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David S.
David S.

894 Followers

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Published in

The Junction

·Pinned

On Trees and Stories

What shapes our lives? Sights, sounds, smells, feelings, emotions. Not only rational thoughts, but the endless intangible contacts with the world. I grew up in a ranch-house in Georgia with a glass door facing west. Each afternoon brillant light streamed through the towering pine trees. The golden light shaped the…

Short Story

6 min read

On Trees and Stories
On Trees and Stories
Short Story

6 min read


Published in

Dead Poets Live

·Apr 28

Three Bodies, Three Stories

on the Gulf of Poets Old castles, dead poets, Saturday markets, golf courses, Olive groves, sharp stones, Percy Shelley drowned, Mary Shelley dreamed up Frankenstein, called the creature forth from cerulean waters. Monsters and beauty are never far separated. A body lay still by the trail wrapped in foil and…

Poetry

2 min read

Three Bodies, Three Stories
Three Bodies, Three Stories
Poetry

2 min read


Published in

Here, I Made This

·Apr 7

Good Friday

To you, little bird, this Friday is good, as every day is good, each morning, mercy-full Sunrise, sunset, you seek and find daily bread in the stone shadows of cathedrals You rest on red-tiled rooftops, as men beneath seek luxury, purchase what to you is free Might they live like you – numbered, known, counted, considered and considerate Cross and crown and all other things freely received as freely given

1 min read

Good Friday
Good Friday

1 min read


Published in

Dead Poets Live

·Mar 29

Graves of the Concubines

Rilke Translation — In their long brown hair they lie, Deep in self, vision long gone. The Eyes too far distant. Skeletons, Mouths, Flowers. In their mouths, smooth teeth like a travel chess set carved of elephant tusk, arranged in rows. And flowers, golden pearls, slender bones, Hands and Hems, withering fabric over collapsed hearts. But there, under those rings, Talismans…

Poetry

4 min read

Graves of the Concubines
Graves of the Concubines
Poetry

4 min read


Published in

Dead Poets Live

·Mar 13

Much Madness

Wisdom of Emily Dickinson Much Madness is divinest Sense - To a discerning Eye - Much Sense — the starkest Madness - ’Tis the Majority In this, as all, prevail - Assent — and you are sane - Demur — you’re straightway dangerous - And handled with a Chain - …

Poetry

2 min read

Much Madness
Much Madness
Poetry

2 min read


Published in

Dead Poets Live

·Feb 7

Spanish Dancer

Rilke Translation — Like kindling in the hand, white, before the flame ignites, from all sides twitching tongues stretch — beginning in the circle of nearby spectators, hasty, flickering hard and hot, her spinning dance spreads. And now she is Fire, utter and complete. With one look, she sets her hair ablaze, and with daring skill…

Poetry

2 min read

Spanish Dancer
Spanish Dancer
Poetry

2 min read


Published in

Dead Poets Live

·Feb 1

A Portrait of My Mother

in the Summer of 1945 — Ankle deep in brown salt-water beneath criss-crossed trusses Brother clutches a found treasure She scowls in the sunshine Interrupted from play as an eager parent begs a moment of attention. Two of the first of the baby-boomers Their father couldn’t march So he mixed chemicals for the newspapers that carried word of WWII around the world. This is a snapshot of victory. . . Of safety. . . A girl and her brother play in the surf unafraid of a wild warring world

Poetry

1 min read

A Portrait of My Mother
A Portrait of My Mother
Poetry

1 min read


Published in

Dead Poets Live

·Jan 25

Childhood Portrait of My Father

Rilke Translation & Prompt — Dreaming eye. Forehead touching something distant. Feeling of youth around the mouth, somber seduction, the ornamental lace of the trim, noble uniform, the sheathed sword in both hands — waiting, calm, unperturbed. And now in twilight, more noticeable, first of the far-reaching, vanished. All that is banished laughs at our misunderstanding, and dives deep into cloudy depths…

Writing

3 min read

Childhood Portrait of My Father
Childhood Portrait of My Father
Writing

3 min read


Published in

Dead Poets Live

·Jan 18

Silent Friend

Rilke Translation — Silent friend from far-flung fields, feel how your breath expands boundaries. From the darkest steeple, ring loud. What devours you becomes strong from this food. Transform yourself, out and in What is your truest experience? If you drink bitterness, become wine. Stand tonight, supernaturally spellbound at the crossroad of your senses, sense the mystical encounter…

Rilke

2 min read

Say, I Am
Say, I Am
Rilke

2 min read


Published in

Dead Poets Live

·Jan 11

Strength in Proving

The Wisdom of Emily Dickinson There is a strength in proving that it can be borne Although it tear — What are the sinews of cordage for Except to bear The ship might be of satin had it not to fight — To walk on seas requires cedar feet I…

Poetry

2 min read

Strength in Proving
Strength in Proving
Poetry

2 min read

David S.

David S.

894 Followers

Curiosity + Empathy + Art

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