Saturday, January 3, 2015

Paul R. Davis - Three Poems

The Milky Way Poem
(After viewing a nine gigapixel image)
You can’t hold it in just one hand,
it is ordinary in the universe,
It is everything we know,
it is everything we do not know,
special to its inhabitants.
What makes it so?
It is all things to all people,
it is nothing in the awesomeness of time.
Some call its nine gigapixel image
a muddy creek, some will call it false god.
A single flower is more worthy of devotion,
and God must surely know.
A cup, a bow, tree of forever growing branches,
sanctuary and nursery:
how must we think, worship,
contemplate?  Let us eat from the same plate.
In its bulge, in its spiral arms,
in its dust is our history and future,
but we fight and consume,
love and die,
and try to hold in futility,
crave and grasp
while this vast companion of our sleeping
is too real, too sentient
and again, it is we,
it is us.
The secret of this galaxy is its art.
Let no one know.

Giant squid in the depths
Of the calm Pacific,
How does your last breath
In the sunlit darkness feel?
I can only imagine how jealous
You might be of my successes,
Of my historical youth,
Of my bicycling on a summer evening.
But I return to you, slowly sinking
To the ocean floor
To be divine in the stomach
Of another living creature.
I, too, consider myself divine,
But I eat mindlessly
And sleep some nights without
That wandering thought
That is a soundtrack to days
Where space between the trees
Holds my mind like an empty

Tu Vates Eris
(With the poem, “Ver erat”, Rimbaud
took the first prize for Latin composition
in verse. The story said he finished in
an hour and he did not consult his
Gradus ad parnassium.)
You are born naked
beneath the cordial blessings of lifting hands.
Unseen, silent, white in blueness,
the shabby ground swells its pregnant belly,
shakes the thundering word -
You must grip the scattered sounds
and give them - no - build them
a house to inhabit,
with the milk of your eyes and hands of thought.
When the seasons have brought you
to equilibrium, to a graciousness of contentment,
then you will know they will not be lost,
and you will be clothed.
Paul R. Davis does not hold an MFA, and believes in a simple poetic philosophy:  the joy of expression, the necessity of communication.  His poems are imagistic, philosophical, lyrical, and take you somewhere you may have never been. 

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