malcolm-f-davidson - Hello Poetry

Snow Melt Long winter snow gives way to warming sun a slow melt as temperatures struggle upward weak sun nudges in some heat as car and driver head to work still bundled up, eager for Springtime. Cars nervously round the curves black ice, a dark shadow on the black tarmac the banked snow recedes revealing the yesterday’s of nature frozen tree branches, a wind’s detritus become exposed a couple of crosses left in memorandum for teens driving too fast killed in their prime party time brought to an abrupt end a family ripped apart possibly never to recover. Snow finally gone, melted ice hard brittle molecules, soften to be swept away taken to the rivers and on to the sea crosses bare, await new flowers to be quietly tended a mother’s grieving continued snow melt in your heart see the crosses of the past and let them go washed away with the snow and slush cold hearted no more. Malcolm F. Davidson March 27th 2015

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Mar 27, 2015

Mar 27, 2015 at 10:56 PM UTC

Snow Melt

Snow Melt Long winter snow gives way to warming sun a slow melt as temperatures struggle upward weak sun nudges in some heat as car and driver head to work still bundled up, eager for Springtime. Cars nervously round the curves black ice, a dark shadow on the black tarmac the banked snow recedes revealing the yesterday’s of nature frozen tree branches, a wind’s detritus become exposed a couple of crosses left in memorandum for teens driving too fast killed in their prime party time brought to an abrupt end a family ripped apart possibly never to recover. Snow finally gone, melted ice hard brittle molecules, soften to be swept away taken to the rivers and on to the sea crosses bare, await new flowers to be quietly tended a mother’s grieving continued snow melt in your heart see the crosses of the past and let them go washed away with the snow and slush cold hearted no more. Malcolm F. Davidson March 27th 2015

32

Knock knock goes the ego as I sit floating in a calm sea of being knock knock again; I remain in the chair “Ignore it” says the voice of inner knowing quiet whispers, quiet whispers. Knock knock again insistent is this ego wanting to come in, join the party Louder still and the door vibrates oh to shut it up this banging this intrusion in my life. A pause and silence is restored I regain my equilibrium, feel calm again a mellowing acceptance in this room of old age laugh lines on the ceiling, evermore threadbare windows to the soul misty, dust laden. Walls less sturdy than before the room cluttered with memories some easier to find than others in the boxes of the past piled high one on top of the other. Knock knock again the sound fills the room stubborn, urgent ego sounds, anxious to be heard Let me in, I want to be heard, I must be heard Walk to the door, and reach for the handle No says the spirit, no says the soul Leave it, keep the door closed. Open Up calls the Ego, knocking knocking spirit says closed, do not answer. I am trapped, pulled in two voices in my head, open, close, open, close knocking, knocking where to go, where to go surely there must be another door for me here. Knock knock, “May I come in?” and the door of death creaks, begins to open welcoming, welcoming. Malcolm Davidson March 14th 2014

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Mar 29, 2014

Mar 29, 2014 at 12:24 PM UTC

Knock Knock

Knock knock goes the ego as I sit floating in a calm sea of being knock knock again; I remain in the chair “Ignore it” says the voice of inner knowing quiet whispers, quiet whispers. Knock knock again insistent is this ego wanting to come in, join the party Louder still and the door vibrates oh to shut it up this banging this intrusion in my life. A pause and silence is restored I regain my equilibrium, feel calm again a mellowing acceptance in this room of old age laugh lines on the ceiling, evermore threadbare windows to the soul misty, dust laden. Walls less sturdy than before the room cluttered with memories some easier to find than others in the boxes of the past piled high one on top of the other. Knock knock again the sound fills the room stubborn, urgent ego sounds, anxious to be heard Let me in, I want to be heard, I must be heard Walk to the door, and reach for the handle No says the spirit, no says the soul Leave it, keep the door closed. Open Up calls the Ego, knocking knocking spirit says closed, do not answer. I am trapped, pulled in two voices in my head, open, close, open, close knocking, knocking where to go, where to go surely there must be another door for me here. Knock knock, “May I come in?” and the door of death creaks, begins to open welcoming, welcoming. Malcolm Davidson March 14th 2014

