Thursday, December 31, 2015

Disillusionment of Ten O'Clock ~by Wallace Stevens

Disillusionment of Ten O'Clock
by Wallace Stevens
poet 1879-1955

The houses are haunted
By white night gowns.
None are green,
Or purple with green rings,
Or green with yellow rings,
Or yellow with blue rings.
None of them are strange,
With socks of lace
And beaded ceintures.
People are not going
To dream of baboons and periwinkles.
Only, here and there, an old sailor,
Drunk and asleep in his boots,
Catches tigers
In red weather.
~Wallace Stevens

Saturday, November 21, 2015


poetry from 13 Ways to Look at a Blackbird by Wallace Stevens
original/altered photographs by Mimi Foxmorton

Among twenty snowy mountains,   
The only moving thing   
Was the eye of the blackbird.  

I was of three minds,   
Like a tree   
In which there are three blackbirds.

The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.   
It was a small part of the pantomime.   

A man and a woman   
Are one.   
A man and a woman and a blackbird   
Are one.

I do not know which to prefer,   
The beauty of inflections   
Or the beauty of innuendos,   
The blackbird whistling   
Or just after. 

Icicles filled the long window   
With barbaric glass.   
The shadow of the blackbird   
Crossed it, to and fro.   
The mood   
Traced in the shadow   
An indecipherable cause.

O thin men of Haddam,   
Why do you imagine golden birds?   
Do you not see how the blackbird   
Walks around the feet   
Of the women about you?

I know noble accents   
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;   
But I know, too,   
That the blackbird is involved   
In what I know.

When the blackbird flew out of sight,   
It marked the edge   
Of one of many circles.

At the sight of blackbirds   
Flying in a green light,   
Even the bawds of euphony   
Would cry out sharply.

He rode over Connecticut   
In a glass coach.   
Once, a fear pierced him,   
In that he mistook   
The shadow of his equipage   
For blackbirds.

The river is moving.   
The blackbird must be flying.

It was evening all afternoon.   
It was snowing   
And it was going to snow.   
The blackbird sat   
In the cedar-limbs.

Wallace Stevens, “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird” from The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens
Copyright 1954 by Wallace Stevens. 

Friday, November 13, 2015


by Foxmorton

Wild Belle
Charmed bone
her dream of   Paris
Black Fleece
Shimmering Horror
Innocence Lost
Embrace the power
Sleep No More