clumsy trip up the 17
steps to the paisley sheets
me behind you and
saying the same thing
with a new twist
"hey, know whats trending?"
"your sweet ***"
or
"you smell that?!"
to which you reply
"farts is trending"
no able to erupt
in the uproarious laughter
necessitated by turning
a tired line on its head
i cover my mustachioed mouth
with a sweaty palm
to cover the guffaw
that would most certainly
awake my roommates
you always in the lead
giving *** for tat
the style of humor
i searched for yearningly
and never found
that is
till you released wind
and then told me about it

Moved by the sonnets of musketeers
I was,
kept in motion with the force of a rose
And adifferent name that smelled as sweet
Set to rest by Ravens
Calmed by stories of his beautiful Anna-bell-lee
She
Comforted me with tales of Caged Birds
and the songs filled with dreams they yearningly  sing
I was taught to love patiently
And that although love hurts it does not envy
I was freed by teachers with words of wisdom
Taught to not look at words but the lessons within them
I heard the tell tale heart and was immediately cautioned
Meeting my own guilty concience
Felt just a bit nautious
I walked a road less traveled
And met phenomonal women like Mrs. angelou
Im ever dream within a dream i walked
I found a dream deferred then born anew
And at the end of my bountiful journey
Somewhere where the diverged road bends
I hope to be touched again by an angel
Layed to rest in a place where the sidewalk ends

Days folding neatly into weeks that eventually coalesce to months...

Did you miss me?
Did you think of me, seeing the gaping space between us, stretching ever tediously by miles of land and sea between us?
Did you miss the lack of it, where only the mere fabric of our clothes kept our warmth apart from one another?
Does it bother you, not being able to reach out and touch my warmth, being left with grasping yearningly onto thin air when overcome by nostalgia?
Do you take reverie trips when having my garments in your hands, smell my familiar scent to let loose the waves of emotions drown you?
Do you feel the emptiness around you haunt you menacingly and the cold of isolation, despite the warm sunrays bathing your room and kissing your skin?
Do you feel exasperated when hearing me but unable to touch me, feel me and just have me entirely?

I know you do, as do I.

The unpredictability of today and even more so of tomorrow makes the anxious more desperate for reunion, the many torn between inability to come together rave for some sliver of silver lining to get caught even accidentally by their convoluted fate.

Don’t worry, darling. The wait will be over. Soon. Until then, remember me and remember me often as I remember you so fiercely so I can come to you in your dreams, if not in reality, yet.

The Moonlit Aethers bleed Titanium Rays
As mine Forlorn Eyes
Saunter thine Porcelain Skin:

Platinum Matriarch upon Swarthy Expanse reigns
Azure Luminaries cascade
Upon The Forested Glades of my Airy Soulwaves.
Ensorcelled is that Sylvan Shrine,
The Reliquary of the Starry Wish.

(O, that
           Loveless Blight
                                  might cease)

I Besought the Firmaments
From Dusk to Dawn
Lamenting in Dirge
Of the
Revenant Skies;
Eons transcended yet no hand to hold
The Benediction of Romance
An Ephemeral Throne.

The Pandemonium corporealizes
Wraiths in my mind;
(Perdition is Thew
      The
         Poltergeist's Might)
Ivory Visage of the Impearled
Hallows my Spirit
Quells the Abyss.

The Thew of Deities
Purged from my veins
Quaking my quintessence,
I fathomed
I was naught.
A mere figment,
An existential vagary:

~BUT NOW I SEE
We are
All
But a
Dream
Clinging yearningly
to the
Promise of Hope
(The Covenant of Ensouled Dust)
Groping for Eternity, Memory, and the Lightwaves
To be
Vested in our pulse;

For Corporeality;
Ascendency
To the Chrysalis of The Astral,
The Cradle of Cosmogenesis:
Our Cosmos,
Our  Zephyr,
Our Magma,
Our Torrent,
Our Tremor,
Our Thunderclap,
Our Time,
Our Space,
Our Nexus to Efflorescence,
Our Incorporeal Sublimity~

I shall surrender to
Providence of the Supernal
His Empyrean Wings
(An Impregnable Aegis)
A Strewn Vestige once was I
But the Somnolent Beloved was roused
Whence I glimpsed into thine eyes.

