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poems and photographs 426

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another poem and photograph every weekday. Or so.

(photographs: Tom Davis)


Thursday, April 13, 2017

 

wood

 

 

 

 

love is one of many great fires

 

Love is apart from all things. 
Desire and excitement are nothing beside it. 
It is not the body that finds love. 
What leads us there is the body. 

Love is one of many great fires. 
Passion is a fire made of many woods, 
each of which gives off its special odor 
so we can know the many kinds 
that are not love. Passion is the paper 
and twigs that kindle the flames 
but cannot sustain them. Desire perishes 
because it tries to be love. 

Love is eaten away by appetite. 
Love does not last, but it is different 
from the passions that do not last. 
Love lasts by not lasting.

Isaiah said each man walks in his own fire
for his sins. Love allows us to walk 
in the sweet music of our particular heart.

 

Jack Gilbert

 

 

 

 

 


Wednesday, April 12, 2017

 

thinking

 

 

 

 

 

thinking

 

Half the day lost, staring
at this window. I wanted to know
just one true thing

about the soul, but I left thinking
for thought, and now -
two inches of snow have fallen

over the meadow. Where did I go,
how long was I out looking
for you?, who would never leave me,
my withness, my here.

 

Kate Knapp Johnson, The Meadow

 

 

 

 


Tuesday, April 11, 2017

 

serious

 

 

 

 

very intense

 

I am not lazy.
I am on the amphetamine of the soul.
I am, each day,
typing out the God
my typewriter believes in.
Very quick. Very intense,
like a wolf at a live heart.
Not lazy.
When a lazy man, they say,
looks toward heaven,
the angels close the windows.

Oh angels,
keep the windows open
so that I may reach in
and steal each object,
objects that tell me the sea is not dying,
objects that tell me the dirt has a life-wish,
that the Christ who walked for me,
walked on true ground
and that this frenzy,
like bees stinging the heart all morning,
will keep the angels
with their windows open,
wide as an English bathtub.

 

 

Anne Sexton, Frenzy

 

 

 

 

 

 


Monday, April 10, 2017

 

circles

 

 

 

 

circles

 

When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.

 

From Wallace Stevens, Thirteen ways of looking at a blackbird

 

 

 

 

 


 

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