I mosey past the
cove under towering clouds.
Not that long ago
in New York, I’m the
duck in the shining pond. Each
hour a dollar made
or lost. Sunset falls
and the streets light up. But now
it’s home to my books.
Author: Tom D'Evelyn
Tom D'Evelyn is a private editor and writing tutor in Cranston RI and, thanks to the web, across the US and in the UK. He can be reached at tom.develyn@comcast.net. D'Evelyn has a PhD in Comparative Literature from UC Berkeley. Before retiring he held positions at The Christian Science Monitor, Harvard University Press, Boston University and Brown University. He ran a literary agency for ten years, publishing books by Leonard Nathan and Arthur Quinn, among others. Before moving to Portland OR he was managing editor at Single Island Press, Portsmouth NH. He blogs at http://tdevelyn.com and other sites.
NEAR PROVIDENCE 15.6.21
”…the kenotic passing of creative change…” Desmond, G&B 298
There are no words for
the trochaic build of clouds
on spring’s horizon.
Distant thunder. White
immobility. The Bay
reflecting a
duck on its swell of
time. The ocean of air be-
tween us we share: home.
NEAR PROVIDENCE 14.6.21
Sometimes I wonder
how I can live without sex,
I mean the loving
interpersonal
kind. I suppose if I loved
more, I’d know. I love
small perfect poems
and the mind that gives them birth.
No more and no less.
NEAR PROVIDENCE 13.6.21
Patience is among
the virtues, but in old age
passivity is
better. Long phone calls
about death with the dying
seem to go nowhere.
But I love the sound
of her voice, the beauty, when
I stop listening.
NEAR PROVIDENCE 12.6.21
My old friend across
the Bay has heard I take walks.
Have you tried a cane?
she asks. We look at
the same clouds, same water. We
watch the same geese fly
over. Like Herbert’s
flower we glide through life. Let’s
not talk about canes.
NEAR PROVIDENCE 11.6.21
Patriotic red
and blue bunting lines the street
for tomorrow’s fete.
Sparrows in the trees
seem excited; maybe that’s why.
I can’t remember
the occasion. Folks
will come for their own reasons.
Parades are like that.
NEAR PROVIDENCE 10.6.21
A hot day in June.
While I’m on my walk, the cat
vomits on the rug.
NEAR PROVIDENCE 9.6.21
Yes, I’m paranoid.
The heat this spring is early,
the swans absent from
their mudbank at the
far end of the silent cove.
Now slow attention
is political.
I see the cove through the eyes
of raw fear and guilt.
NEAR PROVIDENCE 8.6.21
”It is in the ecstasy of life that the energy of eternity is communicated.” William Desmond, G&B 295
I sit under a
pine and look out at the swans.
It takes no effort.
Their white forms bob in
the hot light, cooling me off.
The forms that rest me
are not the pure facts
of Plotinus, one who believed
in simplicity.
NEAR PROVIDENCE 6.6.21
In a pink dress and
straw hat a little girl wades
a little way in-
to the Bay. Between
the rules and experience
she wavers, her mind
thrilled. She waits for her
mother to call out to her
the name she can’t stand.