The Vagrant Loveless is resurrected
Reawakened as a Doughty Knight
Warring against sequestration
(Until by Nirvana)
Abeyance devours this blight.

~Dream
       You starry-eyed wayfarers,
                Surrender sovereignty to credence
             When Star-crossed
                   Conspire against the Fates
                          For when Elysium
                                    Is your Beloved
                       The Ancient of Yore
                                Shall lead you nebulous streams
                              To the Holy Oracle
                                      Prophesying the fulfillment
                                               Of your Intemerate Hope

                                (For Love, myriads doven the skies)
                                      
                   ­               Please Believe,
                                                    Just,
                                                  Believe in me.~

Night
THE MOON brings peace......
THE STARS bring dreams.....
THE DARK SKY sleep....
So rest my heart deep

THE MOON arise again
Peace keeper of  Days end,
It lights the silence bright
It beams till dawns first light-
So rest my heart but tight

THE STARS twinkle silent
Keepers of sweet dreams,
When day has reached its end
In a soul yearningly seems-
So rest my heart to keep

THE DARK SKY welcomes me
To let go of my strife,
To close my eyes tight
To all sweet sleeps delight-
So surrender rest to night

So rest my heart deep
Within a promise to be
All i have achieved
Are all my thoughts to reap
New hope laden with strength

Night.....
Once more again
---------×--------

N'er will I forget the day
you said that you were leaving.
Now that you are really gone,
it's always you I'm seeing.

In the morning sunrise
its you in radiance beaming;
In every ruby rose
your pure deep love is blooming;

In every happy smile
your pretty face there grinning;
In the songs of every bird
you set my heart to singing;

In every thoughtful act
your caring touch receiving.
And when its time to say good night
It's your kiss I'm missing.

In these I see you every day
and know its you I missing,
and yearningly await the day
of my heart's love returning.

©2013 Michael S. Davis

My heart races as you pass
but do you notice me?
I look at you, so yearningly
but you notice me?
I change my: hair, clothes, makeup
but do you notice me?
But do you know I notice you.

Do you miss me...
I miss you more than the oceans would miss the moon.
I remember you,but more than memories,more than thoughts,
more than feelings,
I miss you with my spirit,
from everlasting to everlasting.
Your soft mother like eyes,your voice that soothed every heartache,
your soft thin skinned hands that were more gentle than a deer with its new born baby doe.
Through my child's heart I was overwhelmed with your beautiful,
treasure filled acceptance of me.
Who I was and who I was going to be...simply me.
You helped me feel true loving kindness,laughter, and awe
of the world and it's earth filled goodness.
You were my favorite book that came to life
and your story showed me how to treat and respect mankind with
an open hand of giving.
Please miss me even though you are covered in glory,
wait for me as I yearningly wait for you.
I love you...always have,always will.

There is a boy who has grown into a man. A boy whose a boy and has room to grow.
He's hurting. He stands up around the lunchroom to throw away what he made himself eat, hearing voices everywhere knowing none will remember him. Only but a small few will know his legacy and maybe they'll tell tales about him.
   The boy looks at his friends yearningly, knowing that only a couple truly accepts him. Truly…loves him. The boy looks at his arms, covered in scars they reflect the war going on in his mind. A war of voices, screaming. Insane. Deranged. The boy wants to cry, wants to embrace his friends. He wants to be accepted and told it'll be okay.
   Will it be okay? Will he come back from the war? He shakes, both his head and body. Craving what destroys him, he sits back. Will it be okay? Will it be okay? It'll be okay. It'll be okay.

Lifelong religious obsessions
But religion not for me

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
In Seattle 2 did 3

Springsteen in Louisville
Dylan in DC

I walk alone in solitude
My children yearningly

             Cedar tree

There was a moment today when i wish the world would stop
I was laying in the grass, sun bright, sky without a cloud
The new green leaves cast speckled shadows on the warm earth
I was laying there. Listening. Closing my mouth and Observing.
And for a minute.. I wanted to stay there. Without time speeding by
Without the stress of school or sports, or family or friends.
Just me and the sun. Chillin' hanging out with the sky and my dog
My hand settled on my golden retriever, sprawled out next to me
Her chest rising and falling with her long, relaxed breaths
I could hear each one. I could feel each breath. Up and down.
I wanted to stay with her for the whole day, just us.
But other emotions pulled me away from her, away from the day
Stress, responsibilities, hunger, all of them urged me to leave
leave her standing by the door like always, a look of abandonment
She slowly wagged her tail yearningly, a pleading look in her eyes
And although my heart beat for her, I closed the door.
I closed her out.

