Amigos,
What are we
doing here anyway
Are we seriously
going to write
some poetry
to save the world
Or not so seriously
to save ourselves
Either way
Let’s get to it

©  2019 Jim Davis

It was all faintly lit gloom
where her silhouette wouldn't betray
if she was sleeping or awake
amid the thick smell of disinfectant
the world debarred from the room.

I trust not one of you, she would say,
moving germs, a tribe of dirt,
that's what all of you are.

Countless times she would dress and undress
drenching herself with dettol
changed linen time and again
and her only pursuit of happiness
was denying even the closest an access
to evade disease only she knew.

Others would find in her
a diseased mind.

When she died
men were hired to burn her
and the celsius ensured
she had a germ free passage
to the next world.

Continually mesmerized by the mirror of his past, the sands of time slowly slipped through his fingers. Lost, left only to reflect on all his life’s what-ifs.

One day you have to erase me
From your life.
From your dreams ..
One day you have to delete me
From your days..
From your prays..
I will become an angel..
Maybe..
Maybe not...
Life will end..
Light ..
Is that day coming..
I will ask again ..
WHY ???

I may not have the rivers of Babylon,
To sit beside them and weep when I
Remember you, my dear mother;
But may I too never be able to
Write poems or recite them again
If I do not remember you,
If I do not think of you as
My greatest joy!

Dark clouds at night a
flash of lightning appears and
reveals heaven's stair