With holes in pockets
Can we buy?
Gain truth from
The lips that lie?
Without ever asking
Why?

Is guidance in
A folded map?
Wealth within
Bottle cap?
Does fine champagne
Come on tap?

Does knowledge come
From books fast closed?
Water from a frozen hose?

Motion from a
Locked up gear?
Faith from gurus
Full of fear?

Can oil flow
From stoppered jars?
Travel made in totaled cars?
Peace be won from
World War?

Calculating sums from nil
For naught we pay
Usurious bills
No winning wars where
ALL are killed

The wind listeth
              where it will...


We beard the lion
In his lair
Close the pane

To breathe the air.


SøułSurvivør
5/23/2017

It's 2:20am... was reading
And this poem started to
Percolate. Now I pour it out

The birds raise a cacophony for food
hovering over the river of summer home
washing off flakes of winter memory
in the duck-warm joy of another renewal
bobbing up and down with the waves
like I hold her in my dancing visions
gazing waywardly her way
gauging if somewhere in the ether
hers meets mine
guessing when they do
sparks of fire
will burn the logs
keeping another winter at bay.

On a vessel on the river with her, in the company of migratory birds, March 20, 2017, 5pm.
  23h Mack
K G

The basin drains her polluted blood as wine envelopes morose
Every minute is a memory, onset of her blanketed comatose
Vying in a fog of icons and myths, words always fail them
From every misread evil that is disposed of improperly
From every neighbor or friend eternally mute again
From every gilded pattern that leaves a cuff for the eyes
From every fetching barroom, where all such nadir lies

KG

Always ready to deliver
At the right moment timing
Will always be essential
In an impatient world
Survival made us tougher
But we come out different people
Is this good or bad
I guess the progress that
Comes after is the only way
To tell been through hell and back..

  1d Mack
Jim Davis

Sand in my toes
Can't get it out
Five tours
Does that to you

Sand in my mouth
Can't get it out
Five tours
Does that to you

Sand in my nose
Can't get it out
Five tours
Does that to you

Sand in my ears
Can't get it out
Five tours
Does that to you

Sand in my eyes
Can't get it out
Five tours
Does that to you

Sand in my brain
Can't get it out
Five tours
Does that to you

Five tours
Out
With a bang
Does that to you

©  2017 Jim Davis.

Prompted by a friend who did five tours!  Even one tour is sometimes enough!

Voices speak saying
    Depression is a gift
Granted to lowly souls
who are brave enough
to follow the darken
path home
Carrying heavy loads
Until they can leave them
along the road
Before heaven's gate.

By Weeping willow
(c)2017;-\

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