38

Oh serpent, what cross you bear catalyst to human frailties a snake in the grass tempting Adam and Eve to eat from the tree of knowledge. Fast forward to now forked tongue hissing quiet words spoken, speaking ill of others cowardly tones, sotto voce, afraid to speak a truth snake in the flesh we think no trust, cold eyes a shadow slithering amongst the crowds bully skin snake pushing your weight around when you do speak, hypocrite a church going southern boy snake in the flesh buying the girls for a night. Serpent we do you an injustice for honest you are, venom and fanged teeth a rattle warning sometimes we know where we stand we keep our distance, safe separate from snake in the grass. Your kin folks back home they have no choice holding you hugging you the only fangs they see or choose to see are the ones tattooed on your arm a snake biting, poisonous, a slow death snake in the flesh if only you would look in the mirror slither into your truth then the snake, the snake bite of your illusions might perish, a snake in the grass a snake in the flesh no more. Malcolm Davidson Feb 15th 2014

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Feb 20, 2014

Feb 20, 2014 at 7:51 AM UTC

Snakes in the Grass

Oh serpent, what cross you bear catalyst to human frailties a snake in the grass tempting Adam and Eve to eat from the tree of knowledge. Fast forward to now forked tongue hissing quiet words spoken, speaking ill of others cowardly tones, sotto voce, afraid to speak a truth snake in the flesh we think no trust, cold eyes a shadow slithering amongst the crowds bully skin snake pushing your weight around when you do speak, hypocrite a church going southern boy snake in the flesh buying the girls for a night. Serpent we do you an injustice for honest you are, venom and fanged teeth a rattle warning sometimes we know where we stand we keep our distance, safe separate from snake in the grass. Your kin folks back home they have no choice holding you hugging you the only fangs they see or choose to see are the ones tattooed on your arm a snake biting, poisonous, a slow death snake in the flesh if only you would look in the mirror slither into your truth then the snake, the snake bite of your illusions might perish, a snake in the grass a snake in the flesh no more. Malcolm Davidson Feb 15th 2014

40

I cannot remember the name of the boy, not much younger than me It was his first time, with a girl, he said shyly, “My first time!” Oh for the time that it was my first time, my first time those precious few years ago before the mud, and the beer and men night on night my sisters and I selling the pink make a trade, serenade, for some dash, ready cash We are poor, no jobs, with no career. I remember the name of my friend, Salula, who took me in When I came to the town, a truck stop, built on fear and greed, *** and need. I go to see her every week In the cemetery, where she lays, stilled with the sickness Ravaging me, ravaging you I will die from slim disease, some call it, And there are those that live, in denial, So we succumb, me and the brothers and sisters Give a smile, for a while, hold him tight, through the night We get 5 bucks a trick Makes you think, have a drink, get to bed, soon be dead, My daughter sleeps at home when I’m out, working My office can be the back of a truck, my desk a brown mahogany belly. An appendage for a pen, writing desperation all over this sad page of life. Laptop takes on a different meaning In the bar, not to far, soon be dawn, feel forlorn, need a rest, leave my breast Those boys, don’t understand, as they pile out of their lorries Day after day, My little girl awakes, when I shuffle in, barely able to stand After a long night of labours We smile and talk before I slide into the only bed we have Exhausted. In ten hours I’ll be working again Selling my body, giving out gifts of togetherness Descending down, down, ready to meet my friend Salula for a night make it right, get some bread, soon be dead, soon be dead, soon be dead.

