Atrocities, pain and loss watered down by the last iced libation tossed.
Sun-brightened poolside I testify my own shames and glossed-over accomplishments.
Stranger danger no longer a social cost.
In that moment, my essence is captivated by a pair of hazel green sparkled soul-catchers,
a fleeting glance,
an alluring stranger...Her soul says I look familiar and took a chance.
It has to be in this moment,
She calls to explore me,
but still has walls to ignore me, before I know the depth of this moment...an angel falls before me.
This unfathomable deep breath of chance,
she waves to shore me,
a hand to keep me soft from loss that has me off.
She looks past my conditions.
Lips betwixt, hips bewitched, this mysterious mistress in my time by the sea.
She, like a siren, calms me,
gently calls me witness the start of a new day.
Her freeness bonds to me,
I can't stay away.
Freckles on every inch,
her long lines, auburn waves and soft smile,
struggling to touch as much of us together as can be done during a clutch and clinch.
My heart's guards throw down their arms and abandon their post.
I am left with all the things I want to say about how I feel and who you are and what matters most.
This shall not be and does not come to pass.
We stay up too late and drink to much.
Our hearts are silenced by the coast.
We know so well who we are,
and can see we will not break our own hearts to make it last.
Like two wildly different cut jigsaw pieces,
we fit together well,
but from them, the big picture of the puzzle,
still too hard to tell.
We don't believe the Tooth Fairy or Santa Claus exist, but that amazing first touch, dance and kiss was and did, none the less.
During this leeward part when the storm dropped,
my heart pressed against your heart, time stopped...
flew the sparks before the dark.
We left our marks, but in the end,
a pin drop and a bag full of question marks.
Because our lives, our hearts and our experience are so tightly rolled up into an abyss,
life has taught us we hit far, far less than we miss.
You never truly define what you think about me or how you feel.
And looking back, perhaps not me to thee.
I do know it was quality time,
was real time spent,
you were present...
I am still driven by your scent.
I only hope, for now, you smile a lot,
the time we spent is not forgot,
and all that was captured between us, remains caught.
For me, it was all that comes attached to 10,000 freckles, 4 softly-scented curves, two emerald-gemed soulcatchers, one spontaneous smile and a sunrise…
For me, that's a lot.

By R. Craig David-Copyright 2017

Whining dog...we just went outside.
Wading through internet DATs and cogs and bandwidth hogs, outside still raining cats and dogs.
double-click trawling pics and blogs searching for remedies and laws that inhibit logs to saw.
Wide-eyed, face down I sprawl still awake, redefining  my character flaws,
fearing my falling into the trappings of urban sprawl or
investing your mind then hitting the wall.
Lose or draw,
a new artistic affair or creative outlet dares you daily to fall.
"Late" is now "Early"
Dawn's illuminating looming, night to be soon consumed.
Insomnia vacuums,
drama typhoons,
crooning tunes....
It'll be June soon.
Feeling marooned waiting for the opportune...well, I'm still waiting,
Whining dog...we just went outside...Fine!
Rain drains backlogged in the AM black...****** dog. Decide! He takes his time.
Three nights of showers,
cowering under this street corner lighted power tower,
unrequited efforts to stay dry.
Moon still high, clouded bright behind the wetness...
Wait, what if I see "her"?
Should I dare bare my soul, take control, or say simply "Hello?" just to know?
Do I want to know "yes" or "no"?
Grandmother always said "The truth is the most powerful force you'll ever face, trace, disgrace or embrace"
I remember my last pursuance of the truth.
You remember college...
The ubiquitous responsibility of apologies for the skewed knowledge sleuth colleges preclude.
A four, no five year matterless smattering reviewing the hows, whys and whos who of Impressionist imbued hues;
the politics of subdued Katmandu coups,
Homer's muses; many a Siren sank the boats I crewed;
news crews that flew the bird flu news coop and recouped,
skewed suing over Golden Arch morning brew,
tragedies, sonnets, and nothing adieus,
spewed formulas and equations notecard ques,
standing in long line registration cues every time we change Major views,
all fueled by a boozing, smokey ballyhoo of Tullamore Dew, hopped brews, tattoos, crude food, music muses and quoted virtues.
What’s even true and what would you do if you knew, ****** logic class…
And alas, you're through! “Here’s your paper, now choose.”
The ****** inequity of iniquity dams me so I can't break free.
Such an abrupt disruption could erupt great corruption,
the self-destruction is tempting, but doesn't pay rent.
Not today, but maybe soon.
June's coming...dryer and higher noon.

R.Craig David- copyright 2008
Redux Edition April 1st, 2013
Inspired by rain, blame shame, the game and a cute girl just 3 doors down that still remains a stranger in my old college town.

