It has been undone, the titled piece this is forerun and took that last leap of faith off the table, it has been tabled indefinitely like warlocks oft weasel, and so the middleman paid the price but Katie's price is not a lady of the night, so we gallivant and palaver so sneaky that shadowy nape, per-chance it prickled like steepes of the southern crates, so we sit in fervor only when we gather, like a wish made clearly in the night's dappled skyward cloth fixed the firm glance that must distrust, the wish indeed, a fervent oil, like early morning that has been left to roil.
'The band plays a sweet, soulful slow-dance song
I nuzzle her neck, breathing in her perfume scent.'
~ excerpt from Tim Ryerson's poem, The Dance
*
From a deep slumber, you drift away
Where the yellow moths and poppies sway
And the gentle sun pours crimson gold,
On meadows burnished since time of old...
It is here that jaybirds decked in fresh reds
Whistle dreamy tunes like morn's newly weds,
That lingering music stands aside
As sky's dance claims you for a long ride.
For the wind is pure, a calm it achieves
Displaying the glory of dusky leaves---
So majestic is this place where you tread
Like a thousand years have dawned and fled.
Waltz to the tune of one groom in love
Together now with your queen, above--
Tim, pour light over me... life's blest dove.
There once was a tiny squirrel named Tim
who practiced Tai Chi with great Zen.
He gathered a troupe~
a pint-sized nutty group~
three fluff-tailed apprentices and then…
They donned little leaf-green attire,
stitched snug with twig-threaded fire;
each jacketlet swayed
as their movements displayed
a woodland-born martial desire.
With belts made of braided vine-twine,
they cinched their small uniforms fine;
each buckle was crowned
with an acorn they’d found~
a medallion of mastery’s sign.
They circled in synchronized flow,
soft paws in a forest bungalow;
their medals clicked light
as they moved through the rite~
a jade-tinted tai-chi tableau.
My Morning with Tim 48
Kevin Davis 2024
Each morning I watch Tim, my dog, awaken.
He tends to his needs—water, food, a step outside.
Then he moves about, bumping into chairs,
yet always calm, always cheerful, never shaken.
He searches, finds, then comes for a rub,
my voice calling his name, a treat in my hand.
For a while he stays close, then roams again,
returning to sniff what’s left, as if he truly sees.
He sits, awaiting the brush of my hand,
sniffs the treat at his feet,
then lies down proudly to accept both reward and touch.
Such is our morning routine:
Tim to nap by my feet,
I to sip coffee, switch on my computer,
and let the day begin its gentle climb.
These are our retired days, peaceful and slow,.
“Hey, let’s go out!”
And I reply with a smile, “Okay, where to?
And breakfast? I’ve got toast and coffee on.”
“That sounds good,” she says. “Come in, we’ll decide.”
So, I rise, happily shifting my mood,
ready to step into the day with my bride.
Now Tim is great, enthusiastic and in no way dim' he an Aussie asset, is our mate
Tim..He is full of good intention ya'know
I can feel it from here.' Mind he's often meeting with legends, reckon i should make that clear, wether it 'green lightening
tech'? Or innovations coming through from
The paddocks to the table.? Tim brings it
To you..Remember nation of battlers.' How
Far you have come, i believe any setback at
Home or external? You will overcome.' We
Do not need Brussels, but more men such as Tim..And the true Aussie spirit,to light up all the country from whithin
When young Tim learned Three Wise Men went far
on their camels to follow a star,
with surprise in his eyes,
he piped up, “They were wise?
So why didn’t they just go by car?”
Shadow Waters
The water-bearer leans his urn silently,
pours starlight over forsaken streets
where neon lights flash their final confessions
and shattered promises accumulate like rain.
Here in the reverse trickle of time,
where advancement is lost in its own reflection,
the era turns in, searching for explanations
in dregs of what we believed we'd gained.
Electric prophets air hollow gospels
while the crowds scroll through ghost lives,
each contact another strand that entwines us
to this tapestry of lovely despair.
The constellation turns above, unchanging
those very stars that once held out liberty
now witness us tumble into the labyrinth
we built from our own radiant ideals.
In tower suites and lower-level clubs,
the children of the future sell their souls
to algorithms who recognize their secret names
and dole them out in morsels, afterwards.
Yet, still, the water flows, unceasing,
carrying seeds of something not yet born
perhaps redemption sleeps in darkness
of this shattered, brilliant age.
The carrier's face away from us,
sloshing the future drop by drop
while we stand dry in the flood,
suffocating in our own lighted shadows.
After comments I received from CayCay and Tim, I knew this song I wrote was about them. Hope you all like it.
Life's Love
We all knew a fellow named ‘Tiny Tim’
Fit as a fiddle, though extremely slim
Poor Tim had weakling muscles
And needed a side hustle
So he spent all his spare time in the gym
There once was a witty "tot", Tim,
His "radar" detected all the slim.
With "level" of glee,
He'd "deified" spree,
"Level" elated, Thats Tim's whim!
it’s the little things like tim tams.
having gotten my attention, the box
hops into my shopping cart, but not
before I cartwheel and squeal, certain
that one of the poets has nurtured
my senses with an Australian accent.
i’m handing them out, like pamphlets,
according to the number in the family.
of course, they’re crunchy and cold.
my husband, straight away, placed
the box in the fridge. U.S.A. all the way.
my neighbor came over for coffee.
before she left, i handed her three treats.
she gasped, herself a published author,
she had just gleamed in a current read
of munchable tim tams…indeed! of course.
to treat my bible study group friends,
i will have to grab another, unopened box,
hand them out for free. the delightful share
the Word and Aussie-awesome treats,
alongside hot water and teabags. cartwheeling…
Cast in a shadowy mist.
The blue light of the Moon.
Passed our Timmy B.
Witness Quaaludes.
Inside your pain
I did not see your hurt
The time has come for you to fly free
Life has dealt you a losing hand
In death you are four of a kind
My heart hurts
My eyes blind
Reality has not set in
You are never going to be there again
Oh the words i wish i could have spoke
The time well wasted
Your soul a beechen of light
Your kindness uncanny
You were the inspiration of your generation
This world has lost so much
But heaven as gained an angel like no other
I will miss all you gave and cherish all i have gained
Rest well my brother and keep watching over us
Someday we shall see you again and what a glorious day it will be.
There you stand at heavens gate
This ain't your same ole truck ride
This is your destination
Tim this is your best realization
This is where a man of such love and care for others belongs
You were a rock for your family
A lifeline for your friends
A hero for your son
A foundation for your wife
You had a unique sense of humor
A fresh take on life
You were the one i called first when i had a problem
You always answered the call
You answered every call from anyone who needed help
You were a friend a mentor a wonderful human being
I and everyone you knew will miss you eternally
Fly free free from the pain my friend
And soar like the angel you were in life.
Love and miss you my friend from now on till forever.
Movie popcorn Tim purchased to share
with his date, who did not seem to care
when she first felt, then SAW
him reach into her bra.
Then she laughed, “There’s no popcorn down there!”
May 2, 2023
For Tania Kitchin's A Funny Or Bawdy Limerick Poetry Contest
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