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David Walker Poem
Simple Math
By David J Walker
100 seems to be the magic number
Numbers less than 100 are the lesser…More than 100 are the better
100 on a test …100 meters to run…100 miles per hour…100+ for fastballs…100 $$$
My father lived 26 years < 100
And his father only 11<
My mothers father,
a man I should have, but did not really know
Lived 5 years < 100…and very close to 4
if that counts for anything
I knew a man who was 102 …2 years the >
and still smoke cigarettes and drank
A shot of honey bourbon whiskey every afternoon at 3
I knew a man who died suddenly
At 48 years < , one afternoon alone
They said it was the curse of genetics and
There was nothing they could have done
I wonder how 100 holds its magic over us
A simple goal of getting old
And then you’re gone
Copyright © David Walker | Year Posted 2020
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David Walker Poem
Twenty Pints of Sunshine
David J Walker
It seemed to be the only thing
In abundance on the farm
The light and heat
The shine so bright
Long days
short nights
And work doled out in the mornings
Today we will bottle in bell jars
20 pints of sunshine
And call it canning
A summer seasons planning
Saved for the
Short days
The long nights
Of freezing winter weather
To be opened
It says
When sleet falls in December
When the woods are wet and dreary
When the farm is fallow
When sunshine can only be found
In pint-sized
Bell Jar bottles
Copyright © David Walker | Year Posted 2021
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David Walker Poem
Extinguished Names
David J Walker
The old farmhouse looks older
What else can it do
Burdened by weather
Threatened with fire
Memories have long ago escaped the
Walls painted in tears
Windows with laughter
Doors that clatter
in an afternoon wind
When we left we left
A piece of us
In scenes behind drawn curtains
Someday
Lightening will strike in an
Act of vengeance by the Devine
The long-awaited flames and
The tears we left behind
Will never be enough to
Extinguish the names
Copyright © David Walker | Year Posted 2022
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David Walker Poem
I Am A Book
By David J Walker
I am a book of Unread pages
I am a book
I am a book Written in stages in
A travel log On a road called Time
With the foreign stamps Of Passport Ministers
Checking my credentials along the way
I am a book
I am a book Of unread scripture
With the lectures on faith
In staggered chapters and the
Tattered chronicled collections of
Odd jobs We have asked of a Loving God
Written in a foreign language
I am A book
I am a book Of erotic poetry in
Pictograph albums Scrutinized and analyze
Then censored By holier than me censors
I am a book
I am a book With pages numbered
And then sealed Its secrets to be
Revealed in full on an unannounced
Judgment day with Disputes left in the hands of
A Divine Defender
I am a book
I am a book
To be colored Everyday
Where the lines do not matter
Only the hue and The view
In which you see me
I am a book
I am a book Not to be left On the dusty shelf of
A forgotten library Rarely opened in a
Distant history I am a book to be read
And even if misunderstood To be savored
I am a book
Copyright © David Walker | Year Posted 2021
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David Walker Poem
Fingers Feeling Freedom
David J Walker
No
thank you
no gloves for me
I want my fingers
to feel the free
the earthiness of
the dirt
the soil of
my blood and birth
the waters of
my mothers womb
the warmth of
my fathers sun
the morning
measure of my worth
the mixture of the
mulchiness
the frostline of
the centuries
seven cemeteries
deep
where grieving mourners
claim to weep
where sleeping foreigners
feign to sleep
my fingers
feeling
freedom
Copyright © David Walker | Year Posted 2022
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David Walker Poem
Daybreak Words Upon the Morning
David J Walker
Awaiting words
That will burst upon the day
Suffused in first light before the sun
Reveals itself
Notice the clouds clinging
To the sky
Hiding the blinding blend
Of blood red orange suffused in the
Magenta tinge
Of a distant sun
Arising
There are secrets to unravel
As the day begins
There will be sweet breads and
Ripe fruits served on
Spode Blue Italian China
There will be news to disseminate at the table
In a failed effort of Omniscience
There will be moods to moderate in mimicry
There will be appointments to remember and
Then forget in emendation
Words burst upon the morning
as if condemned and then
pardoned
again and again
overnight
Copyright © David Walker | Year Posted 2022
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David Walker Poem
Just Beyond The Gate
David J Walker
There is a road
there is a cliff
there is certain rendezvous
just beyond where
There is life
There is death
There is light lit
By excised breath
There is sleep
Lying in wait
Just beyond a
Final dawn and unknow fate where
There is the low laughter
Of a river
And pasture with green grass
Just beyond the gate
Copyright © David Walker | Year Posted 2021
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David Walker Poem
My World is Made of More than Me
David J Walker
My world is made
of more than me
And no-thing more
that’s meant to be
no-thing other
than dirt and water
mixed together
into mud
and what’s forever
into blood
and what’s for never
mimicry
no-thing more
then what’s meant to be
no-thing air
no-thing water
no-thing mother
no-thing father
no-thing-
ness
no-thing more
no-
thing-
less
no-
thing
hanging
over me
nothing
that is
unknown
to me
nothing that was never
meant to be
Copyright © David Walker | Year Posted 2022
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David Walker Poem
The Crown
David J Walker
I can sense the advent
of the harvest to come
The bees have retreated
High on the nectar of a successful hunt
Home is the hive
Alive with instinct
Survive
The colony sings in a low hum
Of favorite hymn’s sung
To the dead queen
Who can replace her
Among the close cast
The vast number of children
In line for the thrown
A King…in the Queen's domain?
I can sense the advent
Of the darkness of
Another fall
Mistaking
a bitter fruit for freedom
Copyright © David Walker | Year Posted 2022
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David Walker Poem
The Anticipation of Snow
David J Walker
No matter how old I grow
The anticipation of snow
Beckons the memories of my feet
Deep in rubber boots
We called galoshes
Stepping into a virgin white
World of crisp cold
The crunching sound of
Crushing snow to the ground
Below leaving the footprints of tread
Evidence of boys and girls
In a playground world of winter
The picture window in the front room
Framed the storm from the warmness of
Our house where falling snow is quietly accepted
Its joy is in the arrival
Its secrets in the style of survival
The bitterness excepted
And the face of each snowflake a
Fingertip printed in the icy touch of winter
No matter how much may fall
You cannot count them all
Banked by the snowplows at night
Copyright © David Walker | Year Posted 2021
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