a kite
with a severed string...
is what I am;
the wind's useful idiot,
d r i f t i n g
erratically
across the tempestuous sky,
losing all control...
make no mistake about that!
should I rise
with the morning sun
one day
and not see you
lying right next to me....
gee, I can't even imagine!
v u l g a r
just the thought of it!
you see,
you, my anchor
are the tethered string,
that gently reels me
d
o
w
n
from the evil winds that blow
in the loftiest of skies.
should I no longer have
your hand to hold,
no matter how you leave,
i'd be everything
to the gust of wind
and nothing
to myself.
i'd be however it wants me,
so please,
never do.
Around the Water Fountain
Kevin Davis 2025
"How are you?"
"I am fine, and you?"
And as usual we let it go at that.
What more can we say?
Do we talk about cutting your face or leg shaving?
Do we talk about changing your shirt because the coffee was too hot and spilled on it?
Do we talk of having to clean-up trash before we left home, Because the neighbor's dog emptied the trash that someone left out?
Or that the car was left with little gas and had to be filled?
Do we talk about the idiot who was behind schedule and was driving erratically?
Do we talk about trying to find a parking space on the street and there was none?
Do we talk about finding a spot in a high priced parking garage and now having no money for lunch?
Do we talk about the political crap that surrounds our country that is making everything more expensive?
Or should we talk about the argument with your spouse over something that was so important you forgot?
Do you talk about who won what games yesterday or the workday ahead and your plans for the evening?
Or do you just say, “I am good, and you?”
Or do you just get our drink of water and hurry back to our desk?
Enjoy today, tomorrow will come
Dickering aches December me,
tragedy squeaks in knotted knees.
Banana back bent in the sack,
paddywack foot arches
bone of a moan,
no bounce in this frozen morn.
Non-elastic, erratically rheumatic,
I need a mechanic, a spanner
to wrench upon
this brainless stammer,
this dither and shiver
or spark plugs to electrify
an out-of-tune mind
as it circles
behind
a reluctantly thawing
eye.
Meetings of minds shine brightly…
flicker erratically… inevitably die...
Being unique instruments ~
requiring singular insulants
Erratically-tossed sequins
Mark the places of night's stadium -
A netherworld of colored stones
For the spry flights of cherubim -
And Jehovah - madman or genius -
I cannot quite discern -
Overlays time upon us
And I'm a lowly spectator.
One angel keeps an amethyst -
Ignoring an agate - then ruby;
I do wonder if by chance
There's a rock somewhere for me ...
Everything in the summer is like a bog.
Even when you live in the driest desert.
Bog, fog, everything is dragging along.
Summer mosquitoes.
Open toed shoes, letting in sand, and mud.
Everything is sinking, sickly.
When it’s summer, you can buy an ice cream cone.
Which is nice for five minutes.
Then the bog, fog, and haunting stretch of road continues.
Summer starts around June.
And peaks everyday at noon.
By 10:30 pm,
We can’t sleep because it’s hot.
Nothing takes away the dry breath and murky feeling.
Not even the summer butterflies which fly erratically.
The window is closed and the air conditioning is on.
Sounds of June.
July will still be summer.
A hotter, more draining summer.
Continues.
Heard the term “outside the box”?
What box are they referring to?
Sitting in my jammies at my computer
Don't see no box, do you?
A term you hear a lot these days
What can it possibly mean
This old guy is totally confused
Totally betwixt and between
Catch phrases have always confused me
Prefer simple Dick and Jane words
So all us grandpas can decipher them
This stuff is sure for the birds
Maybe I'll get an old cardboard box
And sit me therein for a while
Then emerge and start thinking of stuff
In a clever “outside the box” style
Really that's not at all what it means
Heard someone say emphatically
To go where no man has gone before
Think a lot more erratically
Now confused much more than ever
Think I'll lie down for a while
Till the world spins a few more times
And I get back my winning smile<>
five torpedo bombers
known as Flight 19
disappeared in December of 1945
over the Bermuda Triangle
an ominous mystical zone
recorded precarious by Christopher Columbus
when his compasses began acting erratically
Flight 19 is just one of many ships and planes lost
forever in the bowels of the Devil’s playground
the treacherous, notorious, mysterious Bermuda Triangle
moral compass - needle moving erratically
For a moment I disguised myself.
A chameleon blinked.
"You don't have to do that" she said.
I had already hid my reply,
under a galactic rock.
Her focused sunlight licked my eyesight
like a lizard's tongue.
I had to lie,
for the truth had already fled
on leather wings.
Somewhere a homeless hermit crab,
began to gyrate like Elvis Presley.
My charade fan danced,
unpeeling erratically.
"You don't have to do that." She repeated.
Quickly I side-stepped into her,
stealing thunder
from her open mouth.
Later we made-up a kiss,
and planted it,
in a less cloudy sky.
The butterfly danced in the air careless,
silent, elusive, circling the room erratically.
Occasionally it’s iridescence
would reflect, as it floated by,
on the blank white paper, long on my desk.
The soft breeze from the open widow,
on which the creature was carried
now an invisible barrier to its escape.
The newborn dawn caresses
outstretched arms of cattails
surrounding the circumference
of a tranquil pond. Before breakfast
the reed maces say grace, and
beckon for warmth on an April day.
The spring peepers sing their
morning melodies, to serenade the
incoming day. Tiny ripples disrupt
the water’s peace. Above those tiny
waves two shining dragonflies kissed,
erratically swayed, and kissed again
before their golden flakes fell,
and gave the reflecting sun
a blushing freckled face.
Cramps creeping and crawling,
an unwelcome reminder.
Why does my body betray
me like an unfaithful secret lover,
chaining me to my bed.
When did my uterus become my enemy,
even the pills offer no sympathy.
As a contradiction of contractions,
crush my organs like sharpened
shards of glass, these strange
territories tighten like heavy torture,
as linings of sore pelvis feel
a tugging pain of shame.
Unable to distract this
typhoon-like monstrosity,
I'm a hostage to
this turbulent intruder.
For those who question body
frames that do not beam,
my frowns are not an option,
they are a veil to the weight
of excruciating fatigue
that feeds the sanity in me.
There's no 'super human' strength
left to curl my fingers into
brass knuckles holding my
burning edges in peace.
Drained by the cries that
crack the surface of my womb,
agitation is expressed
in begrudging outbursts!
Unexpected and unpredictable
pain is a cureless curse,
behaving erratically within
a finely constructed system of tubes.
Once again, I wonder if
this shall be the month that
validates my womanhood.
I danced with the devil once
A frenzied dance indeed
Only had the one dance
More than enough for me
The devil danced the Fandango
Wild and erratically
If ever we cross paths again
No more whooping it up with the devil for me!
He rolled on the ground erratically,
as though his body was filled with
embers. Villagers gathered around him,
some whose mouths were agape.
Another child of the sun
had been accused
of interacting with a water
sprout, a domain which was reserved
only for the gods. The elders had
initially agreed the boy would be excommunicated
deep into the
wilderness, but his mother pleaded,
in the midst of tears. Quitting
exorcism was out of question.
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