Framed.
By a halo
Of tumbling black hair
Restlessly, yearningly, dreaming
My idea was growing

Blooming.
Each event spoke
With a cryptic tongue
My father first came fully
Into the orbit of my concern

Lawgiver.
Always some how
Alien and remote
My deep hate of him
How can I hit back at him

Anticipating.
Calculated words that spawn
Invisible demons
Had to pause and think
Of what was happening to me

Teasing.
It made me angry
His absence
Thought of him
With a deep biological bitterness

Chance.
Stomach churn
Consuming curiosity
More than I could remember
Insisted she sit still

Listen.
She was dumbfounded
Never meant anything
To me emotionally
A paternal right
Was the only right

talks to me softly,
with love soaked words,
misses me tenderly
loves me yearningly*
yet,
leaves me,
high
and
dry
.

A wave of a hand
a wand
a wink
             a nod   or  blink
a winged kiss...

You wriggling your nose
spurns me to rub your lamp

I dream of you
as I often can,
           magically and yearningly
I divine your eyes…

What curse or bliss
(Too much of this)
to be abused by your smile
from the muse of your wiles,
all the while
Truly
in our Utopian isolation
no other image of what must
or emulation of their love or
such none-such nonplussed

"you'll die, oh you just must"
dumb struck crush

while we paint ourselves tender
in writhing naked laughter
our own canvas
signed by us...
and only just
ourselves to Van Gogh
"Water Lillies"  and  
"Starry Nights"
       in your blush...
there I can see the future
of your worth
a masterpiece of our colorful theatre
inspiration's lovely birth

in the museums of my lungs
in my life
the art we shape with time
with touch...
what curse or bliss
this wish
come true

a wave of a hand
a wand
                        Our winged kiss…

The vicious lava gushed like fire as it spewed from a mountain’s vent
When the fury mollified, carved on you was god’s word we call the covenant

Sierra you were at times, a rock, pebble or a boulder
Lofty palaces with all their pride perched atop your shoulder

Cultures shared their thoughts with you and profound markings did you bear
Reposing their trust and narrating to progeny the glorious days that were once there

A lost soul wandering fearfully in the lands with no one by his side
Yearningly he looked up to you and wisely did you guide

You instill courage even in the puniest beings, for as the fable goes
When faced with the mighty Goliath, pebbles were all that David chose

People happily etched you when life was conceived by a womb
Also, when they departed you solemnly marked their tomb

They cut you, polished your contours to take pride in their arrows and spear
Used you mercilessly on the battle field but finally they also lost their dear

Exquisite carvings you did give to them to adorn their courts, parapet and ledge
The sculptor humbly said that you were always there and that he simply chipped the edge

But spiritually you were mocked as lifeless and this is for all to see
It is only when God graced your idol did mankind bow to thee

Through the ages you stood with contempt on the royal yard sniding at the aisle
In the end, your conceit lay scattered in dust as sands of time cut your profile

For it is early that one must realize and for one’s sins atone
As time and tide are known to have callous hearts of stone

I walk through the years
Looking yearningly
At the reflections
In windows I pass.

