Best Davenport Poems
When I was a child,
summer at my Aunt Joanne’s
meant staying out as late as it took the sun to set!
And mostly with my cousin Chris,
I threw a baseball back and forth
with exhilaration each time I felt
the impact of Chris having thrown the ball
right smack in the center of my glove.
Chris’ dad, my Uncle Clifford, loved his baseball!
One time I remember
being loaded with the other kids into his old car,
summer wind blowing through my hair,
as he drove us to a game in Davenport.
Uncle Clifford used to play on that same diamond
where he took us to watch that game.
I wasn’t all that keen on it.
But the atmosphere was so lively.
Vendors selling hot dogs, cracker jacks, and candy -
this was my childhood delight!
I am sure I must have cheered
for a team of which I knew absolutely nothing,
mimicking my elders there in the stadium
as wildly they called out their reactions to the game.
In school I played baseball myself,
standing like a statue in the outfield.
It was more exciting to watch my brother Dale from the stand,
those long hot summer afternoons as he played on his league.
It would be at least twenty years later
that I would sit and cheer for a baseball game again -
this time for my son in Little League.
Rooting for a loved one makes the game more alive for me!
Grimacing with every strike my son made;
standing up and going crazy when at last . . .
he knocked it out far into right field!
Glowing with pride that my son’s forte was as catcher
and watching him in all his gear behind home plate.
When I hear the old familiar song Take Me Out To the Ballgame,
it reminds me of the simple pleasures
of my youth,
a time when life was slower paced
and those summer days with my cousins.
America’s pastime, which has trained so many kids
to love being part of a team,
now seems to take a back seat to that rowdy sport called football.
But give ME a game I can follow,
a game that through time I came to love.
My Uncle Clifford has since passed away;
oh to spend one more day with him
at the old ball game.
"Tightropes of the Three Graces"
Tightropes
for hanging clothes
on a line
each piece
pegged wooden
held between closed fences
misfortune's breeze lifts
sleeves like covers
pointing the way home
books and their pages
for The Davenport dancers
all's well that ends well
scene perfect
imperfect fortunes
throughout their ages
the balancing act
seeking Life’s rhyme
saving fates in stages
odd numbers
are never easy,
never graceful
the balancing acts,
tightropes
of the Graces
saving fates in 3 stages
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
mlb, klb, llb
Édouard Bisson , French Pre-Raphaelite
“Die drei Grazien”, 1899
Hans Baldung, German Renaissance and Mannerism
“Three Ages of Man”, 1541 -1544
“Three Graces”, 1539
Sandro Botticelli, Italian Renaissance
“The Three Graces”, 1485 - 1487
So here am I, are we, sit us,
a chair, a chair, a davenport.
White; blue; floral; bright;
we linger, and are never used.
Soft carpet: plush, divine.
So clean, untouched,
we wait for a miscreant.
'So you,' said I,
'how long, sat here
have you?'
'Too long,' said she,
'years too long
it seems.'
That chair, so soft,
she has eyes for me.
Yet here, away,
I may merely gape.
'Davenport,' said she,
'look away, have
some courtesy.'
'I'm blind!' said he,
to she, then I.
'Fifty years, seven
months sat here, have I.'
And there we sat, for
years, for months.
And never sat in that
room did they-- humans.
October is Pastor Appreciation Month. So here is a poem I am writing for my pastor, Jeff Davenport of Calvary Baptist Church in Covington, KY
INSTRUMENTS OF GOD
It is the mouth that speaks the truth
From the pulpit ev'ry week.
It delivers words of wisdom
That all his followers seek.
They are the hands that raise God's word
Up high for all to see
As he brings us ev'ry sermon
And leads the victory.
They are the feet that walk the path
Of righteousness and grace
As he goes out to all the world,
Each big and tiny place.
It is the heart that answered when
A call from God went out.
He decided he would follow
And did without a doubt.
They are the eyes that see a need,
The heart that wants to help.
It is the mind that puts God first.
Oh yes, above all else.
These are the instruments of God.
He uses ev'ry one
To introduce the lonely, lost
To Jesus Christ, His Son.
He uses all these instruments
To make a lovely tune
So all of those who hear it may
Come running to Him soon.
I thank God for my pastor, yes,
He is so dear to me.
There'll never be another one
That's quite like him, you see.
