They slither in plain sight,
tailored suits hiding scales,
cold eyes behind warm smiles.
I saw one on the news today
blinked twice, vertical pupil flash,
then back to human charm.
Of course.
They meet in marble halls,
forked tongues drafting laws
while we argue over bread prices.
Brilliant, really.
Last week my neighbor changed
his handshake too dry,
smile too wide, teeth a little too sharp.
He offered me coffee.
I declined.
They’ve ruled for centuries,
pyramids their charging stations,
royals their breeding stock.
We are the cattle,
happy in our pens,
scrolling, voting, consuming.
But here’s the joke
they shed their skins every election,
and we cheer the new one,
never noticing the same slit eyes
watching us clap.
Yeah.
Totally real.
Pass the tinfoil.
New Year Change
Kevin Davis, 2025)
Each year we promise to overhaul life,
Become better humans, improved and refined.
We’ll drop a few pounds, quit smoking—or try—
Join a gym we’ll attend while the mood’s still high.
We buy shiny planners we’ll never complete,
Sneakers engineered to remind us of guilt.
We meal-prep salads, determined and brave—
Then reward our commitment with fries on a plate.
By mid-January (give or take a day),
Our willpower fades and the couch has its say:
“You’re perfect already—why struggle or strive?
Sit down. Relax. Let’s binge Season Five.”
So this new year, when drafting resolutions,
Remember: real change ignores quick solutions.
To alter your habits, begin with your mind—
And stop trusting fitness apps… especially mine.
3.6.5, the number of days gone by.
And despite my issues, here I remain.
Am I hardy?? Or have the Fate`s decreed.
That here. On this sad, spinning, wreck of rock.
I wait my turn, in long line of decay.
As my good days, intersperse with the bad.
Until in due course, my number is called.
And, only too well I know, the reaper.
With his hollowed frame, this indifferent.
Creeper, stands daunting, and ever alert.
Ready to process his latest recruits.
Drafting them into his deathly legions.
Who shall scour the earth in growing number.
`Till all are enveloped, and man's race run.
Directly Drafting Article in Daylight
As a result, neither side is willing to give an inch in the standoff, now the fifth-longest shutdown in the country's history
A single edit and we exist.
Clerical pennies.
Regression lines the mold
First articulate article in origin of Congress
To congressional act
Currency becomes framers opening
You first?
Tip's of Women?
Lounge flushed
In delusion
I plays
Issues of wear
And weather's are vain
Tip's of women
Tied entrances
As low as old war
Gushes enter our floor
Isn't hours tasking?
Asnt looming often rooming
Rooms join dolls bury
Hands praying? So ways say
Papers run in the filled nights
Breaking ideas, counts, verses, checks
On tables and on the mind
City damsels, men aren't rhymes
Okay honey man
Driftwood apartments
Kevin issues jazz
You accident prone today
Chaska home
I have been behind San Francisco Paris
Says speaks for itself
Fearless abandon
Call on shores
Runned in
Hip at the door
Night the session
Strange moon wander in question
Illusive paints
Harken of tame
Tara I uncover
Repent dowry upon my branch
Eyes drafting midnight
Hourglass tarnish adventures
Lost rehearsal
Lost within the haunting howls
of a wild west wind
I savor the island’s isolation
its barren, rocky crags
its undulating seas below.
The ocean expands outward
as whitecaps whip frantically
while the beady eyes of seabirds
peer out from their stony perches.
Stoic sentries of the sea
pelicans and seagulls flock
along the rugged shoreline
purposefully perched in rows
or drafting wind currents in flight.
Still other seabirds skim silently
above the silky waves
great hunters of fish
their feathery wings spread wide
as if to capture the ocean itself.
A timeless rhythm prevails
as effortless as breathing pure salt air
in a place where land and sea convene
a place where seabirds reign
as vigilant watchers
within the endless cycle of life.
Permission for draft of requisition order
Civil war family heir
Destroyer class reconstructionism
Turn liberty up a notch for the western fleet
Fussy bonnet held us high
A destroyer class vessel is surplus
Afforded the documentation of drafting
Her pardon
Is not a priority
Abandon requires address
The 451 st Civil Affairs Battalion
The adjustment of languaging a building.
I come from this to you, as a published author of poetry books. In allowance of paper and address we aren't communicating for sun reasons? Limitations of equality?
451st Civil Affairs Battalion.pdf
Where a series of
messages fly across
profiles inflated
in balloons of
hot air.
Where a model with doctored skin
sells better cells to cover your acne,
where people 'blackout' Tuesday
and appropriate taking a knee.
Where truth is a golden ticket, impossible to find,
where 'likes' replace juries, and we forget to #bekind.
Where stories are created at the push of a key,
replacing where dreams and drafting used to be.
Where a voice called Alexa can order, suggest and locate,
but also listen and through silent algorithms manipulate.