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Feb 6, 2014

Feb 6, 2014 at 7:21 AM UTC

Night Labors

I cannot remember the name of the boy, not much younger than me It was his first time, with a girl, he said shyly, “My first time!” Oh for the time that it was my first time, my first time those precious few years ago before the mud, and the beer and men night on night my sisters and I selling the pink make a trade, serenade, for some dash, ready cash We are poor, no jobs, with no career. I remember the name of my friend, Salula, who took me in When I came to the town, a truck stop, built on fear and greed, *** and need. I go to see her every week In the cemetery, where she lays, stilled with the sickness Ravaging me, ravaging you I will die from slim disease, some call it, And there are those that live, in denial, So we succumb, me and the brothers and sisters Give a smile, for a while, hold him tight, through the night We get 5 bucks a trick Makes you think, have a drink, get to bed, soon be dead, My daughter sleeps at home when I’m out, working My office can be the back of a truck, my desk a brown mahogany belly. An appendage for a pen, writing desperation all over this sad page of life. Laptop takes on a different meaning In the bar, not to far, soon be dawn, feel forlorn, need a rest, leave my breast Those boys, don’t understand, as they pile out of their lorries Day after day, My little girl awakes, when I shuffle in, barely able to stand After a long night of labours We smile and talk before I slide into the only bed we have Exhausted. In ten hours I’ll be working again Selling my body, giving out gifts of togetherness Descending down, down, ready to meet my friend Salula for a night make it right, get some bread, soon be dead, soon be dead, soon be dead.

35

I cannot remember the name of the boy, not much younger than me It was his first time, with a girl, he said shyly, “My first time!” Oh for the time that it was my first time, my first time those precious few years ago before the mud, and the beer and men night on night my sisters and I selling the pink make a trade, serenade, for some dash, ready cash We are poor, no jobs, with no career. I remember the name of my friend, Salula, who took me in When I came to the town, a truck stop, built on fear and greed, *** and need. I go to see her every week In the cemetery, where she lays, stilled with the sickness Ravaging me, ravaging you I will die from slim disease, some call it, And there are those that live, in denial, So we succumb, me and the brothers and sisters Give a smile, for a while, hold him tight, through the night We get 5 bucks a trick Makes you think, have a drink, get to bed, soon be dead, My daughter sleeps at home when I’m out, working My office can be the back of a truck, my desk a brown mahogany belly. An appendage for a pen, writing desperation all over this sad page of life. Laptop takes on a different meaning In the bar, not to far, soon be dawn, feel forlorn, need a rest, leave my breast Those boys, don’t understand, as they pile out of their lorries Day after day, My little girl awakes, when I shuffle in, barely able to stand After a long night of labours We smile and talk before I slide into the only bed we have Exhausted. In ten hours I’ll be working again Selling my body, giving out gifts of togetherness Descending down, down, ready to meet my friend Salula for a night make it right, get some bread, soon be dead, soon be dead, soon be dead.

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Feb 6, 2014

Feb 6, 2014 at 7:20 AM UTC

Night Labors

I cannot remember the name of the boy, not much younger than me It was his first time, with a girl, he said shyly, “My first time!” Oh for the time that it was my first time, my first time those precious few years ago before the mud, and the beer and men night on night my sisters and I selling the pink make a trade, serenade, for some dash, ready cash We are poor, no jobs, with no career. I remember the name of my friend, Salula, who took me in When I came to the town, a truck stop, built on fear and greed, *** and need. I go to see her every week In the cemetery, where she lays, stilled with the sickness Ravaging me, ravaging you I will die from slim disease, some call it, And there are those that live, in denial, So we succumb, me and the brothers and sisters Give a smile, for a while, hold him tight, through the night We get 5 bucks a trick Makes you think, have a drink, get to bed, soon be dead, My daughter sleeps at home when I’m out, working My office can be the back of a truck, my desk a brown mahogany belly. An appendage for a pen, writing desperation all over this sad page of life. Laptop takes on a different meaning In the bar, not to far, soon be dawn, feel forlorn, need a rest, leave my breast Those boys, don’t understand, as they pile out of their lorries Day after day, My little girl awakes, when I shuffle in, barely able to stand After a long night of labours We smile and talk before I slide into the only bed we have Exhausted. In ten hours I’ll be working again Selling my body, giving out gifts of togetherness Descending down, down, ready to meet my friend Salula for a night make it right, get some bread, soon be dead, soon be dead, soon be dead.