"19 Davenport"
Spitfires lined in regimental row
Amberley in Autumn
fuel burns on the runway
mirages burn slow
Wings counted
His Adjutant's pad
counts dollars and time,
cold and sharp, he salutes lesser ranks,
all spit polished, all in neat lines, all in a row
he’s trying to sort out God
while he marks out steel birds and tanks
She keeps her 3 swans close
and thinks where after
all the road maps
on her stomach, she'll eventually go
She's thinking, "some Road, this trip"
and listens to the clock's seconds tick
real slow
He counts the hours
until he makes it home
He'll take the weight off her
and read the tiddlers poems
Under a mosquito net in Summer
She holds number 1 close
Davenport is in stasis
“Listen to me breathe”, she says
The Flight Lieutenant's touring another duty, not home
The child listens keenly, breath of a mother's shallow tear drops
She says, “Brave girl, Sammells Drive, if I stop”
A mother holds her courage in close and tight
polar bear hug, a bedtime story of blue faeries and God's Light
Lux Vitae Lux
That always works
until the pain stops
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
ljb/klb/mlb/llb
18/9
https://youtu.be/4iuIHZDbz74
Pilfershire Lane/Tara Busch
When I was around 14, I attended a church youth conference that summer,
sleeping in a dorm at a college campus and attending fun events with kids of my
same religion. The group I was with one day was strolling along a green shady path
when ahead of me I spied a young man, very tall, slender, and blonde. He had a
Justin Bieber kind of face but with cool piercing eyes, to put almost any young girl’s
heart aflutter. I immediately began to think of a way to meet him, and to my
surprise, I noticed that he was also noticing me!
Meanwhile, another boy, also with a strikingly cute looking face, appeared at my
side and began walking with me. He introduced himself as John Spencer. I would
compare him to an elf because his features were so delicate. His ears were elflike
and his doll face reminded me of the face of an angel. His body was extremely thin
and later I learned that he worried so much for his family and friends that he had
given himself ulcers before the age of 14! As we talked, I kept looking ahead at the
blonde boy, whose name I later learned was Chris. Upon seeing me with John, the
incredibly gorgeous Chris gave me a disapproving look and vanished into the crowd.
After that, I soon realized that John and I were turning into a “couple” and the rest
of my waking moments at the conference I would have my “Johnny Angel”
constantly by my side.
It was young love, first love, fresh, and sweet, and holding hands with John I felt
electrifying chemistry as we intertwined our fingers, playing “handsies,” my favorite
new activity! We ate together and attended together all the activities planned for
our group, and so my first time with a boyfriend was like an extended date, lasting
from the beginning of the week until the end when we rode home together
snuggling on the bus and planning when we would see each other again.
John lived one town away from mine, in the same city where Chris, the blonde
boy, lived too. At future monthly church dances in their city, Davenport, Iowa, I
would see them both and learn more about both boys. They became a big part of
my newly blossoming adolescent life and the romantic way I was feeling about boys,
but that is saved for chapter two of my story!
For Carol Brown's "My First Date" Contest
Can a man tolerate an incarcerate?
Madly in love with a madwoman
Throughout the investigation; Prior to the incarceration she's reflective
Two years on the verge of being wasted like Iron Maiden single "Wasted Years"
Additional two daughters she conceived not to mention she needs help supporting her two daughters "Homeless Agencies"
Two daughters means double the "Needs and Wants"
Two daughters means twice repeating the lady "Do's and Don'ts"
Repeatedly, she crosses her legs like a foreleg mantis as if in prayer
She prays for financial support, not willing to be a Hoe at Davenport (Davenport Hotel)
Scrolled through her cellular contacts and called close relatives her normal emergency contacts
Asked Steve, Keith, and her lovers longtime friend Daisuke he's a Japanese
All three smacked their teeth
Ironically Daisuke smacked his teeth on account of in Japanese the meaning of Daisuke is "BIG HELP"
As a mighty breeze passes a cry in the wind passed a message," Perpetually I'll Bless You like a allergic symptom sneeze
Stressing continuously over occurrences its mind-boggling she doesn't believe
Biting a forbidden fruit the fruit of lies first like Eve
Eventually she deceives her incarcerated lover and becomes aware of nakedness after she sinned
An act of independence, survival, an act of the Holy Bible
A social science woman is she her sexual desire an experiment, Puzzling for a woman to make known to a incarcerated man she broke her commitment
In no way shape or form a mistake, only a meant, you went along with it didn't it
After she risked everything and made known the fearful news both were thinking walk a mile in my shoes
But that gut-feeling she must of had waiting on his comment
FACT: He was wondering what Bruh "Cum Meant"
Did you do this out of shortage of cents or perfects?
Impossible to shop for love I guess taking care of our two daughters was where the money was spent
Baby my point of view is I'm pointing butterfingers at (U)
Tell the world I'm coming home as you already knew, and maybe we can work it out something brand-new, because Carrie KaeKae James after I read this poem I changed my mans point of view
- Loverboi
RAF navigator Ron Day and I took of from Banff, Scotland,
I was in the RAAF, an Australian, and we flew in formation:
40 Mosquitos to attack German ships in Norway land,
In a harbour, Porsgrunn, but then came an acclamation.
“Bandits three o’clock! “, and so we did not strike a ship,
But broke away left and flew ’til I spotted sand on a beach,
But as i got closer realised it was Norwegian ice, no quip,
So the landing damaged us, plane and all, but we did reach.
After unjamming my leg, i paddled up to the surface,
With relief saw Ron afloat in his life jacket, life raft burst;
We felt mentally and physically numb and did brace,
We struggled, but heard a man from a boat shout in lust.
