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Mar 2020 · 102
The last autumn
David boyer Mar 2020
In some distant time
Where morning comes slowly
The Lord had called me to this
Barely before the sun settles in
I stir my coffee with a tarnished silver spoon
That reminds me of time past
Distant songs and mended memories
My wrinkled fingers stuffing pipe
Retired to my chair with mans best friend at my feet
The mind tumbles with a deep shade
Will wright my last painted poesy
In forgotten notebooks
Of how life was
Lost lovers forgotten wars and golden yesterday
With rhythm falling off the page
My inky echoes will fade
As the last autumn falls on me
Feb 2020 · 103
Night worshipers
David boyer Feb 2020
With the death of season swallowtails wings flutter
Rhythmic Wheat oceans of Thunder and lightning
Fireflies dance amongst moonlit tassels
Burning to impress the wild light of Colbert heavens
Evening tide lovers, dreamers of electric moon nights.
One dusk after another Crickets serenade to vibrating hearts
Denying Somnus Cries Embracing  Whispers of Eros
With the death of season swallowtails wings flutter
A breathless sky
Smell of smoke in the gentle evening
Ten thousand lovers desire
Feb 2020 · 106
Untitled
David boyer Feb 2020
Coffee ripples
Train goes by west bound
the poet and his coffee
In pale argent light
Feb 2020 · 87
Untitled
David boyer Feb 2020
Where falling stars live
we pass over arks of light
That call us again
Feb 2020 · 86
Untitled
David boyer Feb 2020
Diamond dust sliver dusk
With a heart so dark
Are sins have all been said
Something luminous and rare
The very texture of gray
Winter will be upon us
And the poets shall morn
Feb 2020 · 83
Untitled
David boyer Feb 2020
Cosmic Colbert galaxies
Your oceans meet my seas
Pounding the shores
of a Lotus haunted mind
these colonies of dreamscapes
Feb 2020 · 117
In the dreaming hour
David boyer Feb 2020
We stare down longest perspectives of dusk.
Beneath the wings of lilac dim,
In robes of  evening heavens ablaze,
A breath of winter tides.
With all the memories that could not fade,
Gone like a dream in the wakening eye of day,
A sigh of immortal past echoes to my ink kingdom.
Connected by the voices of passing vagabonds
And calls of lazy seas.
The midnight shivers as I drift from the shores
Of Dreamscapes to the stars of desolation,
Trembling in the West.
The stars not fond of borrowed thoughts
Feb 2020 · 98
Untitled
David boyer Feb 2020
The clearest nights are the coldest nights
Silver dawn
Hear  the drums of morning play
For as long as I can see back,
I wondered to discover
Where do I belong in this world?
Merely a few minutes in a lifetime of companionship,
no one ever understanding me writing me off as a weird dream.
I never went looking for poetry,
it found me longing for my romantic story of life
I hope I have done it justice
The fluttering call of lazy seas,
pounding the shore of a Lotus haunted mind.
These colonies of Dreamscapes
Feb 2020 · 97
Sacrificial night
David boyer Feb 2020
Beneath the vault of light
So many nights we dance
with echoes That free the muse
And inject the mind with inky knots
That drift from memories to dreamscapes
Washed upon thoughts
To bleed on the page a sigh of morphine
Deep as the hue of red wine
Starching out towards the void
As if eternity was anything
Whispering our deepest fears to awkward angles
Stillness passes our eternal night
So come poets scared and alone
I will follow you into the darkness
And when we sleep
We’ll dream of the sweetest things
For there still a little light that shines in our tired eyes
Feb 2020 · 82
The fragment library
David boyer Feb 2020
Twice a day he smoked his pipe
In dusky are along with painted shadows of varnished light
Passing over smoldering pages
He hungered for perfection in an imperfect world
Amongst inky echoes
Speaking of gold of Yesterdays
Liquid sky’s
Borrowed thoughts
Melancholy gloom
As well as lost dreams
Passing over the trials of man
With hopes of relinquishing
His heart and head
The anguish that fills his night and day
To dance in the poetic spirit of an immortal euphoria
Feb 2020 · 93
The journal
David boyer Feb 2020
Weathered leather