35

Indian mother, small daughter, dowry troubles kerosene poured drenching them soaked rage, soaked rags match struck, flames then death wrenching Two crumbs amongst these intransigent slices of village culture lost, burnt alive never even at the table A slice of life lost in a furnace fueled by ignorance American daughter, guilt filled flees the home that loves her drug fueled journey, on a treadmill of fear for the running never ends needle slices, a lonely son away from his mother ****** coursing the blood vessels A slice of life, a slice of madness English man sitting, ruminates on his slices some with honey, some with not pens a few lines reality served up, tough to swallow late in life, at least he’s realized he’s the breadwinner and the bread maker each slice cut, just the way he likes it a sliced of life, a slice of love each one chewed to perfection.

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Feb 6, 2014

Feb 6, 2014 at 7:13 AM UTC

Slice of Life

Indian mother, small daughter, dowry troubles kerosene poured drenching them soaked rage, soaked rags match struck, flames then death wrenching Two crumbs amongst these intransigent slices of village culture lost, burnt alive never even at the table A slice of life lost in a furnace fueled by ignorance American daughter, guilt filled flees the home that loves her drug fueled journey, on a treadmill of fear for the running never ends needle slices, a lonely son away from his mother ****** coursing the blood vessels A slice of life, a slice of madness English man sitting, ruminates on his slices some with honey, some with not pens a few lines reality served up, tough to swallow late in life, at least he’s realized he’s the breadwinner and the bread maker each slice cut, just the way he likes it a sliced of life, a slice of love each one chewed to perfection.

27

Custard Tarts A mouthful of sweetness yellow; crust; chewed slowly, savoring and the mind goes back along olfactory pathways etched long ago back to turbulent times of teenage years and custard tarts, with cinnamon sprinkles your Dad brought home for Saturday lunch after working, trying to keep a bankrupt business afloat plugging the holes of ineptitude as the ship sank lower week by week. A sliver was handed out with the coffee devoured by all at the table not much else to remember except the coldness, the distant demeanor a start contrast to the warmth of the pies made with love at the bakers custard tarts, now and then sweet! Malcolm Davidson December 18, 2013

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Dec 22, 2013

Dec 22, 2013 at 4:37 PM UTC

Custard Tarts

Custard Tarts A mouthful of sweetness yellow; crust; chewed slowly, savoring and the mind goes back along olfactory pathways etched long ago back to turbulent times of teenage years and custard tarts, with cinnamon sprinkles your Dad brought home for Saturday lunch after working, trying to keep a bankrupt business afloat plugging the holes of ineptitude as the ship sank lower week by week. A sliver was handed out with the coffee devoured by all at the table not much else to remember except the coldness, the distant demeanor a start contrast to the warmth of the pies made with love at the bakers custard tarts, now and then sweet! Malcolm Davidson December 18, 2013

25

Ski Jumping Leaning forward, body parallel to the skis arms neatly by the side hands pressed in tight; flat down the slope he goes into the unknown flying free for a few moments landing as far as he can then arms aloft in triumph. How do you begin such a journey? Armchair bound we are never to speed down the icy slope eyes and goggles peering down and down ready to fly, see the sky. Yet in a moment we can be there down the slope in our minds unburdened from reality no years of practice or skis to heft no chance of failure. We can fly on the ski slope of the mind an adventure of the imagination synapses firing neurons glowing and so let it be with death and life down the slope jumping, arms aloft into tomorrow, into the unknown alone, down the slope, jumping. Malcolm F. Davidson October 11th 2013

