here are words
true enough to make
us kneel and tremble;
beautiful enough to break our
stony/stubborn dams and let
floods drop from our eyes.
love
D
(p.142)
1/1/90
In My Craft Or Sullen Art
In my craft or sullen art
Exercises in the still night
When only the moon rages
And the lovers lie abed
With all their griefs in their arms,
I labour by singing light
Not for ambition or bread
Or the strut and trade of charms
On the ivory stages
But for the common wages
Of their most secret heart.
Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon I write
On these spindrift pages
Nor for the towering dead
With their nightingales and psalms
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages,
Who pay no praise or wages
Nor heed my craft or art.
Dylan Thomas
~~~~~~~~~~~~
a book of poetry among the many i have...given to me by a dear dear friend whom i still owe a letter... been busy sweeping and dusting and putting things in their place. and it's nice to smell clean, feel clean..mother nature has sent a short rainstorm to water her plants and things, the streets are clean and quiet, the cats are fed and napping and monday is sunday today, it is.
and even dave matthews horns sound clean and full of sunday. and if i could color that sound it would be how the sun looks reflecting off the many windows in the apartment projects i used to live in when i was young, bright fiery orange.
i am clean and full of sunday. and i write for me. i am real, with a little bit of magic at the corners...