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A Poet's Journal: April 21st, 2015

  April 21st, 2015 Watching the sunrise leaves us with a greater impression of what a day actually is.  When it starts up from the horizon, it does not have its sights set on how high it will go, nor what it must do, but only in giving off light, in clarifying what appears in front of it.  Our day already begins as the phantom of something we want to be, or have to be; before our eyes have even focused on the sun, we already think about when we can close them again; and so for many of us it never really rises, or hardly ever sets.  Perhaps the only thing decent in the world is to watch the sunlight brighten and fade, and leave all of our other actions to disappear beyond the shadow of doubt. Douglas Thornton
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A Poet's Journal: April 16th, 2015

  April 16th, 2015 Hiking yesterday along the coast; the water clear blue, turquoise in the shallows.  It was warm, but the air felt of the frozen north.  A man came up to us and talked of the particular formations of sandstone, of a deep orange or yellow and porous, some able to be climbed into as a shelter, others with the fossilized remains of ancient marine life.  All along the trail are green prairies that fall deeply into the ocean and these, seen at a distance, seem to reflect the turquoise of the coves, contrasting with the dark limestone at the shore's edge, enough to think upon profound subjects and lose them in their eternity.  The maritime pines were letting out their pollen with each slight gust of wind and on the way back we found a new growth of mint, taken for an evening tea. Douglas Thornton

Unpublished Poetry Series: The Bowl-Carver

  Unpublished Poetry Series: The Bowl-Carver by Douglas Thornton The Bowl-Carver Closeness of the night, Figure of what is intimate, Turn the strange effects Of elusive image to dreams We shall never keep, And beauty of the eye unfolds From all misfortune, Through measure of love, or fairer Sort of sight attained, A hope that in despondent mind Memory will see The action missed. All things are made By revealing space Where nothing was, like when the moon Comes up, the further As its form seems to drift away, The night deepening With inner light admits a joy Seldom incomplete. Douglas Thornton

A Poet's Journal: March 17th, 2015

  March 17th, 2015 To see only what is different makes us indifferent to the slightest change.  It is not enough to note what comes and goes, what rises and falls, what gives and takes, but to acknowledge the background from which they have come forth, that part from which all our habits and tasks are ever fleeing.  When difference is no longer what we see but only the presence of seeing, change is no longer the fear of changing, but the acceptance of what has always been missing. Douglas Thornton

Unpublished Poetry Series: The Field-Watcher

  The Field-Watcher When in the shadows of the passing day A seat is found, asleep in calm Soundness, as activity of the mind Cease, and the slow and wavy dreams Of reality vanish by timeless Art, he who observes the secrets Of the fast-forgotten world finds purpose Insensible to sleep, remnant Of future life.  The fullness of the stars Softly infuse the distant sky With rays of obscure light, the horizon Ever holds the dawn in glimmer. Douglas Thornton 2018