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Dec 9, 2013

Dec 9, 2013 at 8:09 AM UTC

Ski Jumping

Ski Jumping Leaning forward, body parallel to the skis arms neatly by the side hands pressed in tight; flat down the slope he goes into the unknown flying free for a few moments landing as far as he can then arms aloft in triumph. How do you begin such a journey? Armchair bound we are never to speed down the icy slope eyes and goggles peering down and down ready to fly, see the sky. Yet in a moment we can be there down the slope in our minds unburdened from reality no years of practice or skis to heft no chance of failure. We can fly on the ski slope of the mind an adventure of the imagination synapses firing neurons glowing and so let it be with death and life down the slope jumping, arms aloft into tomorrow, into the unknown alone, down the slope, jumping. Malcolm F. Davidson October 11th 2013

27

I cannot feel my legs and my mind is numb I refuse to hear your breath and my mouth is dumb I can feel your hands, but I am not here For I have gone away now Away, to where you cannot find me, the real me To a place where i finally feel safe, where i can be alive. I have switched off my soul to survive this place My flesh is detached and floats away from my face I can sense your thrusts, in a different world You may touch my body, not me. me, that was a long time ago, before Before the monster that paid a visit at night. Now look inside me, and see the curdled mother's milk that courses through my veins. Twisted molecules of white, distorting purity of thought. Do you really know how you destroyed my life With your fatherly tone and that emotional knife Held up to the heart of a vulnerable girl Oh, how I wish I were dead and yet, part of me is, for some of my life is over Bud plucked, never to bloom the flower of unbridled youth The black hole of the past pulls me back to those arms I struggled so hard against those paternal charms Alas, what chance a girl, who loved daddy so much Please make my pain go away. But it won't, deep inside, under granite blocks of hate Hate for you and hate for me, how did we let this happen? Grown up now, and struggling to cope Life seems so hard I often have no hope it all looks so black, here within my soul Oh, to wipe the slate clean. A vehicle of love used as a weapon of betrayal How sick we all must be! Half forgotten memories jump out of my mind Oh how they came, and when you were so kind Couldn't you see how tormented I was God help me, for no one else will. Time does not heal my angst, nor will it ever You and you, father and friend will you ever comprehend? Chameleon colours play a role in my life Artificial boundaries, coping with strife keep out tomorrow and push away the past but somehow today sneaks on in. i have left my body now, detached, flying away to safety All males left behind, good and bad, partitioned off Even as I ignore it, the past comes right back biding its time for a surprise attack How can I cope with this onslaught of love So get out of my life right now. The past, the past, those nights, oh revulsion, oh confusion Lust, love, like, remorse, pain, a wailing cacophany of lost childhood. I attempt to embrace a man, maturity found But I lose my nerve, looks like dangerous ground An immense struggle for a girl so fragmented Can I ever become whole? I wear my clothes, loose around my body Passion and pain walled off from prying eyes. Alone, am I sentenced to spend my life alone for who will throw this dog an intimate bone ? I need the courage to embrace my shadows oh please help me face the past. The light of your affections just cannot reach my soul, deep inside The escape velocity of my sanity is not enough I so want to let go, have my feelings reign free Yet I can't, for the hurt residing deep within me Imagine, for a minute, the cross that I bear No wonder, I stay out of sight. You see, i only feel connected when i am alone and safe Yet i so yearn to love and be loved, vulnerable. Finally, today I held you tight and felt your manhood and it did not remind me of my childhood Agony past and pain retreated Will this last forever I ask? Those boundaries that were so cruelly invaded by one who said "I love you", left me exposed. So brick by brick I built up my self esteem Self confidence at last, but is it all a dream Open my eyes, will this all fade away swept off on the winds of self doubt. One step at a time, out from the abyss, that cave of betrayal I will hold this moment tightly and treasure it. Dare I believe in this place called trust? A handhold hacked in the rockface of my tortured mind Will it bear the weight of tomorrow's reality? I can only hope the silver thread that pulls me up shall guide me forever forward away from that sickness of him who is left behind. I am a survivor and I shall reach the summit of life's possibilities, although I have to tell you Base camp did not help my journey!