From my "Bestifreadaloud" series about a girl that got away that Spring because I waited too long.

Part 1 The Past
A case made now faded of a simple place, a time, a space,
a perfect moment let pass in haste.
Clasped in clashes,
brash in passion,
rose from ashes,
desire fires every second's essence as it passes,
a ton amasses.
Fast bloom,
Blast!! Boom!!
The past relapses.
Notably lesser song notes float hopeful, emotional ends and remember whens.
Sent us spinning, then spin adrift again.
Sprung in spring, we fell,
Some are reasons to recall.
Summer's season breaks, we fall.
Flocks fly down and fallen callings fade to Winter's south.
How fate related still debated.
Re-Sprung the next Spring' rise, chance misses fate this date.
I weighed and debated and waited too late

PART 2
Still all these years alone, the "one", the "purpose" unsought.
Capturing thoughts,
The ones I caught and tossed,
Things I was taught and lost.
Proof framed and embossed for a cost.
Coping through the unabashed hopes to one day cash in on all this stashed trash I clash with.
"Smash it?" ...the thought crossed.  

Unimpressed by my evidence of self-less requests,
pursuit of self-evident truth proves a most ruthless abuse.
Even less are my skewed protests for “selfish quests" at the behest of the very strangers I sought to impress.
I digress.

The years compound, bossed around, kicked down but soundly employed,
I turn cold, blaming Freud for defining my non-violent, intolerance threshold on page 23 of some textbook I should have resold.
I go silent. Grow old.
"While your whining and shunning your shinning,
They're sinning and winning." Bad timing.

Girls come, go and follow this shallow, hollow fellow on the run.
While preyed upon...I paid a ton. I play.
The sum never more than the cost of rented fun.
Without insight but consent forthright,
my 30 years of intent were spent in a fortnight.
Still bent on shedding every pound of one first-moment's ton I lost not won.
Can't buy happy for less than the cost of your one-ness.
While prayed upon...paid a Son, they say.

part 3

Ohh the wait....
Ohh the weight...
My set-adrift-soul's mending depends solely on tossing
lost cause cost-spending into thrift.
Well it's a beginning.
All the amassed notes, quotes, boat-floaters,
and sailboat hopes spun in one 1-ton loss moment sprung that one Spring.

Now and again, it creeps in,
like slowly growing stinging nettles around a squelched,
once steaming scorched dream kettle.
Still stays packed away in my heart's darkest parts.
Blurred by time and place,
this burning, misplaced furnace space lays in wait.

Such compiled cold-case denial files from other life trials, lay piled in haste on my proverbial, "less pressing" messy desk of "not ready to face."
Too scared or daring to date, try to relate or contemplate
how to best equate this great weight.
Wait?... Wait.
Elation brewing from pursuing future fruition or ensuing
pure ruin gates these fates from moving, year-to-date.
For the sake of trying or dying forsaken,
another day awake is another day gained or taken.

I found her again,
the town's she's in
but she is taken and then
She learns of my wait, it's weight, my fate, she's shaken,
another ton amasses again. I pretend.
Lay down.
Drown the score of sounds surrounding.
Furthermore, slow the pulse-pounding abounding your core.
Fill your breath.
What is less is gone, tomorrow more.  

by R. Craig David-Copyright 2012

Bump,thump,bump,thump.... the bass cases shake and quake  
Secreting heat, my skin blushes, that rush of a new secret crush.
She passes and her scent renders all around helpless.
The DJ's plush talons tow and myre you soul's wires.  
Seeping through, the beak crushing your conscience,  
falling, sleep down, the sound grounds you.  
Sowing the seeds of desire on the stone below.  
Called by the thumping, bumping beat,  
You jump from your seat into a market of meat, a sea of shifting feet.  
10,000 lights spin like sugar bright.  
Blood fuels your feet,  
feats of flight,  
blurs of sight.  
Spinning like cotton candy with all your might.  
Body overheating, heart overbeating, grains of lust over seeding.  
Your scars begin to heal as glassy eyes not blue appeal to your "at first sight" senses.  
Senses slow there motion to primal, tingling too much,  
not too much to touch, no sting as such.  
Such a blissful kiss t'would be from she before thee.  
Snip the wire.  
Feed the desire.  
The need grows to fan passion fire.  
The potent scent of dripping skin steams up like the devotional incline of nine combined love potions.  
Love, as real love, survives as only a notion in this moving motion of lust's contrived plot...  
But to feel alive, even for a moment,  
love's emotion fails... drawing bust to the ever opulent opponent of lust;  
a proponent to disguise the potent demise of the heart's conscious component.  
Gas and smoke blows.  
Beats high and low.  
The dancing mass of suppressed woes ebbs and flows,  
capturing the seconds, snatching your essence, rapturing your ethics.  
Feeding the peak you seek, heart weak, roaring soul silenced to squeak.  
Waning away your stay with the sweating sea of swing and sway leaves you adrift.  
The waves of the DJ begin to hammer you into enamerment  
Did this quaking wake the sober state of your forsakenness?  
That complaicent stained vacant place aching to be filled.  
A painful, dizzying blood rush floods your mind and muck the feeling first struck secret love crush  
Were the judgment-blurring thoughts occurring so alluring? They fought off pure thoughts sought before she heart-stopped me.  
In light of a moment caught, wrought with knots of naughty thoughts.  
Light and sound and the thumping, bumping ground drown your bounds. 
No more, no more. 
"Now I remember" internally sounds, profound rebounds. 
Lore from before when the last passing blue-eyed leggy lass tore the door off your soul's core.  
No more, no more.  
The crush becomes dust. You become stone.  
Cut to the bone. No seed will be sewn.
You face the floor and breathe. alone.
  
