The Team
Life’s quest begins with natural talent to ascend,
On two legs in motion and words for communication.
With parental guidance and skill development by trial and error,
And observation and utilization of education as time progresses,
Every adventure is new and exciting as the senses are invigorated
And where leaps and bounds are greeted with self-satisfaction.
As years pass, physical and mental development focuses
On windows of opportunity that life offers for existence
Through failure and accomplishment in living experience.
Ambitions realized question rewards and behaviours
That require skill sets and demand continuous repetition
Until exhausted; success may not be the resulting accumulation.
The path to the summit requires effort and commitment
Of physical exertion, and mental capacity to attempt the challenge
With a methodical stratagem, deeper understanding, and patience.
Now is the time for reflection: “How did I arrive at this place in time?”
Many believed in your abilities; the joy and pain, setbacks and gains,
But you are not alone; a team coincides behind you every step of the way.
Before the Day Begins
Kevin Davis, 2025
Most days I wake just before sunrise, as the sky begins its phase.
The stars grow tired, dimming down from their nightly light-show blaze.
The sun peeks through the mountain peaks, rising slow and high,
And forgotten colors of the dawn paint masterpieces that make me sigh.
A wondrous time begins as birds awaken with their song,
Welcoming all who hear them to return from dreams so long.
Then butterflies begin to feed on blossoms soft and sweet,
To start my day in grandeur, I feel morning dew beneath my feet.
As the new day progresses, each minute is a most delightful treat.
Seeing things I once missed keeps my heart from quick retreat.
Nature paints its vista with warmth and light that nearly blinds.
Colors in rocks, trees, and bushes weave a tapestry so sublime.
But time can never linger, and my awe must soon be broken,
For the new day has begun, and its tasks are already spoken.
On to start the coffee, make the toast, get dressed, join the day’s fast pace.
Yet the memory of that sunrise still brings a smile to my face.
I don't know the man..? Maybe he's the
Pious type.? No Sicilian blood.? Averse
To hype.? Well he has his 'take outs' I
Never gave the orders.' Or named the guy
Who isn't?? 'The Don?' Well whatever' He's got a thing with borders.' Of maybe he'll go borderless? Only heaven knows, as time progresses and
Sifting grows, then there's another man a latin
Type ' on holiday in Brooklyn' not a doubt'
Too right.'
Now he's maybe more mafiosi.? Yet has he
Any such clout.? Do you note the play of
Circumstace.? Its maybe just a shout.' Still its
Time for the legal system.' To rise above.!
Who will be triuphant.? In the push and shove.? Will sons and daughters become
'A sad sacrifice.?' I certainly hope not.?
So help me Christ.)
It is the same for us all.
Good days now and then, bad days also.
Clear skies and cloudy nights.
Time progresses, distraction is the crave.
Sliding right on in,love the only motivation.
They do, they tell not to.
Eyes turn blind, they do for love.
Realisation, the crave grows stronger still.
That to see, is not your will.
The wrong one has the control.
Everything has changed, happiness absorbed away.
Out along with the smoke exhaled?
Rules changed, doing it for what now?
The brightest flame throws
the heaviest of shadows
trailing at your feet—
binding sorrow's fierce burden
to chains around your ankles
As day progresses,
your wishes stretch further out—
snaring the shadows
in the sharp thorns of regret
tearing with every movement
Yet shadows bear proof
that you rose up, defiant,
making your stance clear,
bearing the wild wrath of fire—
burning until night descends
Summer is turning into fall
leaves are changing colours
flowers begin a drying process
distributing seeds in crevices
hoping for a new growth
in the early spring
moisture had been sparse
so survival of seeds
depend on mother nature
the trees become heavy
laden with millions of seeds
waiting for a wind to blow
to distribute them far and wide
as the season slowly progresses
and winter is at the doorstep
the seedlings will have to wait
depending on spring rain
survival depends on the elements.
So here in early April
snow lays on the ground.
Flakes are flying in the air,
they're everywhere to be found.
And as the day progresses on
thunderstorms will enter in,
this mix of spring and winter
as the spring time begins.
Conservatives’ banning’s apropos of nothing
At twelve when he delt with this
shouldn't have to jump through hoops
should’ve been able to explore when a teen
But because of many conservative groups
The Ire excessive was the coming of age
Juvenile mistakes made in adult years
Denied the ability to pick up social skills
Sexual assault and sexual awaking
considered pornographic
Q**r’s often live a second adolescents
This is a guide for the coming of age allies
States have taken off the shelves
Intersectional as his life
Chapters are a collection, four acts
referred to as “parts” in this guide
self-contained essay’s
The memoir progresses through Johnson’s life
Two letters appear alongside
the chapters for mother and brother
Conditioned to think what’s the truth
Indoctrinated in us
Stop crying, racialized
School bullies
The flee market incident
Institutionalized violence
Family structure marginalized
Community –college fraternity
And black joy
Tells the truth
A black and q***r boy’s experience
Gender identity
Toxic masculinity
Brotherhood
OHH!!! You Incessant Insect..
