Mission Statement

 

D. R. James

 

 

 

 

The middle may make sense. It feels

like a blind man has corralled me

with his red-tipped cane. Bring it on,

he says, tough-guy seer! I stall,

now on beyond sixty years, fear nearing

a religion, its tenets far too tenable.

Inside the familiar pen, words cower,

denying the shortest line between two points:

I may be ravenous. I may be full.

The color I call red may be green.

What sort of jockeying employs such oblivion?

The shape I call round may be bird.

The shortest route between two stars,

my tongue, hovering in the familiar canal.

What sort of angel enjambs her eternity?

What sort of storm front will open my sky?

What landscape, what battle, what nudge, what hedge?

The song of the predictable sun says set, go.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

D. R. James is retired from nearly 40 years of teaching college writing, literature, and peace studies.  He lives with his psychotherapist wife in the woods near Saugatuck, Michigan.  His latest of ten collections is Mobius Trip (Dos Madres Press, 2021). 

 

 


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