La vita` e bella -Is Italian for LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL-

Silent Letters

By Gavin W Smith


My mind and I go wandering

Through sadness and through splendour as we sit

In twilight shadows, clasping hands in thought.

I suffer for the thought of her but smile.

I seek her out in the corners of the light,

For any simple sign or symbol to

Rejuvenate the motions of my heart,

But am caught in a motion not my own.

There is so little that I can cling to,

Whether given to me or else taken,

That can grant me solace in the face of


This apprehension without an object.

It is something like a missing meaning –

A space left, poised in anticipation

To be filled with what it has in mind already.

Missing – but not lost. But whether or not

It can be found is another matter.

Even in plain sight we often miss it;

It sits before us in upturned photos
Or half-opened letters; opened that is –

But not read. Just the mingling scents of ink

And perfume left to drift throughout the room.


The mere presence of her words says far more

Than words are able to say for themselves.

Carried on a rhythm that is not theirs

But hers; a breath that rounds on and tames them

So that they dare not utter out of turn.

How she makes her meaning is a mystery,

And neither scent nor sense can come to terms

Before the words are read – but I dare not

For fear of gaining hold then losing her

In holding on too tight or loose. Or worse:

Having to let go just when I’ve got it right.

Unrequited Love

By Gavin W Smith


I thought to take a lock of hair,

A strand or two left lying there.

Enough to knot or tie across;

Just one or two would be no loss.

I thought myself a fair reward

For no intention untoward.

A lucky charm, like rabbit’s feet

Whose gathering was more discreet;

With no harm down, a harmless sin

Committed like I’d never been.

But then my conscience starts to pare:

I’d know who had been skulking there.

Invitation only extends

Through the covenant of friends

That I can never disregard,

For even secrets leave their mark.

Comedic Theory in Four Lines


By Gavin W Smith


Irony’s a half-cocked smile,

While parody’s all teeth.

Sarcasm’s a furrowed brow,

And a pun’s a rolled-up eye.

This Much Now You Know


Her beauty is not like a blooming rose.

It is more than so limped a cliché; 

So trite and derived a thing to say,

For beyond mere simile it goes.


There is no simple way

To show in its splendour how it grows,

And the rapture that its truth bestows.

One struggles to convey


The fullness of that truth in essence;

One dwells not the least laborious, 

Intent upon one so glamorous,

To fathom deep into her presence.


The state of being called amorous,

Foreshadowed in pre-eminence,

Reflected in her countenance,

Openly disclosed, yet onerous  


Upon those few fortunate who abide

The legacy that her splendours wrought,

(Adhering to ones duty as one ought)

And neither shirk nor attempt to hide.


For her beauty, highly prized, is sought,

Yet in the seeking is oft belied

In presumptuous gaze, and thus denied.

Her love is not so easily caught.


One must love without expectation.

This much any man must know:

Submit unto the ebb and flow,

Yield to the imminent sensation.


This much of the truth I can bestow,

Unveiled in this meditation;

The rest is her imagination.

                          Fairly warned, and so

This much now you know.



By Gavin W Smith


So rarely does one find in life perfection

That when beheld it robs a man of speech –

And left in silence face to face is he

With beauty in and of itself. No more

That words could add – nor any other action.

It is rare indeed that matter and form

In the soft density of human skin

Emerges plain to sight, and validates

The quiet longing of imagination.

For it alone had courage to believe

Where the senses had only ever hoped.

Now both are satisfied to find that beauty

Is embodied in what we know as Woman.


By Gavin W Smith


Let us lay face to face

Our legs together laced.

Your thigh between mine

And mine between yours.

Our fingers in playful caress

Deep down in the pocket

Of our pressing flesh.


Let me taste your breath

On my lips, and your lips

On my tongue.

The motion of your hips

Entice my hands to roam.

And find each curve a delight

To touch; to hear

Your muffled moans.


Beneath the blankets,

Quickly filling with our heat,

An intoxicating fog. We gasp!

Filling all my lungs with you;

Each new threshold that we grasp,

Your muscles flexing

Their moistened dance;

Rapture of my stroking hands.


In rhythm and time;

In motion, your body and mine.

Desires clasp in oneness, tight.

Hands and legs entwined,

Lips locked in breathlessness;

Together closely pressed

An earthly delight, newly found;

Our bodies’ ecstasy unbound.