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poems and photographs 433

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another poem and photograph every weekday. Or so.

(photographs: Tom Davis)


Thursday, June 1, 2017

 

wistful

 

 

 

 

tristesse

 

sadness, goodbye
but hey, hello!
you are the writing
on the ceiling
you are the writing
in the eyes
sadness, sadness, you're not that bad
I can eclipse and cloud you with a smile
so: welcome, again.
you are the body of love
you are the power of love
love's uprising
beyond the body
beyond the brain
sadness, you have
a beautiful face.

 


Tom Davis, after Paul Eluard, Adieu tristesse

 

 

 

 

 


Wednesday, May 31, 2017

 

wood

 

 

 

 

I am why you touch wood

 

I am the silver glimpse, in the corner of your eye.
I am the needle in the haystack,
the elegance of the unexpected,
the dazzling brightness, the exceptional.

I am the slip, between the cup and the lip.
I am why you touch wood. I am dangerous.
Without me, everything would be known
and nothing would be beautiful.

I shimmer; I am difficult.
I am what it is, when you can’t get what you want.
I am the dream you can’t remember, and long for
the interrupted poem
the unsatisfactory narrative.

 

From the play Limitless Bliss, by Deirdre Burton and Tom Davis

 

 

 

 

 


Tuesday, May 30, 2017

 

rejoice

 

 

 

 

spring fever: waking, wide open

 

Today, look: another day. Waking, wide open,
Afraid. Don't dive into the library,
Into yet another book! Reach for your guitar,
Let love, let beauty, be what it is we do:
You don't have to fly abroad, in order to kneel
And kiss the tarmac!

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don't go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want.
Don't go back to sleep.
People are going in and out of the door
where the two worlds touch.
The door is right there, look, it's wide open!
Don't go back to sleep.

I long to kiss you.
The price of kissing is your life.
Hearing this, love runs up to me, shouting:
'What a bargain, buy, buy!'

Daylight, and the dancing dust motes.
The universe dances too; and so do our souls;
dancing with you, feet flying, they dance.
Can you see it, as I whisper in your ear?

All day and night, music,
one flute,
quiet, bright.
If it fades, we fade.

 

Rumi, transl. Tom Davis

 

 

 

 

 


Monday, May 29, 2017

 

trees

 

 

 

 

heaven

 

Is Heaven a Place -- a Sky -- a Tree?
Location's narrow way is for Ourselves --
Unto the Dead
There's no Geography --

But State -- Endowal -- Focus --
Where -- Omnipresence -- fly?

 

From Emily Dickinson, We pray -- to Heaven

 

 

 

 

 


 

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