premonitions
startled
twitching
like whispers
shoot up my spine
lodge in my limbs
cowering
Burrowing and Borrowing-
Starving but harvesting-
NOT quite charming but alarming-
Harming when storming-
More than a boring warning-
Performing and conforming-
Alluring the enduring-
Touring the reassuring-
Scurrying and worrying-
Working NOT twerking-
Twitching and itching-
Computer glitching when stitching-
Missing NOT dissing-
No hex
No mess
No sex
No stress
Wrestling with a nestled Texas style onion ring...
Castling the mastered haphazardly masked task...
Of a vaccinated infatuation ally rally for a new kitchen sink...
Getting pushed pass the brink by the former owner of a skating rink- because of drinking.
There’s a certain feeling after I cry.
A cool sensation pooling in my feet, threatening to crawl up my calves, never quite making it
There. A sorta hollow buzz from my knees to my stomach, feeling there but not in the way for once. Arms heavy like fatigue, but so much softer—much kinder—all the way down to the tips of my phalanges, twitching ever so softly. Aware of the thud of life—for once not so thunderous, slowly and steady.
I’d like to call this feeling calm,
I think that’s her name.
Silent cat sits without twitching her tail on Halloween
Things I have never seen, she has seen and seen
She is insanely quiet, doesn’t make one tiny peep.
Watching with yellow eyes, as others creep.
Through these words, a glimpse allowed,
The David within, let the soul be known.
Not just the name, the surface, the face in the crowd,
But the heart that beats, the spirit I've grown.
Since six, a storm within, a body betrayed,
Epilepsy's dance, a cruel, relentless grace.
Twitching, falling, a life often swayed,
Yet, I rise again, find strength in this space.
Fifty-two years etched on the lines of my face,
Years spent wrestling demons, finding solace in art.
Poetry, music, my sanctuary, my saving grace,
Since ten years young, pouring out my very heart.
The clockwork falters, the body may break,
But the spirit endures, a stubborn, defiant flame.
Pen to paper, my peace I take,
A symphony of words, whispering my name.
These verses I offer, a piece of my soul,
Hoping they resonate, a connection you find.
Woven with time, with love taking it's toll,
The David I be, the essence entwined.
koi drift slow
gold circles ripple
fiery scales
lilies float
jade water, silent dreams glide
shimmering sunrise
green shell glints
sun-dappled surface
turtle slow
sun light drifts
ripples cradle ancient pause
within the koi’s world
furry paws
long whiskers twitching
tail swaying
gentle eyes
by the pond, koi flicker bright
our kitty dreams here
A beehive, filled with golden sweetness.
A guardian leaves, landing on thick skin.
With urgency, piercing through the layers.
A hand raised to a pale face.
Eyes filled with rage,
beating beauty into compliance.
Stripping her of grace and dignity,
domestic abuse is his forte.
Amidst the tears and this final act of cruelty,
A familiar scent awakens in the hive.
Extending limbs, razor wings emerging from our queen.
Stingers piercing from fingertips, aching to strike.
As she lingers and towers over the man,
The stars align in his vacant eyes.
Hypnotized by fear and unrestrained rage,
A swarm of beautiful bees flash their colors.
Lifting her arm, we brace for impact.
The man now speaks in screams and wails,
twitching and crying, he can only blame himself.
This flesh and blood now belongs to the hive.
Electricity turning human.
Breathing around the globs.
Like the breath of a squeaking door revealing again.
Expansive like eyebrows twitching.
And the alphabet crawling its way through the mountains.
Electricity can be human you know?
Tears can grow wings.
Bones can teeter totter a little bit painfully.
In a way we try to describe, it gets worse as we get more meticulous.
Scratches.
All that were left were a couple.
And they left their email and a grin behind.
I’ve been summoned.
Lying awake, I feel a cool breeze along my wrists.
Using broken limbs, I command myself to move.
Crawling through the frozen garden,
I slowly feel familiar with my body.
Swollen eyes block my path.
