Tell your secret to the nourished grass,
And your secret will be swept away by the wind.
Tell your secret to your bed-frame of rusting brass,
And let the polish cover up the secret, hidden.
Tell your secret to the flame of candlelight,
And the flame will die down before telling.
Tell your secret to the moonlit night,
And dawn will come before night can begin singing.
Tell your secret to an autumn flower,
And let it be crippled by the winter frost.
Tell your secret to the running water in your shower,
And let it spill down the drain with your secret, lost.
Tell your secret to the purest snow,
And by spring,  your secret will melt away into the well.
Tell your secret and let the  fireflies know,
And your secret can’t be retold; there is no one else to tell.

an unspoken word
for every hole
drilled in the core
of held beliefs

red-hot mantle
cools by degree
losing its fluidity
silver surface thin

molten river beneath
restless currents
roil and boil
mixing strata

we become
bitter metal
iron hardening
under pressure

I have a sweet home, where I softly live
Thankful, with the big loves, all who still live
Loves not lost to time or failed in trust
Expected to last forever, they must

I have an idea, in some long ponder
To live on, just a bit, in time longer
Impossible! you say quickly to me
Well, let me explain, how it's so easy

I have a long hallway, in view, without art
At my home, where I lay my feeble heart
Blank walls there now, with absolute nothing
I'm really considering, for something

Hanging a few, framed and held in clear glass,
Poems mine, arisen from clear blue, mind gas
How long will they stay hung on a line
To seep into loved, a little light shine

At least possible, I hope, till I die
Then, I hope, at least my words left, will fly
Alighting in those, I had so so loved
Who read them in quiet, then sense a heart moved

Words that were thought finely written, by line
Thoughts that were in time, almost all of mine
Carrying tunes to not forget, ringing
Within their minds, forever lingering

Also to show to all their gifted,  young kind
Phrases from a deep in thought, poetic mind
And then, I may live a bit in longer
In many houses, with loves held stronger

Thoughts, in their still time, in quiet reflection
Happy thoughts, to drown those of depression
Holding a part of me, not gone rotten
And be a little more, unforgotten.

©  2017 Jim Davis

Pony Tails belong on Ponies,
And yet she still insists,
To have one on her head
Swept back in utility bliss.

From there she can study
And run her errands
Paint paper, not her hair
And hide away split ends

In truth it is beautiful,
Even if it is just function,
For finding ways to live a dream,
Really takes some gumption.

There’s a bright white light
crack in the dull gray clouds
today.

The collection of cars
that cruise by
are louder then
the winding wind
that whooshes through
the empty trees.

No leaves
that I can see
on those wild dancing trees
but the buds on their limbs
are already starting to bloom.

Now these day clouds
hang heavy
ready
to release
their dark gray
rain loads.

I wait for the water,
but I shouldn’t have bothered.
The clouds merely tease
but never release
a single drop for me.