as my lover;
And, i will always remember you.
Everything has to go on smoothly to cement our love,
Down by the river side with the love that muses;
I can alwayssee your image on the surface of the water,
You are mine my sweetheart.

You are always on my mind and,
Don't let the colours and the differences separate us;
Don't let distances separate us too,
For you are all that i need my sweetheart.
Your love matters to me a lot,
You are the dream of my dreams;
Your shape and movement do motivate my intuitions.
You are always on my mind,
You are all that i need;
In times like this, i will always dream of you.
I love you so much that,
I don't know what to do;
I want you to know about this my sweetheart,
You are always on my mind.

Let the emotions of your love move towards me,
Come and be the one for me always;
My world is your world and,
Your world is my world too;
You are the very one to upgrade my status.
You are always on my mind and,
I have nowhere going than to love you;
Like a bread and butter pudding,
Let your love zone be mine.
My beautiful woman,
Love makes the world go round;
And your sweet love is always on my mind.

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The Only Voices I hear Are On The Inside

I was born not being able to hear
Born not hearing my mother tell me I'm dear
Born never listening to anyone who spoke to me
Born not enjoying music
Born without the ability to gauge sound, unable to hear the clock tick
But since the day I was born
Since before I could talk, I could scorn
There was one thing I always did hate
And that was the thing deepest inside of me,
The thing for which I cursed fate
Worse than deafness or being unable to see
Since the day I was born I heard voices
Not when loved ones talked, but voices that weren't my choice
To hear, voices that were inside my head
Voices that nobody else heard, but I didn't know if they were lying
Because my hearing has always been dead
I'd hear screeching or dying
When none was there
Those voices they'd tell me what to do and how could I deny them?
They were, they are, and they will be the only ones who care
Because they're the only one that speak to me, I can't find the sin
That I committed to be born like this, to be born broken
I've heard more conversations than any other man
And yet I've never heard man utter a word, through my whole lifespan
The only voices I hear are on the inside
And it's the greatest torment that I hide
They'll just tell me I'm crazy, well in writing
But these voices, they accept me, they sing
These voices they know because they've talked to me
These voices are the only I've ever known the
The first voices I've ever heard
Like a mother, I've never listened to a singing bird
But I've listened to a cacophonous symphony of arguing inside my head
These voices are like the woman I did not choose, but wed
I can't separate myself from them
The only time I hear anything, it's torment to condemn
Me, it's funny that I could never speak to anyone but myself
But I guess I've never, ever, been lonely... not ever.
I
Have
Never
Been
Alone
W ho could save me from myselves?

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You Are Always In My Heart

Time brings in...The Separate Ways
Amazingly awesome our journey with no reservation we did share,
Making my life so worthy, through the steps you took with loving care.
The joys, the laughter, the confusion the wet eyes that I did dry.
Watching you blossom into a beauty so steadily, a pleasure i can't deny.
The dancing days, the awful days, those questions, cannot be measured..
Filling my days with the sweetest fragrance, in my heart always be treasured.
The surprises, the bday cards, the mother's day, never missed till this day.
The cakes, the sweets, the lunches, the thoughts in my memory will stay.
My frowns you turned into smiles and kissed away the countless tears.
Your soft hands in mine as you helped me walk, took away my fears.
Our moments together with and without your friends never went stale.
But flowered with the fragrance of sincere love that always did prevail.
In my darkest hours you were that silvery light, that did so brightly appear.
Guiding me to enjoy the earthly paradise, with warm, lovable hugs so dear.
Now, with your luggage crammed up with your paintings and souvenirs I see..
All the gifts showered on you by your friends, teachers and family.
Oh don't forget the many things that brought in our little silly disturbances,
Division it brought us not as your eyes did sparkle knowing the all importance
‘Sultan Sulaiman' and those many recordings, the telephone hunt no more be.
The toothpaste cover and your breakfast forgotten, do not let it ever see
Take with you the memories as you walk away from the land of the sands
Of a love that will never fade even when you are far away in that distant land
A huge Granma's love.. goes with you wherever you may go whatever you may do.
For separate lives time dawns, but togetherness of our hearts we will walk through...
God Almighty, may He give you strength and good health with happiness galore
Success be yours forever and we will always be just a MagicJack away I know! ! ! ! !

