Danny James

Tag: poetry


Now and then it’s good to pause in our pursuit of happiness and just be happy.

  • Apollinaire

Shinjuku Gyoen, Japan 2017


ONE hour to madness and joy!
O furious! O confine me not!
(What is this that frees me so in storms?
What do my shouts amid lightnings and raging winds mean?)

O to drink the mystic deliria deeper than any other man!
O savage and tender achings!
(I bequeath them to you, my children,
I tell them to you, for reasons, O bridegroom and bride.)

O to be yielded to you, whoever you are, and you to be yielded to me, in defiance of the world!
O to return to Paradise! O bashful and feminine!
O to draw you to me—to plant on you for the first time the lips of a determin’d man!

O the puzzle—the thrice-tied knot—the deep and dark pool! O all untied and illumin’d!
O to speed where there is space enough and air enough at last!
O to be absolv’d from previous ties and conventions—I from mine, and you from yours!
O to find a new unthought-of nonchalance with the best of nature!
O to have the gag remov’d from one’s mouth!
O to have the feeling, to-day or any day, I am sufficient as I am!

O something unprov’d! something in a trance!
O madness amorous! O trembling!
O to escape utterly from others’ anchors and holds!
To drive free! to love free! to dash reckless and dangerous!
To court destruction with taunts—with invitations!
To ascend—to leap to the heavens of the love indicated to me!
To rise thither with my inebriate Soul!
To be lost, if it must be so!
To feed the remainder of life with one hour of fulness and freedom!
With one brief hour of madness and joy.

Walt Whitman, One Hour to Madness and Joy

336: For Kelly

Danny James blog poem

234: Little plane in the sky

Wherefore are you going, little plain in the sky?
What yonder doth thy ambition reside?

O man, that cannot things let lie,
And no brims passing before cloud delights.

Those hoping souls thy vessel confined,
What grief or love is put behind?

Towards great change perhaps some ye climb,
How braved uncertainty with must ride.

Mayst thou all the skies good-will imbibe,
And with none but peace thy journey collide.


188: Good morning, Sunshine

I flatter myself that she combs the Earth each night by candlelight until I am found

Or rising first reserves her glow until I’m slipped of my slumber sound.

But she feigns a gladdened expression looking lastly where I have always waited

I am the one dismantled, my overlooked hopes with thee over the hills faded.

Bondi, 2013

Bondi, 2013


In my declining years when no more, or merely will my formerly firm limbs take me there I should choose to wander, but failing to comply with the pace of my still fresh fancy’s wonderings, I will renovated recall that divine intersection of my youth, when by some celestial summons I turned over many a morning to the Eastern Beaches Coastal Walk between Bondi and Coogee. The oneness and natural superfluity enjoyed upon my trails, I can not frame. The soul of my art is in arresting the state of man, whose distresses and gladnesses I can tune my instruments to, and thence play to the traveller an accustomed song. For my part, I strain to say the birds, the rock, pools and seas upon which my faculties most rest, are this or that, but of man, verses beset. Often I would hasten myself to a bench where lovers convene and poets paint, to reclaim and map my thoughts before they are among the Constellations of my mind, lost always. One such rescued consideration is this:

He is the best of man who, throughout the seasons of his life, gives to the pursuit of physical prayer his rising hour; he knows the value of man, and up with him after, a gapers borders may go.