Where faceless Gemini can offer names for your new-born,
an ironic namesake, a duplicitous invader on your own front lawn.
And most of the time
those ongoing anonymous
messages simply
ghost
And you never knew—
how many times I stood on the edge of your name,
typing and erasing,
drafting words that felt too fragile to send.
I wrote the messages,
but never set them free.
My thumb hovered over "call"
like a ghost remembering how to hold the living.
Not because I didn't miss you—
God, I did.
But silence sometimes feels safer
than a voice that trembles.
Some words decay
the moment they're spoken,
like truth bruised by too much air,
like “I miss you” whispered into a hurricane.
Some doors, once closed,
start to feel like graves.
And maybe I was afraid
of finding you on the other side,
happy.
Healed.
Without me.
So I let the distance settle,
like dust on unsaid things.
And the questions—
the aching, bleeding questions—
I let them stay unanswered.
You moved on,
and I stayed—
not in the past,
but in the pause between knowing and letting go.
So no,
I never texted you again.
But that doesn't mean
I never held the phone
like it was your hand.
Project 2025, a tale that some have spun
Of less government, and more to come
Disguising rules and mandates with an ease
Using more government the right does please
Reducing funds, saying to trim the U.S. core
Now watch as their power grows much more
From health to speech, their views will tread
With heavy hands, it’s their right they said
Contradicting the laws then to claim liberty
With their intentions saying it’s the right to be
Drafting freedoms, written down it’s clear
But it’s to continue their distributing fear
Controlling us with their very own vision
Promoting more, in this country of division
To oversee us, reigning us in, and then to bind
Are all contradictions they’ve carefully designed
A condor in the window
Lilting to one side
Favoring the throat not yet marked.
Cain’s hand—colder
Than described.
A star on frosted glass.
There is light beneath the crystals
It powers the melting.
Oasis half-waded.
A waif to the roar of dusk
I open all the closed doors,
Remove the drafting animals.
It is a runway of cornflowers.
The condor’s tongue swells
Until it fills his jagged mouth.
Eye of a cauldron
Splashing in black mud
I begin the process of sinking.
Come evening I am shadows.
Come evening I am below it all.
Beguiled risks sensitive alterations
that redesigned unknots and cutup trice
as the fresh teases through the looking glass
exposing timepiece resemblance glossed spilled.
Bemused forgives absence, mindful at hand,
tenuously gripping the rolled spent yarn
that edges fingertips loosely as threads
answer questionable finds, stitch-by-stitch.
Period accentuates the sensed thence
for the bestilled entangled narrative
plots exclamation points of those foregone
chapters ... period midst frames of escape.
Styled room for maneuvering that spirals
at a loss now hangs overhead ticking ...
mockery behold guardians of greens
that grow within disoriented poise.
Blue compliments presence expressed squarely
drafting the voiceless lucid residue
that nurtured former brush and forever
sealed a dream sweeter than a Danish roll.
Sometimes, while half awake, lying in bed,
I'm counting syllables on my fingers.
Lines keep popping up inside of my head,
a fleeting poem that seldom lingers.
A jumble of words begins to line up,
drafting a perfect poem, word by word.
Like an optimist with a half-full cup;
what seemed crystal clear swiftly becomes blurred.
In that twilight zone between wake and sleep,
I tend to compose poems in my mind.
But they fade as I drift into the deep,
a lost treasure no one will ever find.
I dream of poetry; it's part of me,
and if I'm lucky, it always will be.
For even you have heard
Bless your birth
Down here on earth
Bless be your eyes
Your heart painted our skies
You are the first
Journey finding was worth
Created lands
Your loving hands
You see
Far beneath
Indeed You hear
Through each tear
It shows
Your love does grow
Memories remain
Through each and every change
Graphting
Drafting
Penciling the art
Fine lines of the heart
My destiny
Harmony
It is real
It is you, my Lord Jesus Christ, that heals
Loving arms of protection
True inspiration
Reviving
Reminding
Protecting
Connecting
Blessing it
Expressed it
Who
You knew
Though what we know
and that which we feel
goes into what we write
I believe
poets are more inclined toward
image-periphery
the alchemy of lyric-formation
what is just around the corner
horrifically vague
standing on the lip-edge
toes dangling over
peering bravely into a
primal abyss
------------------------------
each new declaration a journey
backward, compressing coldly
into dank catacombs of past
drafting explorers
forward, confronting bard echoes
the maps of our ancient priests
left for the daring
the literary awakened
new skies revealed
sustain alternating and renewed
every night a fresh splattering of light
every dawn
a bounty-warmth of slippery
sunny icing
such decadence our breakfast
lunch and supper
no dessert denied
the rich slices we pen
the hyper-caloric that
drives us to the brink
daring us to step off
both angels and demons
awaiting their catches
lift must be in our favor --
-------------------------
Let the work begin!
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