Paperback & kindle - love poems, prayer poems, light verse

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INDIE (INDIEBOUND.ORG)

TRADITIONAL, INSPIRATIONAL

THE RICH IMAGERY CELEBRATES PASSION, WHIMSY, AND DEEP FAITH

TESTIMONIALS

IN PRAISE OF SHEER POETRY (1981):

"I have read each line of each stanza, and am trying to determine my favorite--maybe a not very fruitful approach, since each has and is part of a mood of its own.  Please  continue.  We who write about such horrors as war need your reminders of another world."--the late Cardinal John J. O'Connor, Archbishop of New York and author of A Chaplain Looks at Vietnam


"They resemble the poems of Emily Dickinson . . . old-fashioned in the way the poetry of A. E. Housman is old-fashioned--the simple language, the short lines, the rueful look at love . . . I do not use these hallowed names irreverently but I see a definite connection and one which in no way dishonors these great writers.  I offer my congratulations."--the late Levin Houston, The Free Lance-Star


AND IN PRAISE OF SHEER POETRY REVISITED:

"Taut, powerful poetry.  Much in little.  Unflinching honesty in expression of universal issues of the heart.  Mastery of condensation.  Total control of both the short emotion-filled poem and the longer humorous narrative or depiction of love.  Deserves a much wider audience and recognition of worth. My prediction:  This poet's acclaim is yet to come."--the late Sydney H. Mitchell, Professor Emeritus of English, UMW


"Donna Lee Davis writes tight, taut . . . and vivid.  The poems in this lovely volume generally take less than a page but still manage to be powerful."--Melanie Rigney, Author

EXCERPTS

GEMSTONES

We tear each other with claws--

sharpened on the gemstones

we hide in place of hearts.

Primitive--pitiless--

we slash, we rend, we tear.

We crush with careless words

more cruel than armies;

torture upon racks of disparate pride;

we parry, thrust, for new plateaus of pain.

And because we love--because we hate--

each other, like gemstones we endure.

I am opal; you are moonstone.

Both hold ancient fires; both are cool.

I WAS AN ANGEL

I was an angel before I was born;

my mother told me so.

An aura of leftover stardust

surrounds me, wherever I go.

I may not be pretty, beloved or clever,

or rich, and forever

my world may be flat.

But I was an angel before I was born;

there's some consolation in that.

TRANSLUCENCIES

Mayfly wing in slumber;

hummingbird's in flight.

Waxen sails at sunrise;

waterfall at night.

Ice upon a window;

parchment of an age;

eyes of one near dying;

truths upon a page.

Sister Therese tatting

lacework from a spool,

tenuous as floss silk,

gossamer as tulle.

Veins within her temples

throb a cloistered blue;

coursing thoughts pellucid

meditate on hue,

symmetry, refraction--

mysteries such as these--

God's sheer poetry in 

all translucencies.