In the wake of darkness
I could pick you out of a crowd
Just by the smell of your scent
Because it's my favorite perfume

I could pick you out of a crowd
With no doubt in my mind
Because it's my favorite perfume
You wear it all the time

With no doubt in my mind
I would wear it when you no longer do
You wear it all the time
I will not ever stop taking it in

I know you are my mother
Just by the smell of your scent
No matter where I am
Even in the wake of darkness

I'm done
The words not there
The well is dry
What to do
What to do

Do all know,
the agony of,
the parched soul,
of the time,
of never raining

Where does,
the rain abide,
released by storms,
deluges bringing,
undesired by many

Hope for rain,
dance for rain,
leaping into clouds,
ascending, grasping,
for the rain

Please Lord,
Send a gentle rain,
water for the flowers,
of the soul
Pray for rain
Pray for rain

© 2017 Jim Davis

Your words speak to me,
They let me know
There is somebody else like me.
Your words are art to my eyes.
Floating figures from an alternate reality.
Touching my thoughts.
Whispering in my dreams.

Truly gifted poets
Straddle their crafts early on
Some even in adolescence
They have been cursed or blessed
To be kings and queens of utterance.
I never dreamed of becoming a poet
It was furthest from my mind
Then in a sudden twist of eardrum
It happened in my Mid-thirties.

Out of the recesses of Time
Came the lure and a hook
Shining in enchanted brook
And before i knew it
My heart was snatched
And my movements flustered
When i bit on ambrosiac bait
Drenched in Muse's wine
Drugged and drunk
On sounds and images
I struggled in a pool of words
To assemble what held me infused
To make sense of orphaned views
Swaying between shade and light
Like dancers deprived of audience.

My poetic rapture began
In frenetic rain of ink
preposterous in direction
A poetaster rapt on vapid rhymes
With sounds of poetic crimes
But my craft developed
In piecemeal fashion
And rendered my pen composed.

A minnow of long ago
Has grown into a mackerel
And longs to become a whale
In the ocean Ars Poetica
Though it seems a pipe dream.

Everyone wants to
                      be the sun,
         to brighten up someones
                 life, but why not
           be the moon to shine
                   on someones
                   darkest hour?

                 And if you are
        to love, love like the moon
                 loves. It doesn't
            steal  the night.  It  only
                 unveils the beauty
                     of the days

                  Love me like
           the moon intended, all
              the  way  through
                   the darkness.

                 The sun loves
            the  moon  so  much,
                 he dies every
          night to let her breathe.

             Never save things
          for special occasions.
                Being alive is
        the only special occasion
                       there is.
                                                            
                                                                                            Jon York   2019