Shades of yesterday’s

Vanilla muted hues

The diadem of thought

Midnight tobacco ink

Mortality is a virus

Painted splattered echoes

A message from the secret night
Oct 2018 · 146
Last days of autumn
David boyer Oct 2018
The sky to the west lights up with saffron, laced in  pink, The last rays of sunshine reflect gold  off the dry crops.
Shadows Chase the night, the moon enters the stage, A sky  Cosmic Colbert
The crickets play their strings, bullfrogs sing.
Sparrows dance among Wheat tassels swaying to and throw like a lost humming bird in the evening breeze.
And the wind whispers your name with a lonesome sigh.
With a teardrop in your eye you bid summer daydreaming Goodbye,
With bitterness you welcome winter with all its lies.
And the wind whispers a lonesome sigh.
Who are we to say it's wrong?
Oct 2018 · 130
Still blue
David boyer Oct 2018
Frost on the window
Midnight painted blue
Soul so still
Radiator creeks
Teapot whistles
I peer out into a blue deep
Look at the halo around the moon
Snow is coming
I meditate
So deep and blue
Yellow light in my room
It makes me feel warm
Burning sage brings calm
Soul so still
Morning dove on my windowsill
Cooing at midnight
Reminds me of you
See me in my thoughts
So deep and blue
Take me back
When the night was new
Oct 2018 · 145
2 am
David boyer Oct 2018
To Charcoal sky’s
To late night jazz
To copper air
To black note books of poems
To cold coffee cup rings
To warm cigarettes
To lost dreams
To Long talks to your self during the witching hour
To midnight frost
To empty corners and yellow street lights
To seasons mist
To Solitude
To moonlit alley crawls
To the stars at the bottom of empty wine bottles
To insomnia
To me
Time Idols  between  heavens storms
Given our hours forlorn
Oct 2018 · 137
Madrugada
David boyer Oct 2018
All at once came dawn
Still blue twilight faded away
Sweet voiced echos of a new day
From grey to gold hues of a lullaby
Dew blooms morn seasons past
The void was lost
With every shaft of amber
A whisper of promise
In smoky light
Not yet a quit lie
A taste of bliss
In the absence of all thoughts
The darkest hour is just before
dawn
Oct 2018 · 152
October
David boyer Oct 2018
As of a weary dream
Like a downward smoke,
Gray clouds softly wept.
Washing away seasons sins.
In bronze, golden glow,
Hems in indian red,
The blues of drifting leaves .
The promise of autumns
Purple hills,
Moonlit diamond dust,
And wine at dawn thoughts.
I tell you October is upon us.
David boyer Oct 2018
Left out your final days in moonlit alleys
  Paranoid cries to dark reflections
Children did not sing your songs of treasons
Savor you psalms of freedom
This world will never know love, loss and beauty
Look at your life through heaven's eyes
Hear odes of obscenities
Or elegy of empathy
Passed away as a madman lost to the void
Screaming at shadows
Crying hard rains
Drowning at the tail end of a bottle
Burning poems for warmth
Stars the only witnesses these last words
Poetry is a rotten business
Jul 2018 · 147
Last days of autumn
David boyer Jul 2018
The sky to the west lights up with saffron, laced in  pink, The last rays of sunshine reflect gold  off the dry crops.
Shadows Chase the night, the moon enters the stage, A sky  Cosmic Colbert
The crickets play their strings, bullfrogs sing.
Sparrows dance among Wheat tassels swaying to and throw like a lost humming bird in the evening breeze.
And the wind whispers your name with a lonesome sigh.
With a teardrop in your eye you bid summer daydreaming Goodbye,
With bitterness you welcome winter with all its lies.
And the wind whispers a lonesome sigh.
Who are we to say it's wrong?
Jul 2018 · 220
A letter to Jack Kerouac
David boyer Jul 2018
A letter to Jack Kerouac

Dam you Jack you're the reason I want to hit the road.

Hay Kerouac you're the reason I hang out in counter bars Coffee shops dark alleys writing ***** poetry.

Dam you Jack you're the reason I daydream at night of hitchhiking and train hoping.

Hay Kerouac you're the reason I'm addicted strawberry pie ale mod and coffee at road side dinners.