Twitching, a shockwave fills my nerves.
Limited time, ice hardening on my nails.
A silhouette whose breath feels like frost,
memento mori.
A bone-chilling finger raised,
pointing the way, a trail of ice and smoke.
Frostbite, eating away at my toes.
In a hush,
muttering in an unfamiliar tongue.
A language that's somehow…familiar.
A ritual of whispers and frozen flowers.
As the ice cracks and the flowers crumble,
I take a knee, not knowing if I’ll get back up.
The entity lifts a sickle,
extending its broken lifeless limbs,
This is your reward, take it.
Your eternal reward,
a weight that’s now my burden to bear.
Do you remember
playing out in the street
and a man came by
said he had something
sweet
and it’s yours
for free
if you come with me
Your friends ran away
leaving you there
with a smile on your face
and a ribbon in your hair
all they could do was stare
as you walked away
holding his hand
they never saw you again
Do you remember
that time down on Clary
when those two dudes
rolled up looking scary
with their nines at their side
when they stepped
out of that fine
looking ride
you said that’s
the life for me
the way it ought to be
not taking crap
from nobody
now you're doing life
in the penitentiary
with a guy named Earl
Do you remember
that feeling
when you took
what he was dealing
and it left your senses
reeling
clear down to your
tingling toes
your fingers
twitching
your nose
itching
your mind numb
did you know
it was dumb
or was you too
high to care
as they
laid you on the slab
in the autopsy lab
the man said
what a pity
this girl was so pretty
but that was never
enough for you
Beware dear mousey
cat D is stalking
primed to pounce
and visit devastation
upon your nest
of velvet down.
I've plinthed my claws;
a linen napkin
is coiled
round my neck
to mop red gravy
and sumptuous fat
when they dye
my twitching whiskers.
So, nestle close
little mouselings
make haste to scurry!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Outside the Pinecone Coffee Bar,
dappled sunlight sifts through
oak branches like powdered cinnamon.
Beneath bark-striped awnings,
two squirrels sit debating
virtues of hazelnut cream~
claws tapping porcelain.
One stirs her espresso
with a twig so precise,
the other debates nutmeg~
twice or just thrice?
One sips with pinky raised,
with dainty, pawful grace;
the other gulps hers,
prefers dark acorn roast.
They chitter-chatter
and lean towards one another,
tails twitching over stolen scones,
plotting the morning’s next heist:
a sugar packet,
and in which oak to nap in
when the caffeine fades.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The squirrel perched on a frost-kissed branch,
tail twitching like a metronome,
declared himself no longer Stan~
but Prancer, king of winter’s throne.
His acorns? Merely fallen stars.
His nest? A sleigh in need of crew.
The oaks stood still, the wind polite,
while jays erupted into uproarious heckles.
Undeterred, Stan bound a tin-can harness
to three confused but loyal flying beetles,
then leapt—and for one dazzling moment,
the gutter was his midnight sky.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Midnight, and a single squirrel
with tiny boots and a postal satchel
scurries across power lines—
Santa’s freelance contractor,
paid in acorns and stale fruitcake.
He leaves a walnut for the widow,
a pinecone stuffed with stolen glitter,
and vanishes, tail twitching,
into the frozen yuletide hush.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The squirrels gathered 'neath November’s gold glow,
with tails curled proud sitting in a row.
They piled acorns high—no plate left bare,
a feast in the oaks, with none to spare.
The eldest stood, whiskers twitching sage,
(His napkin a leaf from a bygone age):
"To the humans," he chirped, "though flawed, they try~
their cornucopias tempt us… but we prefer pecan pie."
A chorus of chitters! A toast with dew,
as they cracked hickory nuts and passed the acorn stew.
No turkey for them—just stolen seeds,
and gratitude for the backyard greed.
For what is Thanksgiving, but harvest delights
and fences scaled on frostbit nights?
They dined, they danced, till the moon hung low…
then raided some trash cans. As squirrels often do.
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