Ski Jumping**

Leaning forward, body parallel to the skis
arms neatly by the side
hands pressed in tight; flat
down the ***** 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 *****
eyes and goggles peering down and down
ready to fly, see the sky.
Yet in a moment we can be there
down the ***** in our minds
unburdened from reality
no years of practice or skis to heft
no chance of failure.
We can fly on the ski ***** of the mind
an adventure of the imagination
synapses firing neurons glowing
and so let it be with death and life
down the ***** jumping, arms aloft
into tomorrow, into the unknown
alone, down the *****, jumping.


Malcolm F. Davidson October 11th 2013

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

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.

Chinese Firecrackers

Celebrate New Year with firecrackers|
lunch time is good
the smell of food mixing with gunpowder|
loud noises
drown out the clack of chopsticks
red paper
strewn around is all that's left
apart from the ringing in the ears


Malcolm Davidson Feb 12th 2013

Chinese New Year**

Chinese New Year is all around
red lanterns hanging from the trees
people laughing, boisterous
everyone goes home for the holidays
to share rice together
one big family
you can feel it in the air.

Malcolm Davidson Feb 1st 2013

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!

Fingers and thumbs tapping out messages
so many texts written, so many read, smiles apart
faces, eyes, feelings, never shared
music videos; lips and music separate
empty sounds, never tugging the heart strings.

Thumbs and fingers keying in distance
so much data, so little experience shared, time apart
laptops, smart phones, processing emptiness
unfeeling, sampling blandness, subtleties lost
empty words, crowding our lives.

Curves, flowing lines and spaces, passion
compressed
squashed out are the senses
sweat and smells, laughter lost.

All in the empty kingdom of bits and bytes
reigned by the gods of technology
the mantra being faster, faster
but still
all fingers and thumbs in the affairs of the heart.

As surely as we are propelled forward
into tomorrow
we hurtle
back to the dark ages
the dark castles of aloneness
Empty words, lost in the cells of our separation
all fingers and thumbs.

His mother bought the wool in skeins
with four children to clothe
knitting was so much less expensive
than buying woolens in the store
and who counted the hours spent
with the needles click clacking
plain and pearl in fancy patterns.

Every few months he would stand there
in front of his mother, hands outstretched
shoulder width apart
spindly arms and legs
holding the loop of wool
seemingly endless as he, in rhythm
with his mother, unwound the wool
onto the ball growing bigger
each length left his outstretched fingers
swaying in sync with the reeling in
at the finish, when he could go off and play
read a book, follow his early adolescent urges
running and jumping
he would imagine the ***** of wool
one for an arm, the sweater, a gift for Christmas
another for the old man’s winter woolie
his ganzy as he called it
keeping his rotund figure warm
despite the bracing wind
reaching into the bones
pulling out the last remnants of summer warmth

The son is older now
and all those jumpers are gone
cast into the past, a memory
sitting and standing
in rhythm together
creation and warmth
love and the click clack of needles.

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

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

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

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.

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.