Windows were once green
bricks fabulous red
upon the wall daylight
glowed like newlywed!

So lovely did it stand
the toy house in the moon
did it ever happen
didn't it end too soon?

Words were fewer then
wild thoughts ran galore
of mysteries now boxed up
behind tightly shut door!

Who stole the girl cutest
was it time or a man
that left her robed whitest
spinning the widow's yarn!

What really it yields
the house that once was red
with love and bricks was built
then broke and never remade!

On going back to the childhood house, Dec 6, 2017, 1 pm

I ask the price before buying.

There's a price tag for everything
upon the breakeven a levied charge
for life has not one bit
bought sans the urge to profit
taken home void of bargain
friend, lover, companion
at a price not to be alone
without a fallout of gain or pain
of sweet or bitter taste
lifelong joy or sooner regret.

Do I have a price?

As for my own
I feel always underpaid..

the woman I took to the bed
the child I raised
friends and companions
seem all miserly in paying the dues..

maybe they rue too
I haven't paid theirs.

Four years of pleasurable reading
and writing here on HP.
Cyber friendships offered and cherished.
Life beckons and I heed the call.
Time to move on, new adventures
and pursuits await.

To all of the gifted and wonderful
writers I have come to call friends,
thank you for your poems and the memories.
Cyber hugs of affection and appreciation to all.

No noticeable illness, no hurt feelings,
Just too little time for other things that
need doing. I may not respond but I
will look in from time to time.
All you poets, keep your flames of
self expression alive and burning

Pay your obeisance to the Lord,
you'll be paid back with prosperity.

The priest towers above the throngs of devotees.

Within the Lord's precinct is a rush for repentance
the arrogant bows down here
the wealthy falls on the ground
the poor renews plea.

The priest preys on their prayer
the Lord's coffer is full.

In that heavenly scene,
all sins are forgotten.

Clatter clutter on the pave, feet on the run
furrowed brows faces grave, life is no fun
home to work work to home, time is so mean
to and fro on the track, heads in a spin.

Red for the pedestrian, green for the car
quicker may save the day, sights are a blur
conspires the digit light, ticks ever slow
holds up adds to fright, the cruel red glow.

Just on the other side, a few blocks more
you are late again, ears hear the roar
had they only known, the hurdles on the way
the daily mad struggle, to save the day's pay.

The road is clear now, on a quick glance
here's the time to move, grab the prized chance
clatter clutter on the pave, feet on the run
blood spreads on the tar, redder in the sun.

Sky I  see, in blue, in sky, in white, in cloud
Bits of grey, scattered within, also in there
Scattered thoughts, perhaps soft pattering rain
Sounds unexpected, echo in my ears

Buzzards drift, uplifting, to warm east winds
Dragons as flies, butter as flies too
Peacock in azurite, fanned out to full
Littles aflutter, in all branches near

Winds catch soft breeze, just right, a good cool feel
Deer strolling into verdant far land
Crows with caw of a disturbed picnic lunch
Minnows dappling pond's water,  glass clear

This is sacred sight, which when I turn old
All blind, I expect, I will too soon miss
Unable to gaze, upon peace
with my squinting pair, of sky hazed blue eyes

©  2017 Jim Davis

For my father, whose eyes were beautifully blue!

The humankind was never kind to them.

From their peaceful Pliocene graves
they were dug out, doggedly read,
their skulls and bones laid bare
gorged upon every finest details
all the apparent lunacy
directed to determine a link
always close yet too far.

Roaming that placid basin
they could not dream
to be a mystery past two million years
crazily pursued to be cracked open.

They have been branded Nutcracker Man.

These Holocene men are truly nuts.

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