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poems and photographs 451

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another poem and photograph every weekday. Or so.

(photographs: Tom Davis)


Wednesday, November 15, 2017

 

petal

 

 

 

 

petal by petal

 

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands


from e. e. cummings, somewhere i have never travelled.

 

 

 

 

 


Tuesday, November 14, 2017

 

thistledown

 

 

 

 

Follow the thistledown


I asked her, "Is Aladdin's lamp
Hidden anywhere?"
"Look into your heart," she said,
"Aladdin's lamp is there."

She took my heart with glowing hands.
It burned to dust and air
And smoke and rolling thistledown
Blowing everywhere.

"Follow the thistledown," she said,
"Till doomsday, if you dare,
Over the hills and far away.
Aladdin's lamp is there."


Vachel Lindsay, The Sorceress!

 

 

 

 

 


Monday, November 13, 2017

 

leaves

 

 

 

 

now under shooken leaves

 

There is no dusk to be, 
There is no dawn that was, 
Only there's now, and now, 
And the wind in the grass.

Days I remember of 
Now in my heart, are now; 
Days that I dream will bloom 
White the peach bough.

Dying shall never be 
Now in the windy grass; 
Now under shooken leaves 
Death never was.


Archibald MacLeish, An eternity

 

 

 

 

 


 

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