The farmers carried and cared for us, or cared for Ron,
But they told me “Germans come,” so we left by a pony,
I sat and shivered in the cart, then took a car to Oslo bon,
Our uniforms were yellow stained by the lake, very shabby.
We were then taken to hospital, but i ended up in prison,
And on Monday the 30th of April 1945 Hitler killed himself,
And we knew informally we were free, def by the elision,
When a guard gently touched my back, himself to shelf.
That was when the war in Europe was over for me, then,
But we had to await official victory when RAF men came,
However, before that, just to be sure, we left for the glen,
‘Cos the Luftwaffe general was contradicting the game.
We got back to London and i left for Australia on Orion,
And the celebrations would’ve lost control for alcohol,
‘Cos I’d found out that my brothers were alive and on:
We birthed, the collective mind reacted, but not us all.
Part 2 - " Lily" / Kate Bush https://youtu.be/MWaqPOnR5wU
"The Red Shoes"
3
Pieces of Paper
A Line, A Cross, A Curve
HOME
Davenport
Ascot
…
3
Clotho
Lachesis
Atropos
Fate
or
Destiny
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
llb, klb, mlb
"The Red Shoes" / Kate Bush
https://youtu.be/rbbPPy_bNM4
"Lily" / Kate Bush
https://youtu.be/MWaqPOnR5wU
Dear Cold Springs,
Men build empires from granite
facades taken from the ground you keep.
Most people on Minnesota Highway 23
pass without knowing the history
you keep to yourself. Most think you’re only
a small town with a brewery and a stadium
for a local baseball team, where people
from farmlands go after the last hay bale thrown.
Some pass you on the way to Saint Cloud,
industry and fortunes sought, but a few stay.
It is the solitude they seek, quiet conversations,
a pastoral land where your son is destined
to marry the girl down the street.
In the local bakery familiar conversations are shared,
and without a word, the baker knows
what you will order when you walk through the door.
Your children complain, and when grown
go seek a life in the city to act smart
and feign forgetfulness of country ways,
but in conversation and memory,
a part of them stays.
Let the children come back to you,
Davenport
*Cold Springs, Minnesota
I was born in nineteen sixty nine
just off the block and in my prime
now let me introduce you to
some pertty good friends of mine
Let's start with my uncle Jesse
to me he looks like he's ninety nine
but I love to watch him when he
takes nips from his moonshine
Here's my owners Bo and Luke
cousins of a kind just hanging out
with Daisy who looks
so sweet and so darn fine
But There's some other folks
that just don't like our kind
its those sheriff folks thats
watching the hazzard county line
Starting with their fearless leader Boss Hogg
Who's radioing all the frigging time to
Cooter and Davenport And to that rascal
Rosco P Coltrane who he cannot find
Now my life is such sweet devine
when your jumping in and out of my windows
while running from those sheriffs from Georgia County line
in my general lee waving a confederate flag thats in it's prime
Honking my horn to a dixie tune of same kind
Tribute To The Dukes Of Hazzard LOL
Also Entry For
Christopher Higgin's
Get Your Rebel On!
Tho This Poem Is Not About A Person
Changing My Life But The Time Era Did
And Something About That Show Changed Me
About Opening Your Heart And Home To All
Magazines in every corner
Rubber bands on lids of jars
Silk ribbons and dried flowers
Glossy brochures from afar.
Mantle, desk, and table
Piled high with worn out books.
Long forgotten potpourri
ticked away in tiny nooks.
Faded quilts across the bed,
Davenport, and tattered chair
Decorated by a lazy cat
Gently grooming her gray hair.
Dusty must moldy air
Timelessly suspended
Ages past, lives once lived
Forgotten and now ended.
I had a sibling,
but now he only exists as an eidolon on the
flat glossy surface of a couple of photographs;
that I have placed upon this ancient davenport;
that I am using to create this elegy.
I look into his eyes and try to remember
their sparkel and glow, but I can not.
Instead it's only the dreadful image of his inantimate
body encased in a metal pall,
that has been etched upon my heart, mind and soul.
In the same manner as the myopic code,
that was placed with such conamore,
upon his ledger.
Dear Marshfield,
Your song is in the wind
sweeping over the woods,
marshes and fields.
The marshes this December
are green, and life stirs
under cloudy skies and sun,
but you still know your seasons.
You cut new trails in my dreams
during long nights
when the sun sets early.
Tonight a bar is empty,
and the bartender shoots pool
to pass the time.
Tonight I sleep in my motel room
for a spirited night.
Davenport
Davenport Tomorrow
by Michael R. Burch
Davenport tomorrow ...
all the trees stand stark-naked in the sun.
Now it is always summer
and the bees buzz in cesspools,
adapted to a new life.
There are no flowers,
but the weeds, being hardier,
have survived.
The small town has become
a city of millions;
there is no longer a sea,
only a huge sewer,
but the children don't mind.
They still study
rocks and stars,
but biology is a forgotten science ...
after all, what is life?
Davenport tomorrow ...
all the children murmur through vein-streaked gills
whispered wonders of long-ago.