two poems in the nite....

Love by Billy Collins


the boy at the far end of the train car
kept looking behind him
as if he were afraid or expecting someone

and then she appeared in the glass door
of the forward car and he rose
and opened the door and let her in

and she entered the car carrying
a large black case
in the unmistakable shape of a chello

she looked like an angel with a high forehead
and somber eyes and her hair
was tied up behind her neck with a black bow

and because of all that
he seemed a little awkward
in his happiness to see her

whereas she was simply there
perfectly existing as a creature
with a soft face who played the chello

and the reason i am writing this
on the back of a manilla envelope
now that they left the train together

is to tell you that when she turned
to lift the large, delicate chello
onto the overhead rack,

i saw him lookiing up at her
and what she was doing
the way the eyes of saints are painted

when they are lookiing up at God
when he is doing something remarkable
something that identifies him as God


...yeah i know how that feels..




In my craft or sullen art by dylan thomas

in my craft or sullen art
excercised in the still night
when only the moon rages
and the lovers lie abed
with all their griefs in their arms
i labour by singing light
not for ambition or bread
or the strut and trade of charms
on the ivory stages
but for the common wages
of their most secret heart

not for the proud man apart
from the raging moon i write
on these spindrift pages
nor for the toweing dead
with their nightingales and psalms
but for the lovers, their arms
round the griefs of the ages
wo pay no praise or wages
nor heed my craft or sullen art