0

Dec 8, 2013

Dec 8, 2013 at 1:31 AM UTC

Abuse

I cannot feel my legs and my mind is numb I refuse to hear your breath and my mouth is dumb I can feel your hands, but I am not here For I have gone away now Away, to where you cannot find me, the real me To a place where i finally feel safe, where i can be alive. I have switched off my soul to survive this place My flesh is detached and floats away from my face I can sense your thrusts, in a different world You may touch my body, not me. me, that was a long time ago, before Before the monster that paid a visit at night. Now look inside me, and see the curdled mother's milk that courses through my veins. Twisted molecules of white, distorting purity of thought. Do you really know how you destroyed my life With your fatherly tone and that emotional knife Held up to the heart of a vulnerable girl Oh, how I wish I were dead and yet, part of me is, for some of my life is over Bud plucked, never to bloom the flower of unbridled youth The black hole of the past pulls me back to those arms I struggled so hard against those paternal charms Alas, what chance a girl, who loved daddy so much Please make my pain go away. But it won't, deep inside, under granite blocks of hate Hate for you and hate for me, how did we let this happen? Grown up now, and struggling to cope Life seems so hard I often have no hope it all looks so black, here within my soul Oh, to wipe the slate clean. A vehicle of love used as a weapon of betrayal How sick we all must be! Half forgotten memories jump out of my mind Oh how they came, and when you were so kind Couldn't you see how tormented I was God help me, for no one else will. Time does not heal my angst, nor will it ever You and you, father and friend will you ever comprehend? Chameleon colours play a role in my life Artificial boundaries, coping with strife keep out tomorrow and push away the past but somehow today sneaks on in. i have left my body now, detached, flying away to safety All males left behind, good and bad, partitioned off Even as I ignore it, the past comes right back biding its time for a surprise attack How can I cope with this onslaught of love So get out of my life right now. The past, the past, those nights, oh revulsion, oh confusion Lust, love, like, remorse, pain, a wailing cacophany of lost childhood. I attempt to embrace a man, maturity found But I lose my nerve, looks like dangerous ground An immense struggle for a girl so fragmented Can I ever become whole? I wear my clothes, loose around my body Passion and pain walled off from prying eyes. Alone, am I sentenced to spend my life alone for who will throw this dog an intimate bone ? I need the courage to embrace my shadows oh please help me face the past. The light of your affections just cannot reach my soul, deep inside The escape velocity of my sanity is not enough I so want to let go, have my feelings reign free Yet I can't, for the hurt residing deep within me Imagine, for a minute, the cross that I bear No wonder, I stay out of sight. You see, i only feel connected when i am alone and safe Yet i so yearn to love and be loved, vulnerable. Finally, today I held you tight and felt your manhood and it did not remind me of my childhood Agony past and pain retreated Will this last forever I ask? Those boundaries that were so cruelly invaded by one who said "I love you", left me exposed. So brick by brick I built up my self esteem Self confidence at last, but is it all a dream Open my eyes, will this all fade away swept off on the winds of self doubt. One step at a time, out from the abyss, that cave of betrayal I will hold this moment tightly and treasure it. Dare I believe in this place called trust? A handhold hacked in the rockface of my tortured mind Will it bear the weight of tomorrow's reality? I can only hope the silver thread that pulls me up shall guide me forever forward away from that sickness of him who is left behind. I am a survivor and I shall reach the summit of life's possibilities, although I have to tell you Base camp did not help my journey!

90

The Circle of Life Creation Womb Cradle Room Apartment House Apartment Room Bed Dead Coffin Ground Creator Bound

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Dec 7, 2013

Dec 7, 2013 at 6:01 PM UTC

The Circle of LIfe

The Circle of Life Creation Womb Cradle Room Apartment House Apartment Room Bed Dead Coffin Ground Creator Bound

15