Dam you Jack you're l the reason take sleeping pills drink whiskey and get high on your Mexican blues.

Hay Kerouac you're the reason I meditate to Buddha pray to Jesus ware a prayer Mala and St. Christopher medal.

Dam it Jack you're the reason I climb mountains eat Hershey bars with nuts and Hoot and holler naked in the woods.

Hay Kerouac you're the reason I hear Dean whispering. Yes! Yes!  In my ear as I speed down dark dirt roads with my head Lights out.

Dam it Jack you're the reason I’m a freak a geek a tweak a sinner a saint and been on every woman I meets dinner plate.

Hay Kerouac you gave reason to all life's seasons and Treasons
as I go down that road and think of you.

Jack Kerouac the father we never found.
Jul 2018 · 158
Last supper
David boyer Jul 2018
Jazz hangs in the air as, the neon reflects off cold marble counters,
strawberry pie à la mode, black coffee steaming, Invites me.
and Old *** sits in A Booth, eating a meal paid for with loose change,
peddled on a corner from strangers.
My black book of poems sits next to me, begging me to fill those blank pages.
A widower sits at the counter, over a lonely meal,
ease dropping a poetic dalliance of late night lovers, remembering.
A waitress and cook consumed in a caffeine fueled debate.
The highway, carrying hungry travelers, in the cosmos of headlights.
To this Mecca of neon, chrome and porcelain,
where $.75 will get your cuppa coffee
and a life time of stores to consume.
Jul 2018 · 220
2am freight
David boyer Jul 2018
I step out into the cold night,
the town creeks under a blanket of Fahrenheit diamond.
the smoke from my cigarillo wraps around my face,
pleasing the senses with the aroma of tobacco
and wood stoves glowing in the January night.
an ally cat passes in to the night,
I sip from a bottle cognac, as it coats my tongue and warms a breath.
the sound of jazz drifts in the air, leaning against a street light,
waiting for the 2 am freight, and a hi ball ride out west.
bags packed light and foolish, a whistle blows, snow set in.
I hop my car and head in to the darkness
to see new places.not knowing where I'm bound
Jul 2018 · 166
I don’t mind
David boyer Jul 2018
There are freaks in my mind
There are mountains of **** in my mind
There are memories of past lovers in my mind alcoholics in my mind hot ***!
****** up drugs, dizzying drink in my mind
There is an ocean of ink a deserts of Canvas in my mind
Painting on the floor and poems in corners, unread books on shelves in my mind
There are dark alleys, unforgivable crimes of passion, and gutters with freaks sleeping in them
There are dark corners with fear, paranoia, and depression in them
There are pipes that by drain memories into my stomach and make me sick
There’s a poet screaming obscenities
There’s is an artist painting to feed the paranoia
There are friends of the past haunting my dreams
There are days the meds keep them at bay
But most days I am to paralyze to scream I suffer in silence
There is beauty in my mind
Jul 2018 · 1.2k
West bound
David boyer Jul 2018
West bound
kroooaaooo  kroooaaooo!
I stand at the door of an old Santa Fe car, snow falls silent,  dusting everything in visual sense, the better January air bites my cheeks ,as two hundred tons of steel push through the night.

kroooaaooo kroooaaooo!

One by one. The orange glow slumbering towns, passes  by
A Hudson rambles ,down the blacktop towards the crossings

kroooaaooo kroooaaooo!

I retrieve my zippo ,and light my cigar and melancholy ,takes over
The sun peeks over the horizon ,reflecting like a billion diamonds nestled in the snowy Fields.

kroooaaooo kroooaaooo!

I daydream of a diner with black coffee, cold marble counters eggs and bacon.
I daydream of a  cheap room ,with a soft bed to rest my aching mind
A gleeful sleep.
kroooaaooo kroooaaooo!

The whistle blows  Kroooaaooo ,leaving the sole evidence that we were there we push down the steel trail ,into the pale dawn with Miles.

Kroooaaooo!

Miles and miles with no sleep,
I miss Octobers copper air,                                                             ­                                   Old honest me,
I seek to find.
A full October moon,
A warm wind,
autumn leaves,
The sound of silence ,in All its distractions.

kroooaaooo!

— The End —