Even as an old curmudgeon, aye pucker
and raspily suction, albeit toothless mouth
drawing reminiscent guffaws affecting
(think feeble attempt
impersonating plumber plunging -
unclogging backed up toilet),
flushed with satisfaction,
now snakes into following non sequitur,
whereby then upperclassman,
whose name Scott Lambert

I suddenly remembered
modest fellow one year my senior  
- donned tee shirt
“please support your local ******”
yes folks back in the day,
one long haired pencil neck geek
palled around with another
hirsute nerd - Roger Kummerer,
(who both of us graduated Methacton
High School class of 1977),

and yours truly readily
admitting, alluding, and attesting
without shadow of doubt
representing the dumber
than rocks of said rolling stones
foo fighting beastie boys
allied with Smokey and the bandits,
the latter donning outsize
particolored grey pachyderm trunks,
Tuscaloosa so far away;

especially as Mummer doth strut
on unseasonably warm New Year's Day
sporting polar bear look-alike
gabardine garb getup trumpeting,
merrily squeezing Charmin
rubbing her/his tuchus
excellently exhibiting posterior
as chief motormouth sound
of combo motorboat hummer.

Mein kampf elapsed distressfully
even now scores of decades later
ah..., the joys of amazingly aging gracefully
recalling happily never
being beat into pulp daily courtesy
imagine dragons saving me hide  
'though dimming sense and sensibility
before (appearing gratefully dead)
lifeless body dumped into gully,
nevertheless all the while fully
maintaining consciousness, and forcefully
summoning forth latent powers gleefully
choking living daylights masterfully

delivering just desserts upon Tom Viglione,
whose plaintive laments truthfully
resonate as blessed music
to ears unaccustomed hearing pitifully
sounding long overdue comeuppance
forever disbelieving wrongfully
perpetrated intimidating injustice
witnessed courtesy mine doppelgänger,
who wanted to strangle  
the m*r f*rs yearningly
fueling an ordinarily meek lad
only in his dreams, he envisions zestfully.

Pugnacious thuggish hooligans... although
decades long since elapsed,
whereby muscle bound hoodlums
jockeyed to rain
one after another verbal Hawaiian punch,
and bandied fist viz physical blow
threatening introverted diminutive boy
who, no surprise did eventually,
albeit (shamefacedly, sneakingly,
and stuntedly) didst grow

(as an aside resembled anorexic
Kris Kringle **... **... **...),
which long sleeved Santa suit
rendered invisible liver spots;      
said epidermal splotches black and indigo
wracked (in my pinion), impacted, and affected...,
this punster, he haint Joe
King, but upholds true value
nudging anonymous reader to chuckle
thru contrived written words y'know

good humor less or mo'
yours truly aspires toward po'
whit tree linkedin with infusing,
feebly, lamely, and quirkily
(no matter recognizing ex post facto)
impossible mission reporting punks to principal,
hence describing, envisioning, forsaking passivity
as defensive modus operandi status quo
finally freeing mine unsung
inner foreigner juke box hero.

The missus asked me
(hitherto known as her bozo)
just mere moments ago
to craft humorous poem to glow
nsync with the shiny nose of Rudolph
keeping syncopated metrical flow
thus methought to crow
about being equally as foolish
streaking naked outside at five below
so without further here I go
rattling off gibberish as common Joe
King cole, a merry old soul...
dirt poor, hence without any dough
to embellish endeavor as literary pro,
who also sought to catch eye of Mister Perdue
(yea him of agribusiness fame)
to sacrifice self for New Year's barbecue.

Yours truly repurposed courtesy rigged
easy to assemble cannibalistic spit
with large fig leaf covering puny naughty bit
meekly (née willingly) surrendered
matter of fact, I paid with bitcoin chit
recognized latest currency
ever since legal tender easily susceptible
and oftimes confused as counterfeit
money forged, smelted, and hammered
linkedin with pendulum that swung within pit.

Thus analogous to
Five Chinese brothers immune
yours truly constituted
more'n one secret boon
such fiery flames (hot enough
to melt like molten rock)
could harm not a hair
of one **** sapien baboon
matter fact simian in question
could become swell

think hot air balloon
allowing, enabling and
providing me quick escape
national anthem playing
as most popular tune,
a capella, I simultaneous croon
as hot embers snap, pop, and crackle
token human crisply cooking
taking place at high noon
despite the most ferocious typhoon,
no worry, I defy being drowned

survival skills inherited
sophisticated quirky protozoa
symbiotic eukaryotes
since time immemorial
livingsocial within tight quarters
with not mushroom
to maneuver - oh... hold on,
cuz I will be done lame
reasonable rhyme really soon
ah... just about done
getting cooked the color maroon.

