Just saying.

I love Edna St. Vincent Millay.

I am glad that I paid so little attention to good advice; had I abided by it I might have been saved from some of my most valuable mistakes.

That which wishes to give light must endure burning.

My candle burns a tiny flame
No match for the mighty sun
My taper is only so long
It burns, and then it's done.

My candle burns a tiny flame
But it burns with all its might
Spent, it leaves me in darkness
Alone, cloaked in the night.

My candle burns a tiny flame
It's only just so long
But the fire's a furious engine
That consumes, then is gone.

Sonnet: Love Is Not All

Love is not all: It is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain,
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
and rise and sink and rise and sink again.
Love cannot fill the thickened lung with breath
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
pinned down by need and moaning for release
Or nagged by want past resolution's power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It may well be. I do not think I would.

Dear God! You better not. Sheesh. I'm just sayin'.

I want more life, fucker.

≡ Click to see image ≡

...Around us are Rovers and Austins afar,
Above us the intimate roof of the car,
And here on my right is the girl of my choice,
With the tilt of her nose and the chime of her voice.

And the scent of her wrap, and the words never said,
And the ominous, ominous dancing ahead.
We sat in the car park till twenty to one
And now I'm engaged to Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.

I'm partial to the oeuvre — limited and thus all the more poignant — of John Lillison.