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poems and photographs 457

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another poem and photograph every weekday. Or so.

(photographs: Tom Davis)

Wednesday, January 17, 2018








She's happy, with a new Content --
That feels to her -- like Sacrament --
She's busy -- with an altered Care --
As just apprenticed to the Air --

She's tearful -- if she weep at all --
For blissful Causes -- Most of all
That Heaven permit so meek as her --
To such a Fate -- to Minister.

Emily Dickinson






Tuesday, January 16, 2018










the day is remarkable
luminous, joyful
so easy, to live
with the taste of colour
love makes me laugh
and, at the last
moment, I open
my eyes.

Tom Davis, after Paul Eluard, Serie





Monday, January 15, 2018








We cannot know the indescribable face
Where the eyes like apples ripened. Even so,
His torso has a candelabra's glow,
His gaze, contained as in a mirror's grace,

Shines within it. Otherwise his breast
Would not be dazzling. Nor would you recognize
The smile that moves along his curving thighs,
There where love's strength is caught within its nest.

This stone would not be broken, but intact
Beneath the shoulders' flowing cataract,
Nor would it glisten like a stallion's hide,

Brimming with radiance from every side
As a star sparkles. Now it is dawn once more.
All places scrutinize you. You must be reborn.

Delmore Schwartz, Archaic Bust Of Apollo (After Rilke)







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