poetrywall

Then    Executive                      John Betjeman

I am a young executive. No cuffs than mine are cleaner;

I have a Slimline briefcase and I use the firm’s Cortina.

In every roadside hostelry from here to Burgess Hill

The maitres d’hotel all know me well and let me sign the bill.

And now      Executive Hopeful .

I’m an aspiring intern. My dress is casual smart.

I have a brand new Blackberry and I Pad on contract.

I do hot-desk from eight to six; at weekends I do pills.

The CEOs all know my face -‘cos Daddy pays the bills.

E.C.Bentley

The Art of Biography

Is different from Geography

Geography is about Maps,

But Biography is about Chaps

Lord Finchley       Hilaire Belloc

Lord Finchley tried to mend the Electric Light

Himself. It struck him dead: And serve him right!

It is the business of the wealthy man

To give employment  to the artisan.

Invictus   William Earnest Henley 

Out of the night that covets me,

Black as the pit from pole to pole.

I thank whatever gods may be,

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath & tears

Looms but horror of the shade

And yet the menace of the years

Finds, and shall find, me unafraid

It matters not how straight the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll.

I am the master of my fate

I am the captain of my soul.

The Invitation, by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, ‘Yes.’

It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

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