You make it hard to direct my energy,
Positively, Peacefully.
Why do you keep pestering me?
Investigating every inch,
Of what you can see.
I'm feeling the pinch,
The sting,
Them little legs Tickling,
In my hairs wiggling.
My hands are waving,
Slapping.
My Nerves are snapping,
I must be over reacting.
They must be attacking,
I'm retracting,
Packing my things.
Through the sound ,
Of buzzing wings.
Emotions are raising,
It's so FRUSTRATING.
Then my Heart Sings,
As Nature brings,
It's smallest and bravest,
Insects, here to test,
The patience of her subjects.
What we reflect,
Through are reflexes.
As my energy progresses,
Through this session.
Present in the sensitivity,
And bravery,
Of the incessant Insects,
Directing me.
The First Commandment
we have got a message
if anyone writes from the river to the sea Palestine will be free, and will not be published because it is upsetting for Israel to hear what
is an obvious truth
Notice this will not be published it is not a ban we who believe in the “First Amendment” is there is a limit to freedom of expression when it goes against the sitting power structure Even the cherished X, knows that
As the evening progresses one notices fillers in newspapers, one such filler says that a test has shown that 87% of Israel’s Jews are not Semitic at all, they are mostly Russian Zionists, and Polish Warshaw dwellers, misfits not fitting in among the general population
The real Semites are the Palestinians going back 2000 years about the time of Jesus Christus What we see is the Zionists are wedging war against the real Jews who call themselves Palestinians possibly to avoid detection that it was those who crucified Jesus
In amble approach whilst walking the sands of time
As each step progresses, the waves appear in thrall
In amble approach whilst walking the sands of time
As each step progresses, the waves appear to gain
In amble approach whilst walking the sands of time
As each step progresses, the waves appear to pain
In amble approach whilst walking the sands of time
As each step progresses, the waves appear inane
In amble approach whilst walking the sands of time
As each step progresses, the waves appear to
I'm alone tonight at home
Within the present hour.
On the net, I start to roam
In search of a flower.
Finding her, we start to chat
About so many things.
There is this as well as that.
Her presence gives me wings.
Our discussion progresses,
My mind and heart aflutter.
Feelings of mine she addresses,
Melting them like butter.
Suddenly, she disappears
Without a reason why.
Holding back what could be tears,
I wonder but don't cry.
Gone without a word to say,
My girl of such appeal.
Just who were you anyway,
Or were you even real?
Where are you staying these days? Are you doing fine? Send me letters.
One twilight hue rejoiced with the whimsical hand fan, bought from fair
How is that doing at your hand so late at night, like this? Send me letters.
Which page on the calendar is grieving with me, absorbed
Bright eyes, chanting gazes, yearn there as they adore you. Send me letters.
Which word muses along as hours pass, they play around as the day progresses?
Which memory plays it safe , whispering to be soaked in floodgate of the lovers’ lane?
Send me letters . Send me letters, Send me letters,
Or else, not any more words to forbid, cuddle time with oblivion to chime
The loser was this, me, who is relevant , there to be?
Even though I loved thee to find only mistakes with me. Mistake, mistake.
The gone astray dandelion, and the pollen, sprinkler delight within
My killer noises of the solitude, noon hours, through my five, What else , anyway?
In one life , wastage , how much of that will there be, anymore, anyhow?
One Beatrice , to inflict heartache, how much pain of that will there be, anymore, anyhow?
One More Time
I can see a sunset coming
Through the slowly fading glow
All those footprints left behind
Disappear so quick with time
Please kiss me one more time before I go
They say nothing's meant to last
Not even Cupid's arrow
But I've known it from the start
You'll be ever in my heart
Please kiss me one more time before I go
Oh, the midnight hour's approaching
Yet the day progresses slow
Though they claim the end is near
I have nothing for to fear
Please kiss me one more time before I go
I've been told there's a paradise
Through which Jordan's river flows
And I'm sure that's where you find me
When they set free our souls
In the last minutes of farewell
We both will come to know
That our time is done
And our last song's been sung
So please kiss me one more time before I go
Upon wings of dream and time, love buds unseen,
Not every fate quickens it in the ephemeral dance of form and hour,
It, the profound love, the one that forges destiny in souls, is like a spell,
Flying over stereotypes, over the labyrinth of the Matrix that confines dreams.
How rare it is in the fabric of days to find that connection of spirits,
That meet across vast distances in an embrace closer than bustling proximities.
Each is the other's sanctuary, and life progresses in parallel, in that unseen space,
And each carves their presence into a corner of the heart, where no altar or certainty exists.
The deep pulse of the soul is felt at a mere calling of the name,
And the sensation resonates, an echo of fulfillment that transcends the borders of consciousness.
To recognize, and to be recognized... to share the same unhampered language.
To resonate in unison... is to tune spirits in a harmony that transcends the octave.
To choose to step beyond the need for possession, for a subtle being, pure in Love.
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