Tomorrow's morning light
will it be as bright,
will it clear the dark of night,
or will there be shades in sun
a very cloudy turn
maybe calling the rains.

simple shade can go such a long way
but also much too far sometimes.
my bones are brittle without sun.
will you take a walk with me?;
to obelisks?
they won't run.

i bought you a shady spot right here.
last year was not as overgrown
as this time's ever-changing clear
view of a body of water that absents
the sky from our view,
like a curtain rod suspiciously placed
to cover things intentionally displayed.

did you bring a machete?; oh, the
shade is much too much now
for my brittle bones to take
any longer and i always thought to myself,
how lucky are we to have a place of our own
but it's never enough for beings like us
to leave a place like this alone.

i wish we could **** up the water
with our tongues and watch as the roots
and tendrils soak back in
to the sponge cake layer;
the mind takes it as an innocent prayer
until the thoughts of after are sneaking
and showing the tickles of veins
spreading evenly over our bodies
like the stains on my bedroom carpet.

it is my wish not to destroy this life
that barricades my growth and hinders
so much more about me.
no, it is my wish to migrate it all inside
my ribs like a house and
despite all the splinters i know i will contract,
allow it to permeate my flesh;
a freshly signed pact.

where there is much light
there is much shade
else....there would be
no comfort
to give
.....
..

cynthia jean poems 2.24.2017

His horseshoe on the tree near
had slipped a nail again
Turning upside down
Spilling the little luck within

He thought about fixing it
But didn't want to rise in might
To get the ladder and hammer
And nail, to set things right

He had quit riding, late last year
Although he could, he had been
Stepped on across the back,
Hurt a little, and didn't want it again

Now, he would sit and rest
Wait patient, for the days to fade
Loving the moment of thought
Resting on the bench, in shade

©  2017 Jim Davis

Clouds don't lie.  They tell the truth
wherever they may go.
Their shadows give relief
to creatures down below.

They change their forms and colors
the chameleons of the air.
Majestically, they soar above
to play with angels there.

They weep to nourish growing crops
and bring the snow and hail.
A crown of lightning lights their heads
before the coming gale.

Clouds can ride the jet stream
like a wrangler on his steed,
Then float serenely on the breeze
and other cloudlings breed.

They soak up sunset, changing hue,
vermilion, saffron, gold...
Then soar to higher atmospheres
to frolic in the cold.

Free to roam the open sky,
they mock the earth-bound horde
And blithely glide upon the wind,
no passengers aboard.

Oh, how I'd like to take a ride
upon a breaking dawn.
But clouds don't lie, and so deny,
a chance of getting on.

Unpretentious are the clouds.  
They care not for our awe.
They graze upon their crystals
and are quite above the law.

The mysteries the clouds have kept
since Mother Earth began...
Are kept behind the truth they tell,
as part of heaven's plan.