Convex Poems

Sutra of the Silver Spoon

Is there a 'you'
in the middle --- the center?

Reality is always shuffling the center.
in order to seem
it is consistently hard-wired.

Short answer – nothing is happening.

When we look at the convex back
of a silver teaspoon,
the image seems to be more than we can see
through a flat reflection.

When you consider
what the mind is showing you,
you have already lost your place
in the so-called center.

This is yet one more thing
not to think about.

Send your regards

"By the squeaky old gate that tomorrow will find,"
kindness is a necessary handkerchief:
convex lips to meet mine with gentle understanding
words that tenderize as a snarling babe sedated by mother's milk

Please wait for me there
never minding fallen appearances 
spider veins spindled in my corporation - bogus skins - 
depleted gums, haunted eyes 

Extend a posy, a leaf of scripture, a lump of sugar
be impressed at the flounce of this wisteria skirt
and silver-studded circulation stockings
in remembrance of my blush

On the Crest of a Wave

On The Crest of A Wave


      Life boat totters on the crest of a wave
      of turbulence ! Me lone sailor on sea.
     To reach destination, propelling brave.
     Halcyon horizon not yet to see.
     
     Violent vibrant vortex, rough and tough
    Life boat totters on the crest of a wave,
     falls unstable sinking at hole of trough.
     Up down thrust of waves convex and concave.

     Tornado - cyclone hostile to behave.
     Indigo hued horizon too far.
    Life boat totters on the crest of a wave.
     Me desperate to sail, chasing despair.

      Valiant, valorous on adventure !
     I must vanquish holocaust and save
     the vessel from sudden burst and rupture.
     Life boat  totters on  the crest of a wave.

Bikinis In Beach

Light blue sky bathed in sunlight
 ultraviolet flirting the deep blue sea 
 strolling shorelines of lazy beaches
 feeling the touch, women lying in bikini.

polka dots, some neon green and orange
criss-cross strings on bare almond skin
ripples of desire towering on high waves
waist poised perfect in bikini paper-thin

absorbing curvatures amidst little shells
on slender thighs, staring eyes freeze
convex sand dunes ignite fun in the sun
with scent of beer in pollen-filled breeze.

 Bikini blossoms color the tanned silver beach
 two pretty pieces reveal an alluring seduction
 A tsunami of pleasure, the teeny weeny dress
 In the Eden of apples, it's forbidden temptation.

Within the Lines

Within the Lines
David J Walker

It’s not the same if coloring within the lines
Other kids are perfect while mine
 wander out the window 
leaving the carefully planned
Lesson plans 
		Behind

There 	
	In the park
There are treasures left to find
In convex caves 
		A flag that waves 
And fables come to mind 

Of a boy unable to color 
Within the lines

Keep It Simple

Why make everything complex
Complicate, replicate, concave, or convex?
I am a strong proponent of simplifying
If there’s a problem, it’s for rectifying!

written November 29, 2021

Peaceful Earthculture

Any soulful song
of slow grown Earth
must incarnate roundly replicating
softly supplicating
deftly duplicating
flawlessly fornicating
religiously regenerating

Wealthy win/win climatic waves
of healthy EarthTribe
FatherSun/EarthMother
mountain/valley
pole/hole
convex/concave

Well sung and wellness danced
enlightening/empowering 
political/ecological raves.

Soulfully singing
left/right bicameral winging
slow dancing scribes
recircling EarthTribe sacred praise.

On the Day the Truth Set Us Free

Drought  Will combine with rainy weather,
what is short will stretch,
  near  Will be dressed  from afar
absence comply
  with presence,
straight lines meet
with others before infinity...
Se Will understand everything... !
Impurities coat themselves
with the purities,
the concave fit
sans defect to the convex,
green invade deserts,
the blue Will be gilded with yellow...
Unfortunate  will obtain shelter
from the lucky ones....
Minimum, medium and maximum
fit at the pole of the poles,
that way the earth is rounded...
Under the laws that
  we haven't conceived yet.... !

