Debating whether to post a clunky rhyming poem (I’m no good with rhymes) I churned out last night for today’s post, I came across this poem on my daily feed from poets.org. 

I first read H.D.’s poetry in a University of Calilfornia, Riverside, graduate school course on confessional poets in 2004 or 5. I fell instantly in painfully beautiful love. The incisive, careful cut of an  exquisite mosaic or tapestry suggestive of eternity in the local is how I describe her poetry. You can see the source of the delicate angles of her words reflected in her face: the keen eye, angular nose and chin, all projecting intense insight. 
If memory serves, Ezra Pound discovered or fostered her. I’m glad someone did, so that I could find her centuries later. Hope you enjoy. 

Born in 1886, Hilda Doolittle was one of the leaders of the Imagist movement.

H. D., 1886 – 1961
 Thou art come at length

More beautiful

Than any cool god

In a chamber under

Lycia’s far coast,

Than any high god

Who touches us not

Here in the seeded grass.

Aye, than Argestes

Scattering the broken leaves.

Zoophiliac’s Dream


Credit: http://static.comicvine.com/uploads/scale_small/1/15776/1322468-cat_fem6.jpg

She mewed at him provoking sense and shifted gaze.

The glint in his eye sparked flame among the blue.
Smoke surrounded her, drifting a tail of thin vapor.

His Circe gone, the scent of woman-cum-feline stirred.
The endless voyage in hiatus, his will broke in on itself
feathering out the tics drinking below the surface calm.

Caged ardor pounces a captain’s dreams ad delirium.
The restraints of a space-time compendium of battles
writ to air beats love into holes of clawed subordinates.