Golf loving Paddy from sunny Glambole
was truly a gentle fun-loving soul
but he was a big bloke,
he took a well-aimed stroke
Sara the caddy yelled "wrong hole, wrong hole”
I recall it clearly. It was at August’s end,
and I was at the end of sweet sixteen.
Something would transpire soon that would transcend
the beauty of my summering and a world of green.
A dark-eyed stranger casually stepped into the scene.
Summer’s heat still lingered in the air
when I noticed his snatched glimpses aimed at me.
Those glimpses soon turned into a stare
in three days’ time when alone with him I’d be,
gazing back into exquisitely expressive eyes of ebony.
Like autumn leaves changing to warmer hues,
I was changing too - falling . . . falling . . .
never knowing decades later, he would be my muse
even though I’d lost him – that young man so enthralling,
Here I am; even now, his sweet soul I’m recalling.
He was my Blue Aster, my Morning Glory;
my early, alluring autumn romance;
my best and my brightest love story -
that boy that had me in a trance from my first glance
when I knew without a doubt I had to take a chance.
For a wondrous while, in his eye I was a gleam.
But September ended. Oh, melancholy ache!
To know that I was living but a dream
and that to cold reality I would awake,
yet September’s reverie I’ll not forsake.
They shared too hot lips in Jaguar.
Jim Joe, out of fuel, going far.
He aimed for home run
But out came the sun.
Yelled cop, “Get a room! Get out car.”
There once was a team overseas
Who fielded with power and ease
At Flak Kaserne they played
And a loss they did evade
With a season that aimed to appease
The Finance squad stood fifteen and oh
With one final ball game to go
They expected a win
Until fate settled in
And sullied his confident glow
A liner came sailing towards me
To left center where hesitance be
One pause in the chase
Let the ball slip past my face
And under my glove, I set the ball free
The bases were cleared in the ninth
And victory vanished from sight
Though fifteen-and-one
Was still proudly won
That play being relived in my mind
Jake you were an alley cat,
Beautiful and tabby as you strutted by,
Your fur so velvety soft to the touch,
But you didn't like that petting, well not to much,
Things always on your terms, the poor butterflies were your favorite prey,
As you hid amongst the tall green ferns, your tail would twitch going to and fro,
Then you would leap fast and high like a well aimed arrow,
But your gone now and I miss your grace,
And seeing your golden eyes shining in your tabby face.
the hurl
high twirl
a bull
force full
a pic
got sick
missed car
to spar
in state
aimed straight
the hurl
high twirl
lot views
on news
a bull
forceful
a scene
quite keen
granddad
hurt bad
still good
withstood
Why oh why - what be it may?
What impelled you? Dawn broke
Does it imply internal of success
Did you indeed climb enjoying the joke
It's a lullaby!!? Who did it impress?
I still wish that I may and or I might
Have the stars in the skies to wish upon
And the tune, of the lullaby soothe the night
Beauteous Be this golden of opportunities
I sat on a wall - I built with exclaim
Stand tall too but with doom on fossil my rock
And too! My cold front, shed no tears with blame
What satisfaction can you get with intent
I see - visually the perception clear
Dysfunction - disorientation! Got a clue?
What's happening to me ? The mind might went ,I fear
In my soul! Blessed inspired by God
Me little ole me myself cleansing internally
Healing within - where to begin
Keeping my stars in the heavens with me , actually
I see - too those horrific stones aimed
Hurt? Built my wall on my rock not yet to fall
I walk in my age that fossil be it be may
It's no lullaby! Really! With theory of
Repetition, its now a new call.
He spoke of angels and demons,
Obsessed with supernatural beings and terrors.
In hopes to discover their wings and horns,
To know why angels have light,
and demons embody the dark.
Blinded by the urge to claim an angel's glorious heart,
He neglected the living and breathing,
And yearned for the warriors of heaven & protectors of hell.
I bared my divine soul—take it all, I told him.
His eyes crinkled in disgust.
My soul looked damaged, not fit for an angel,
And too clean for a demon.
He claimed I was neither,
He aimed for the soul of either.
My back, bruised from the weight of broken wings, ached.
My scalp, still sore from silver strands torn away, burned.
My eyes, now black and blue, leaked of tears—
They used to be gold.
The stranger dismissed me,
Off to enchant an angel, to steal their soul.
Why search for it, when I offer you mine for free?
he is a nightmare that i'm forced to live
even in my dreams
when he stands beside my 'friends'
and they laugh at his joke
that are aimed like a cannonball at me
i tell my heart that i'm brave
but even then he swings back my knife back at me
now there's nothing i can do
even if i stand up against his injustice
either way victory is reserved for him
I lingered by the seaside on a cold and frosty morning,
The dark clouds overhead were billowing out a warning
Feeling them calling to me in a manner of some gloom.
