Dick Davis Poems

for Sarah Davis

The portrait of the princess lies
In scattered fragments on the floor;
...

Near the beginning of his first journey
The great traveller (who was to suffer
Shipwreck, the loss of all his wealth, his slaves
- On whom he doted - and his son; who was
...

A few things that recall you to me, Edgar:

A stately 80's Buick; hearing a car
Referred to by a coaxing soubriquet -
...

Once, when I was a child of seven or eight,
I turned a corner on a wooded path
And saw a fox a few feet from my face.
We stood stock still and took each other in:
...

How old were we? Eight, ten or so?
I seem the fearful one - you glow,
All bounce and boyisch confidence,
Which looking back now makes no sense.
...

Age instinct with wisdom, love, bends towards
The sensual man, the penitent, and clasps
Him lightly by the shoulder-blades. In rags
...

You see your own face with another mind
And then your own mind with another face;
You and not you, too raw, then too refined,
A shameful sameness and a stranger's grace.
...

I lay down in the darkness of my soul
And knew that I was neither sick nor whole,
That lack defined me, and my absent-presence
Was not contingent to me, but my essence.
...

"The heart has its abandoned mines . . ."
Old workings masked by scrub and scree.
Sometimes, far, far beneath the surface
An empty chamber will collapse;
...

In time the temporary withdrawal
Became a way of life. How long
Before they could admit there'd be
No going back , before they ceased
...