BARNES AND NOBLE (BN.COM)
THE RICH IMAGERY CELEBRATES PASSION, WHIMSY, AND DEEP FAITH
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
We tear each other with claws--
sharpened on the gemstones
we hide in place of hearts.
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 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.
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,
mysteries such as these--
God's sheer poetry in