Image result for aphrodite statue

I’ll name every love he has:

Her eyes he loves to peer into—

Her eyes are one of his greatest loves,

Deep in those eyes he forgets all.

No one is wise

Who does not count, as one of his greatest loves, her eyes.

And down he looks into them because he is tall.

Her shoulders are great, great loves of his

And he can almost remember he went to divine love, from anxious care,

When he first saw those shoulders, bare,

And gently put his hands on them, prior to moving towards her for a kiss.

He loves her shoulders almost as much as he

Loves her eyes, and he loves to hold her shoulders tenderly.

Her waist is one of his greatest loves, and he loves

Her waist for where it is, and how it looks and feels, and how it moves.

There is no doubt her waist is one of his greatest loves.

He loves the way his kissing face around her waist moves,

A kissing orbit attached to the flesh, an orbit slow, slow, because it loves.

And when he loves her waist, he also loves her legs,

And feet, but I must stop—love that talks too much is love that begs,

And description waxes to death, and even breath that breathes, in love, must have a pause, as

Alive to love, craving love, a slave to love, I name every love he has.












  1. maryangeladouglas said,

    November 18, 2016 at 10:05 pm

    very beautiful, lyrical close to the core of the Romantic tradition you live and breathe in poetically speaking. Very well done with perfect harmony between thought and feeling, sound and meaning.

    I’m leaving here a poem I just finished not by way of any kind of comparison; just because it’s the most recent one. You know how that goes. I’m writing a series of poems on William Butler Yeats and this is (I think) the last one. Unless it’s not.

    I SAW

    I saw beauty in her towers crumble and fade
    and the myriads who danced in the ruins rule.
    and day followed subterranean day

    when evil was praised unstintingly
    and we were counted fools.
    I saw the flowering of stars ripped from the page

    and from the stage declaimed ,

    the lies that forment the midnight soul and roil
    with the old distresses parleyed new
    and bought and sold

    and beauty mute and all her verses

    on the floor of the world half buried under no moon at all.
    soon may the coral rise around their enterprise
    the Floods come through

    and swallow up the baiting tongue
    the ironclad rule of wanton ecstatic abuse
    where children lose at Forever as if

    at marbles on a simple day and this is

    called coming of age, the tainted rains,
    the cult of the few, superiorly trained.
    my God in his rage refurbish us anew

    though we are wounded through-

    that we may rebuild her towers.
    oh Beauty- lost, disconsolate!
    amid the decimated hours.

    mary angela douglas 18 november 2016

    • John Gaither said,

      November 19, 2016 at 6:19 pm

      Mary Angela, or as I knew you Angela, it was quite a surprise, or should a say shock, to find your poem dedicated to Dorothea and me. It’s a rather Quixotic way we found you…Google. It would be wonderful to reconnect or have we ever disconnected?


      • maryangeladouglas said,

        November 21, 2016 at 4:30 pm

        John Gaither, very happy to hear from you, And I’m so happy my poem found you both alive and well. I lost touch with you both. I sent a letter and it came back and I think perhaps you had moved from the Toronto address I had. I will get in touch with you on Facebook hopefully. I have a page just to enable me to see other things on facebook. I just found your message here today on Scarriet Nov. 21 11 a.m. or so. Best wishes to you both (and Scarriet). Thomas Graves thank you for noticing where the rhyme chimed in on the poem. Best to all at Scarriet as well towards the New Year coming up on us with incredible speed.

        • maryangeladouglas said,

          November 21, 2016 at 4:54 pm

          For John and Dorothea Gaither:Also, you could reach me at my poetry blog: angelidicuoremare.blogspot.com through the comment section and if you like, I could provide my email address there. I moved too since last hearing from you both. At any rate, I’m glad to hear from you through Scarriet. Take good care.

      • maryangeladouglas said,

        November 21, 2016 at 7:05 pm

        Oops. John Gaither, sorry. I just realized that I should have used the reply feature on Scarriet to begin with. Of course, I never felt or could feel disconnected from you and Dorothea. True friends remain true friends and teachers who are friends even more so. You can reach me at my email address: maryangeladouglas@gmail.com. Very sorry for crossed wires. True connection spiritually never dissolves but logistics on earth are fraught.

  2. thomasbrady said,

    November 19, 2016 at 4:33 pm

    “And day followed subterranean day”
    “And from the stage declaimed” (I was waiting for a rhyme to this)
    “On the floor of a world half buried under no moon at all”
    “That we may rebuild her towers. oh Beauty—lost, disconsolate! amid the decimated hours.”

    • maryangeladouglas said,

      November 21, 2016 at 5:36 pm

      Tom, you quoted the lines I liked the best as I was writing the poem. It is interesting to me how you seem to combine both an analytic and an inuitive mind, very good qualities for an artist in any medium.

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