The Season of Grieving Color

The Season of Grieving Color
David J Walker

The day dawns in golden streams
Of pinks and grays 
And the frays of  things 
In moist and curious blues

What color of the pallor 
Could be piled upon
the pallet to bring
In the days news 

Seasons are soon changing 
Rearranging the specter 
Of views we’ve become
Used to

There is little heat in  yellows & greens
Scenes of desires in 
Cool violet fires 
That preens in convex mirrors

Mend My Wounds

Hover over my trauma, sharp as a vulture, swoop
Surround old scenarios with an offer to devour
Wipe the memory card of pain I play on loop
Grab my glitches with talon weapon power
Wounds bouncing red announce danger


Jab at, stab, peck out infection, empty of pulse
Rip it, sniff the adrenalin, swallow all sorrow 
Pluck eyeball delicate, until blank as dolls'
They blink thanks, hurt healer Hallowed
Wounds open have happiness follow


Latch onto my carcass, alight at cliff side guard 
Reptilian talons take off, lift me limp and ripe
Black soil fall apart, fresh organs' harvest
Seasons redefined by your vital swipe
Wounds swept ride a wayward kite


Feather buffer bolstering capable chest convex
Adopts torment, swiftly rids it from intruder                                           
Cleansed, amended by aves benevolence 
Oblivious to doubt with bathed bruises
Tandem scourers never marooned




                            18th April 
            Empathy ate pain

Now Showing At The Albany

The line of people out the door.
The queue that snaked around the floor.
The building's sleek art deco style.
The carpets' faded plush red pile.

The "Coming Soon" in convex frames.
The "Showing Now" and big star names.
The James Bond pose in poster shots.
The tickets from the kiosk slots.

The heavy doors that often creaked.
The seats on springs that always squeaked.
The fan shaped lights along the side.
The screen that stretched up high and wide.

The smoke that swirled inside the beam.
The shapes and sounds of Pearl And Dean.
The adverts that had overrun.
The trailers for the films to come.

The feature that would come on first.
The sudden pangs of extreme thirst.
The usherette's cool ice cream stint.
The fancy names like Midnight Mint.

The expectations in the place.
The action of the opening chase.
The talking scenes that went nowhere.
The plastic cup beneath my chair. 

The glance at watches in poor light.
The stunts and guns and final fight.
The seats that sprung as credits rolled.
The exit doors and night time cold.

Broken Faith

I've broken faith with my bones. 
Shattering atoms promise to hold me up. 
I could dance like all the galaxies I worshiped as a young boy staring through convex lenses. Wishing upon what would be a lost memory if distance and light weren't so unreliable to something as insignificant as a mortal man. 
I've known the stars to be liars for a long time now.
I know what comes after such fury. 
I can already feel the pull inside my chest. 
Ready to devour all the light my frail form tried to kindle.
I look up into the black. The celestial glimmer seemingly smirking. 
One last wish falling on long-dead ears. 

-James Kelley 2019

Fingers and Toes

the numbers
of age have
no meaning
when love is
using an abacus

she is minus
and i am plus
but meaning
nothing in
abstract geometry

to her concave
i'm convex in an
equation that
perhaps suggests
one can digest

the other or the
other the other
so so together
her youthful legs
rub off on me

X - Xenomorph

Coexist in complexity
A perplex proxy of our galaxy where exotics exist
Exhale the excessive vexations toxic to expansion and relax among the obnoxious exposure
An example of expanded thought mixed with textbook genetics
An extrovert flexible to the exceeding paradox
Excited to be the exemplar, to exit and convex from the parallax of proximity
The nexus between over exquisite luxury and existentialism is the elixir to this maximized hex we were coaxed into
Explode in the mixture of climax and detox, 
Expelled in rebirth of the matrix
The phoenix complex exhibits flux and exalts us to a higher axis
Beyond this matchbox mindset we extol

Millstone

At the heart of the gristmill in common 
is the millstone: 
A matched pair of matched round stones, one over the other.
Below is a bed-stone base, abeyant and prone
Above is the runner whetstone,
honed to grind grain 
to grist fine flour.
The bed-stone 'tis convex, 
the runner stone 'tis concave,
together they form a grasp cup of hands
channeling the ground grist
out as grain is crushed
and ground to powder flour.
The power of the gristmill
is a treadmill water wheel.
Water in common, 
driving a gristmill in common,
to the tragedy of the commons.

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