 "Cameo Theater South Beach"   
R. Craig David-Copyright 1995

Unrealistically going ballistic on premature political whistle blowing of missing ballistic missiles.
Rumors round the fickle frowns trickling down around town,
WMD's never found.
Media drowns out our original intent with swayed day-to-day comments about potential evidence or contents of secret documents or undisturbed "security clearancegate".
Still secret and still unclear year-to-date....
our eroded freedoms now appurtenances as consequence.
The missing  missiles long ago hidden or moved like agendas with chess-master finesse.
Citizens chide "You lied!! Confess!"
Behooving you proves nothing in bringing relief to your beliefs,
thieving your freedoms and Commander in Chief.
Lectures on conjecture don't secure a future.
It's almost "Au Revior" american cars and mortgages, hype puts the scarred afar Stars and Stripes Bail Bonds Czars in business.
Meanwhile billions are spent to rebuild the countries invaded without consent.
The Banks are saved but don't repent.
Far enough away to keep my iniquity a bay for today.
I clearly see what is before me, but respond not to my thoughts as I was taught.
Septed in guilt,
wept in filth
kept in tilt
loss is coming,
should have flossed.
The long term costs tossed aside.
Just another day I drive away from the driveway rarely driven to lie longer or lie down somber,
striving for stronger days lost,
feels wrong though.
I still go.
Pay the tolls.
Stop and go.
Fill the daily paying role outside my dreams and goals.
Play generic background music while my soul's on hold waiting for the next available operator.
Just another day, a way to stay alive and not lie down in hunger,
paying for my blunders,
staving off my heart's quiet thunder,
my dreams and wonders.
I still get up. I still go. Bills to pay. Traffic's slow. I mute the radio.

-R. Craig David-Copyright 2007

Looking away from your eyes,

I realize the size of the rising situation.

In your eyes lie no lies

that give rise to despise or desperation.

I dare to compare anything unfair

with that glaring stare you wear.

Bright and full of wrong-less right,

their bright white glassiness contrasts the night.

Sincere fears rearing near tears

by the mere peering on clearly seen "dears" of yesteryear.

Eyes despising the realization of past situations.

Be bold and unfold your reservation.

Only good truths shall be told.

No lies spoken.

Old molds broken.

Sympathy and empathy and things causing the heart to flee.

Breathe.

One...two...three, lift your lids and see.

Hates once realized,

words you once despised,

glances once causing your very demise,

shall not be recognized in my own eyes.

If we again allow our eyes to close,

and the world around us slows,

and our instincts move us nose to nose,

we shall realize a sizable rising situation just arose.

by R. Craig David-Copyrighted 1998

Part 1
When profound things leave us because serendipity seizes control and teases our soul,

few actually see it and believe in us....it takes its toll.

Our walls grow high...

Wise to all those sly predators that shared our space but ultimately never bettered us.

Likened to a wild bunch of criminals and nuns you sometimes share fun or lunch with,
then again spin adrift.

So we stay put...only peeling away the day-to-day’s fraying gray.

Though we have heightened steeliness to infernal charms,

We sometimes ignore internal alarms,

Oft' ending up-in-arms instead of in the arms of another.

Battling each curse from crib to hearse,
We continue to play anyway, but hold our cards close..
Somehow coasting on borrowed form and verse.

Still too afraid to lead with enormity.

Still too proud to follow in conformity.

We become shells and ghosts to project “normality”.

