Articles by David Middleton

David Middleton

Until his retirement in June of 2010, David Middleton served for thirty-three years as Professor of English at Nicholls State University in Thibodaux, Louisiana, and he is now the first Poet in Residence Emeritus at Nicholls. Middleton’s books of verse include The Burning Fields and Beyond the Chandeleurs. He has been published extensively in places such as The Anglican Theological Review, The Southern Review, The Sewanee Review, Chronicles, Louisiana Literature, The Formalist, and has served as poetry editor for The Classical Outlook, Modern Age, and Anglican Theological Review.


If truth be told…

That was a way of putting it —T.S. Eliot, East Coker Conditional, at best. In other words. Needless to say. When all is said and done. Thinking things through. Seeing them. So to speak. A word to the wise. Better left unsaid. What isn’t golden: falling into place. The word made flesh, or was the…

The Glowing Door

  After Reading the Poetry of Jones Very,        Unitarian and Mystic (1813-1880)      Jones Very stood alone, within a circle which no other       of mortal race could enter, nor himself escape from.         Nathaniel Hawthorne, “The Hall of Fantasy” *          but then face to face        …

The Moderator

in a time of intemperate speech Whoever restrains his words has knowledge, and he who has a cool spirit is a man of understanding. Proverbs 17:27 The speakers meet, shake hands, ready to debate The issues of the day before tense groups Of partisans the moderator calms With calls for quiet, respect, and courtesy. Each…

Ordinations

priest, poet Younger than I by nearly forty years, He stands for examination, then kneels, The bishop laying hands upon the head Of one who prays for strength to rise again, Holding on tight to a Bible, the gift A bishop gives to all whom God has called To preach the Word and offer bread…

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I.M. , I.M.

north Louisiana On holy ground these woods reclaim There now remains one standing stone, The others fallen, name by name, A country graveyard overgrown. The marble, lichen-crusted, worn, By weathering time in time displaced, Tilts on a base by storms uptorn, With runner, web, and tendril graced. An angel kneels, with folded wings, While floating…

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