Photo & Poem Gallery

The Pumpkin

Oh, greenly and fair in the lands of the sun, 
The vines of the gourd and the rich melon run, 
And the rock and the tree and the cottage enfold, 
With broad leaves all greenness and blossoms all gold...

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People in Glass Houses

I build my house of shining glass
of crystal
prisms
light and clear,
delicate. The wind blows
Sets my room to singing.
The sun’s bright rays 
are not held back
but pour their radiance through the rooms
in sparkles of delight.

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Notes Toward a Supreme Fiction

Perhaps the truth depends on a walk around the lake.

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Lilacs

Lilacs,
False blue,
White,
Purple,
Color of lilac.
Heart-leaves of lilac all over New England,
Roots of lilac under all the soil of New England,
Lilac in me because I am New England,
Because my roots are in it,

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Faces

I have seen a face with a thousand countenances, and a face that was but a single countenance as if held in a mould.
 
I have seen a face whose sheen I could look through to the ugliness beneath, and a face whose sheen I had to lift to see how beautiful it was.
 

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Believe, Believe

Believe in this. Young apple seeds,
In blue skies, radiating young breast,
Not in blue-suited insects,
Infesting society’s garments.
 
Believe in the swinging sounds of jazz,
Tearing the night into intricate shreds,

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Madness Returns, but It's Not the Same

This sort of April day inspires madness
Deep aquamarine sky, warm sun tentatively returns.
There’s a crimson tinge to the trees, but
No greenery yet. The tart breeze, its
Insistence, its playful presence, is not

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Penumbrae

The shadows have their seasons, too.
The feathery web the budding maples
cast down upon the sullen lawn

bears but a faint relation to
high summer's umbrageous weight
and tunnellike continuum—