D A Phinney Poems

Atlanteans have no need to look back.
We prefer living fables to the cold dead fact
Of our existence in this time, this cultural lock
Into which we keep sinking. But oh such a shock
...

no gods are safe where men are strewn about
with reason we must saddle Death
for life's too hard to figure out
let honor explain
...

nearly ten-thirty
it won't be long
till heaven opens
another grave
...

Again to this sharp coast of black rough rock
I am at last returned
These boulder stones bleak comrades to me
Unmade and someday gone to grains
...

She speaks of trees but I do not reply
I dream the clouds to decorate the sky...

She speaks of snakes but I am far away
...

Johnny's got a gun
He's hiding behind rocks in a vacant
Lot full of summer weeds
Half of the lot is a hole in the ground
...

Love is more acceptance than a plan.
Who would be more real to me than
I? I found you there inside my heart,
Already made; and, too, found you apart.
...

There is a death that comes upon a man,
A stillness inlaid more bone-deep than fear-
Awareness peaking into most aware
Of halt, of halt, each heartbeat's separate
...

For sentiment
I had only to forsake the real world.
Not a very high price to pay,
In my opinion.
...

Looking up into the star-tangled tree limbs
My questing spirit is suddenly
Stretched by accursed and lengthening time,
Past the auras of uncounted haloed suns
...