As will be accurately surmised, yours truly trends toward being atypical, basically comical dude, ethically fantastical, generally hemispherically intact, jokingly kooky, linguistically minded, nonestablishmentarian, opportunistic, poetic, quintessentially righteous, sartorially tacky, unpretentiously voluble, wittily xyst, yearningly zestful.

A written account (that incorporates some self directed hyperbole) of this veritable stranger now appears before your screen. Soon after reading this message, the neighbors might discern a blood curdling series of (hyena-like) shrieking screams. No worry. That would just be the mating call of the hairy Harris mama bear.

Ready! Set! Click!

A scary reflection greets me whenever I summon up enough steely courage to take a sneak peek into the mirror. Before the spider lines start to appear across the shiny surface and subsequent cracks and fissures dissolve the glassy surface these deux hazel colored, myopic bespectacled eyes quickly absorb a most frightful countenance and visage.

That near legendary and trademark feature of longish, wavy and brown straggly hair seems to fill the entire view. Hidden among that avant garde rhapsodic bohemian, Cro-Magnon, Neolithic, non-every-man style of un-styled locks (interspersed with silver follicles indicative of acquired worry per fighting off that garden variety prehistoric creature) can be discerned a brutish, nasty and short proto-human with a high forehead, which allows, enables and provides more skin surface to bang against the wall when frustrated.

My somewhat outsize ears and longish neck (I swear exist, which contrary to popular myth never seen by living persons) support this egg shaped (fried or scrambled some might argue) head.

A mostly flat and hairless chest attests to a regular regimen of light (self-concocted) chest-pounding routine. Exercise (as well as meditation) a vital part of my daily program to deal with the ordinary stresses of primitive existence. Coffee happens to be the sole vice, which exotic brews provide that helpful jump-start. I sometimes even chump on the cup to keep these teeth sharp.

Now to that locale known as the ****. Although the unseen forces of biology and genetics dealt me an itsy bitsy, tiny ***** (which serves as the but for fellow Apes to taunt and tease) such anatomical feature offers little value as the worthiness of ****** prowess. This palm pilot sized gluteus Maximus offers one benefit.

Ease to squeeze into tight spaces without getting stuck. This tiny ***** accompanied by a vestigial and teeny-weensy ****** schnitzel of a phallus, which undersized **** a doodle do bulges into an erectile state within shooting distance of that coveted warm, wet and wooly private world property of each and every woman.

A pair of skinny (flamingo like) legs (covered in a adequate hair) now completes this general character sketch.

Does this suffice? After attempting to envision some vague essential apparition or near facsimile of what barely passes muster as a Caucasian male, I wonder if you happen to be less or more favorably disposed toward some healthy interaction of body, mind and spirit.

If not yourself, I wonder if you know if any local cave woman close to unit B44? Maybe great ape as yourself to make grunting noises with me?

Now if you would politely excuse me, I MUST scavenge for some berries, exotic tree bark or that stray small and wild game.

Contact me via banging rocks together asap.

I haven't stopped yet
Obsessionville
I take the Southern Star

Solitude is yearningly
I wonder where you are?

So much mind mortality
So many seed postcards

She's a gardener
I'm raindrops
We wait in your frontyard

                   Hey **
               See the Bard!

Winged Kiss


A wave of a hand
a wand
a wink
             a nod   or  blink

a winged kiss...

You wriggling your nose
spurns me to rub your lamp

I dream of you
as I often can,
           magically and yearningly
I divine your eyes…

What curse or bliss
(Too much of this)
to be abused by your smile
from the muse of your wiles,
all the while
Truly
in our Utopian isolation
no other image of what must
or emulation of their love or
such none-such nonplussed

"you'll die, oh you just must"
dumb struck crush

while we paint ourselves tender
in writhing naked laughter
our own canvas
signed by us...

and only just
ourselves to Van Gogh
"Water Lillies"  and  
"Starry Nights"
       in your blush...

there I can see the future
of your worth
a masterpiece of our colorful theatre
inspiration's lovely birth

in the museums of my lungs
in my life
the art we shape with time
with touch...

what curse or bliss
this wish
come true

a wave of a hand
a wand

                        Our winged kiss.