That I would be better off watching them from my room.
I aimed to linger longer so took no notice of the clouds.
An imposing storm would surely keep away the crowds.
I gleefully watched the tiny sand crabs scurry to and fro,
Sensing the storm coming, weren’t sure which way to go.
I casually lingered up the stairs that led to the main street,
There I spied the ice-cream shop, decided to have a treat.
Flavour would me a momentous decision. It took a while.
Now which, Banana Rama or Choc Cherry made me smile.
Enjoying my cone, I lingered on, watching folk all scatter.
Rain by now was pouring down, to me it didn’t matter.
Many were in the little café, no doubt they took refuge.
Looking over to the sea, the waves now were really huge.
Thunder crashed and lightning flashed, the rain fell down.
I lingered slowly under awnings to the other side of town.
Watched cars slowing down and splash in a puddle or two.
I lingered further, might as well I had nothing better to do.
A Dark Image
Kevin Davis 2024
From out of nowhere, I saw an image,
It was standing as still as a statue,
From where I stood, it could be a mirage,
But then it slowly moved with virtue.
My stomach ached, and I was suddenly scared,
My friends and I were playing kick the can,
And I had been hiding in an abandoned yard,
My legs began to cramp. Oh, I should have ran.
As the vision moved closer and closer to me,
I saw a black cape and a large floppy black hat,
Expecting a gun or a knife aimed at me to see,
All I saw was a smiling face and a bright light.
Instead of a goblin or a ghost as I imagined,
The figure was familiar, as it called out my name.
“Kevin, it’s time you came in and get ready for bed.”
Dad, in his work coat and hat, scared me just the same
The Fast Frigate Regatta on the Patuxent River" The Novel Idea"
is spoken to inspire the formation of a Organization to do so.
From idea to commandment the Work-to-do into a Work-in-process
could create a new sporting event
that could bring travelers and revenue to our area.
This is an idea to be welcomed by many-many river
loving people. The Culture of watermen is know thing new
to this area. A Provincial Council decree in 1678 mentioned Ferry
Operations here: and don't forget The modern naval station
located at the river's mouth was constructed between 1942–1943.
We have a long history here in the Patuxent River Valley and River.
World Class Competition that is aimed at showcasing the competitive edge
of River Racing. Terms and Terminology often associated with River Racing Includes.
concepts like technical, high-speed maneuvers on moving water. Other terms include phrases like,
whitewater disciplines.Feathering,Luff, Luffing etc. etc.
crucial for generating revenue and competitive advantage.
or non-physical assets that lack physical form.
If it were ever possible to be seen or heard,
it would amaze me
to find myself inside you
my shape carved
by the harsh reality
of what you made of me.
I am a thing—
a jigsaw of
your silent prayers,
crumbs of curses,
you never spoke.
I refract through every lens,
I might appear to fight your demons,
then sit and praise them quietly,
or I might orchestrate their evilness,
just to watch your breathing fade.
I could be the waiter six feet under,
serving dinner to worms,
on a cold night.
I could be the hand behind the barrel,
aimed at your beloved face.
I might be the one beside you,
in your daily ride to work,
or the friend,
who loosens the weight in your chest.
I could be a stranger
surviving on the sidewalk.
I can be the air you breathe,
and still
you would never meet my eyes.
I could be you—
or a part of you
that sparks every doubt
and silences every certainty.
Through my words,
we could face each other,
for minutes,
like a passing coffee,
or for years,
aging quietly
inside your thoughts.
Or for an eternity
walking beside me
unraveling—
undoing your existence.
Shall I compare thy fretful mind to night,
Where shadows feast upon thy wasted flame?
Cease pouring gold on worry's endless spite,
And turn that fire to belief's bright claim.
Let not the thief of doubt devour thy days,
Nor fear's cold hand choke hope's ascending breath;
Instead , with courage's hand, direct thy rays
To grow, to heal, to conquer mortal death.
For energy, that swift and sacred stream,
Doth choose the path where life's true river runs;
If bent on grief, it breeds a barren dream,
But aimed at self, it births triumphant suns.
Thus , waste no more thy power on needless care--
Believe, and watch thy spirit's kingdom flare.
Oh, maple tree
you still stand free
how can that be
Tornado claimed
at you it aimed
now you are maimed
We planted you
fifty years flew
so full you stood
You live, still true
with limbs askew
and splintered wood
With grace, you stand
upon this land
for all to see
In our front yard
where we still guard-
Oh, maple tree
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