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Patrick White

Seeking The Shadows Of What You Are

Seeking the shadows of what you are
you miss who's standing in the light.
Eternity with its tail in its mouth
can't taste much else in life but itself.
Where did these words come from
just a moment ago out of nowhere,
and if it were to rain, would that be
shallow or deep? And maybe a labyrinth
is just a snake that's swallowed its own head
and is wandering aimlessly in despair
through its own digestive track
like a salmon leaping upstream
through a waterclock with self-similarity
on its mind, oviparous replication,
the material immortality of genetic time.

Nothing's irrelevant or inelegant
if there's nothing to choose from
so everything shines in every mystic detail
as if it had never come unglued in its solitude
and bifurcated its unity into the subject
and the object of its awareness just to have
someone to talk to, an intimate familiar
it could rave at or serenade in a manic love affair
it was having with its own creation
like an artist talking to his masterpiece
with the caress of every sable-haired brush stroke.

Insignificant for the long haul, or famous
for fifteen minutes, either way,
you wouldn't know it by looking
at the fossils we didn't bring back from the moon
or sifting the grain from the chaff
from the ashes of the wheat
the wind scorched like a dragon
on its way to bring rain. Why
drive a nail through your third eye
and delude yourself into believing
you've been crucified, the king
of the waxing year sacrificing
your body parts to ensure a good harvest?

You want the virtues of your noble enemy?
Slay yourself and eat your own heart.
This is your nagual, your tulpa, your mirage,
your nightmare, your doppelganger,
your reflective familiar, your shadow
holographically projected in 3D by the pineal gland
of your third eye tattooed on the skin of a black hole
that is neither an ignominious exit through the grave
or the celebrated entrance into a secret garden,
and it can't be any more empowered than you are,
and there are no walls to walk through
if it wasn't you that built them to keep the poor
from vaulting them to steal your apricots
like the hungry ghosts that haunt
the orchards of your abandoned thoughts.

Savage homeopathy, perhaps, a holy war
of starmaps torn out like pages of sacred text
against the leaves who think they're responsible
for keeping the whole tree they both spring from intact.
The autumn burns like an heretical apostate
that's fallen away like faith in itself.
What nonsense, when they'll both end up
doing a ghost dance on each other's graves
where neither the dead nor the living
can be reunited in peace at the same seance
because the flame of life is duelling with its own candle
like the branch of a spear with the flint-knapped blossom
of the point it's trying to drive home through its own heart.

A lethal waste of energies for echoes
to seek the destruction of their original voice.
When the waves of the light, the sea, the mind
bare their necks and swan
for the double-bladed axe of the moon
that separates things like conceptual consciousness
as if it were cleaving water, and heads come off
like the leading rose-buds of multi-cephalic hydras
that bloom the more they're pruned like zinnias,
even death considers the slaughter an abuse of time.

If you want to live in the house of life as a martyr,
a bodhisattva, a spiritual mujahedin who
blows himself up in the temple of the money-lenders
and discount dove merchants, or even a poet
who enlisted in the ghettos of the Chilean art brigades
like Victor Jara, or Archibald Lampman's
warrior minstrel of the forlorn hope
dying of a heart attack in Ottawa at thirty-six,
or Emily Dickinson listening to a fly buzz when she expired,
the only blood on the blade you fall upon
you should ever taste is your own if you
want to speak to a big-hearted bell of enlightenment
without the forked tongue of a perjured witching wand
or the self-defeating absurdity
of seeking clean water with dirty hands
or trying to reach out to touch the stars
when they're pouring through your fingers
like the sands of an hourglass remembering
all its past lives gathered around the village wells
like telescopes looking through the wrong end of themselves.

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The Poems I have written/ are my 'me

THE POEMS I HAVE WRITTEN/ ARE MY 'ME'

The Poems I have written
Are my 'me'-
When I die
Will they also cease to be?

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The Truth

The wicked cannot stand to learn from the truth!
And, they can't stop the truth either;
However, they are always crashed by the truth.

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We All Pay The Price Of Who We Are

WE ALL PAY THE PRICE OF WHO WE ARE

We all pay the price of who we are
I pay the price every day
I am paying it now.

Walking alone
Thinking alone
Writing alone
No- network of my own.

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