Verse and Illustration 1986

Ygartua Art Chronicles
Ygartua Art Chronicles
Verse and Illustration 1986

Verse and Illustration 1986

Ygartua Art Chronicles
Ygartua Art Chronicles
Verse and Illustration 1986

A book of poetry by William Davey, illustrated by Paul Ygartua

William Davey, 1950, photograph taken by William Davey

William Davey, Paul’s father in law and life long patron of the arts, was an entrepreneur, a photographer, and a poet.  He wrote these poems and asked Paul to illustrate the book for the World Expo that was held in Vancouver in 1986.

Heritage-by-William Davey



This Heritage

This Land                         

This vast expanse             

From sea to sea               

This home of people         

From afar.


And yet

Before Columbus

Sailed from Spain

Nina, Pinta, Santa Maria

A people thrived this land.


Sioux, Apache, Cree

Navaho, Iroquois, Cheyenne

Blackfoot, Chinook, Squamish

Nootka, Assiniboin

And many others

Lived – transversed

This great

This far stretched land.


This their home

These many peoples.

Proud their mein

Brave, stalwart

Honorable their code.

Around their council fire

Within their People 

Governed well.

Their history great

Legends many

Speak courage

Strength and fortitude.


The Seafarers came

And others followed

Their world was changed

Their trial through centuries

Hard and cruel.

But tempered steel

Harder comes from out the fire

Newer, finer.

And today – once more erect

They stand as n’er before

A Nation in a Nation

Tribes combined 

To take their place

In splendid Heritage


Devastation IRA


They kill them here

They kill them there


They kill them everywhere.


Twenty we got in Birmingham town

And scores been lost in Dublin ’round.

We kill in the name of the Holy Cross

We retribute in Protestant Joss.


We’re Irish as Irish as Irish can be

But we’ll kill each other for eternity

We knew why one ‘Twas to be free.

But we lost our way – no more can see

That the English who conquered once long ago

Are no longer involved and just want to go.


But the killing we do in the name of the Lord

Where Brother kills Brother and is put to the sword

Is a fetish that’s spawned by the Devil’s hate

And we’ll burn in Hell for it’s all too late.


For we’ve burned and killed wherever we stood

And our women are sick and stop it they would

For this curse of the Irish has been here too long

And the years so many since we heard happy song.


The Ring


‘Tis strange – but the sunlight

Shines sweetly from your eyes

At night the moon replaces it

Yet you wonder at my sighs.


Throughout each day I see your face

More lovely than the sweetest flower

Surely you were blest by Venus

With charms selected from her bower.


This ring my darling – holds no bonds

Save those you care to make

What use to us of bonds my sweet

For love like ours destined by fate.






Government politics


Labor beguile

Golden calf


We kneel – we smile.

Positions without honor

Riches without soul

Responsibility behind us

Pollution surrounds us

Mired down in People

Lost in our waste

Running without purpose

Wither our haste.




For I was old when young

Sought meaning at a tender age

Strove for the answers concealed

Seeking the infinite meaning

And eternities secrets revealed.

Tried to foretell the future

Se the power called God

Know the reason for creation

Yearned for the revelation

Offered my life as a bribe.


But the powers

Had little of patience

Brushed my desires aside

And reasons and answers sought

Were lost in the bottomless tide.


Yet the meaning for all

Still lingers

Hidden from man’s futile grasp

And my destiny lures me forever

Till the end or beginning has past.









Solemn the silences prevading the solitudes

Rocky ramparts rearing on high

Slumbering snows whitely sun-silvered

Whispering winds wandering by

Soliloquizing soulfully with passionate sigh

Wistfully winning without words to speak

Careering clouds colorfully warm

Leaving lost loves to languish and to storm


The Planning


The glory of the sunrise

As it coloratures the morn

The splendor of the golden god

As he soars speedily thru space

The wonder of the sunset

With pomp the tired day erase

The solemn darkness of the night

Anticipates the day unborn.


Adam’s Trip


Now, when Adam came along

And started searching for his Eve

He really didn’t know

Nor did he perceive

That the whole crazy pattern

Was tied up in a plan

That was bound to be confusing

Deceiving – alarming

Yes – even quite harmful

To this funny, odd, persistent

And devastating creature

Generally referred to 

Most everywhere as Man.


Of course it could have been

The other way

And man was not conceived

In just one day

But slowly did evolve

In program intricate to solve

The finite mystery

And hence proceeded

Thru stages, one by one


Fish and fowl

Quadraped, ape and man.


Whichever method finally adapted

It’s quite obvious to see

It has been a matter

Involving constant abuse

Of perogative and privilege

Even his choice

Of right and wrong

Was mixed up with his Gods

His love and his song.

Of course

It’s all tremendously clear

The Gods are one with Nature

It isn’t a matter of simple abuse

It’s just a case

You win or you lose.

For the regulations

Don’t stand for adoption

You either accept

Or you lose your option.


Perhaps – 

One with the Buddhas

Occasionally walk

And even opportune

With Shiva, Mohammed

Or Christ to talk.

And at that time

The Vision is clear

Summit and duty

The path is seen 

In all its beauty.


But most of us walk

Thru a perilious way

Strewn with stone

And always uphill

Just thinking about it

Makes us ill.

Alternatively – 

Around we go

Our hat in our hand

Ready and willing

To lead the band

Acting as if

We’d bought a star

When really 

We’ve only

Caught mist in a jar.


Now nature is around us

And it surely does abound

In all the matter

And the thought

And the spirit profound.


The very things

We conjure up

For better

Or for worse

We blame ourselves

For their existance

And even

When the hearse

Is waiting  at the door

We still insist

That we know better

We’ve been here before.



We may know

That the lot which was ours

Was not the sesame

To the right and open door

But is shoving us

To hell an’ gone

Thru that pit in the floor.

So if the way is difficult

And tremendously steep

Or if it’s been a pleasure

Occasioned lots of fun


You’d better just beware

Take care, have finesse

You may be approaching


Or just on oblivious mess.




If my love for you

Makes me out a fool

Then I am doubly foolish

I am the fool of fools.


And yet, I would rather

Be that fool

Than love thee not

For then there is no life

And I who was a fool am nought.


The Beginning of the End


For I am old

And sitting

Wait my turn.

Relegated to the past

Redundant where I stand.


Those dreams of yesterday

Have flown

No longer pave the road

Where I must tread

Nor lend those wings

To feet

Nor purpose to each day.


And in that inner eye

Of thought

Still entertain

Death’s many ways

And wonder

The one that waits on me.

This chosen one

That one for me

Will I know it

When it comes

What courage

What fear

Be thrust upon me.


Oh God!

If such there be

Just stay my feet

And when its face

With mine confronts

Let me meet it

As a friend

Who long ago

Took separate paths

That paralleled

But not too close.

William Davey poetry



This incapacity

That sickness brings

Helpless as a child

Like newly born

Tho still reversed.

And pride

That’s put asunder

Rent a thousand ways

Knowing all the while

I’ll linger on

While flame exists.

What imposition

Sits upon me

To thrust upon my friends

What meaning

And what hope

Will clothe me

In the end.

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