Still hoping for more,

Still revealing our core,

Still practicing what we’d say with one more chance to settle the score.

Refusing to sink, either our genius always on the brink of changing the world and more...

Or burning down and gutting out our current hideout and surrounding small town or place of clout.

Still reeling from the lingering devastation of past lackluster unreciprocated non-appreciation knockdowns.

To keep from being corrupt,

We fold our coldest stories up,

And box them up under a "never the right 'write' " pens and pencils cup long filled up.

Smiling a little, we continue through this long season's harsh climate.

Subconsciously buying "Dried" sage because "Rubbed" still seems to intimate.

Tragically tied down by the tiny tech gadgets flooding our data stream with faster updates;

All just to dazzle and daze us into a lazy malaise on our busiest of days.

PART2
More and more we wait.

The "what-if's" we contemplate.

The more we try to create something great, then hesitate, none too late

The more this inundating system of “Likes” rates you,

The less your gated fate or guiding faith makes you "you".

The less your justification or inspiration moves you.

Yet uncompromising and alone, you continue and make it through.

No one could ever guess from your crisp pants' fresh press. I digress.

Oddly, all it likely would take is one ego caress from soft smiling muse in sandals and a summer dress.

If you could only get this distress off your chest, fall hard for a new muse, give your defenses a rest

endure the re-birthing process and all the possible hot mess...then...

Never again would you have to guess or obsess.

The sheer potential magnitude of you at your best.

An open floodgate of uncanny, uncaddy personal success.

You would never again feel idleness or unrest.

But "who" you ask, would be caring, tough & daring enough,

willing to share all that stuff through such an arduous process, off the cuff?

Who has such pure heart intent, without the fluff?

A Muse who speaks out loud for you, never a mumble...

Is strong and humble, but not rough and tumble...

Who heeds the needs of your soul's rumble...

Who pulls the "new you" close while your old limits crumble...

Is fair and daring when you're sharing how bizarrely you sometimes raise the bar...

Joins your rare ****** to close down the bars while thoughtfully considering how fragile your scars are...

Who encourages you to shoot for the stars...

Sees the truth of who you were, hope to be and the screams in-between.

And by her sheer presence, becomes all these things for that new man and him alone.

Cause of she, he will achieve and be more than he could on his own.

Whoever that girl may be and until then,

I mend a tightly woven,

slightly broken,

rarely spoken,

unawoken caged soul for one more shinny token to spend on this world alone.

By R.Craig David-Copyrighted 2012

Sometimes when unsure souls are apart, hearts go dark,
finding bitter-sweet sorrow in the depart.
Unconsciously staying far away from "them and they" who filled and smashed then cast away our jars from back then to present day.
In all despite,
in a moment of might,
You walk into my sight,
Suspending the win of "them and their" sins.
It's effortless for me to give in,
the chase begins again.
In spite, it doesn't feel like a chase,
it just feels right.

Smile so sweet,
our eyes meet,
it's like a lightning strike...head to feet.
Hits me like a glowing, white hot flash of tingling electricity,
blinding bright,
striking right down from the heavens like a craggily branch of pure flowing energy piercing my heart and soul,
then surging through every electrical current-driven nerve cell my body holds.
I magnetize to the earth, unable to move, frozen in time…
Grounded as thunder following clasps in the distance.

Staring at your sparking seducing silhouette,
then hips,
then lips,
then surmising eyes,
then smile advancing pace towards me in the street.
A rare chance for us to meet.
The same Lightning strikes twice.
I feel the tingle spiring up to my face,
the sly and subtle serendipity strike setting the pace, the time, the place.


My fears are flushed,
I feel heat blush,
I wish you to rush.
Race,
closer to touch.
The instant innocent "Crush" is much.

You enter my personal space,
Smiling a mile wide.
You close in until my place is touched and encased by your hair softly falling around your eyes and face.  
Lightning strikes thrice.
I sense my helpless demise as my heart takes the stage,
Opening night,
Act one,
Scene one,
Cue the thunder.
Will I be undone in this serendipitous theater of surprise or hearts unwon?

Dropped from the highest point,
the largest stone smashes down and holds back all that once made me feel alone.
My soul runs unto to your connection,
our necks connect.
I smell your skin's convection.
Time alignment correction.
The earth is shifted.
My eyes naturally close as I fold into you.
My natural emotion is selected as I hold on to you.
all sounds drown,
our heads tilt down in concert,
seredipty conducts,
a symphony erupts into minutes as though everything I want goes through yourself.
So subtle is the soul-to-soul magnetism adherence, a transference beyond appearance.
Anticipating thunder,
the next minute of our meeting begins.

By R. Craig David-Copyright 2017