All of living is a cycle of time.
Henceforth my journey as a leaf in youth.
A youngster bloomed in warm wooded prime.
all ripe, green, ready as bud learns life's truth.
Gentle winds caressed my newborn virile veins,
allowing me to dance with grace and charm.
Those summer storms with fits of heavy rains,
never came quite near to cause me any harm.
Yet days commenced with winds of colder spell.
My heart experienced the changed condition.
Great beauties born in wooded trees soon fell.
And I released myself to life’s transition.
How thrilling it once was to be a bud!
What happens to a leaf, in wooded mud?
8/1/2026
What’s as good as blowing bubbles?
What’s cleaner than play dough or slime
and cheaper, no cost, small troubles?
Grown-up dandelions are fun;
ask any youngster in spring time.
They’re seeds for delight by the ton.
Neighbor kids may gather around
but who'd consider that a crime?
Grabbing a hose, they play splashdown.
It all makes this great-grandma smile
watching from the porch in her prime.
Lawn-lovers may gripe, “not worthwhile”.
Make me man as soon as my youngster
knowingly receives their very last coddle.
The unconditional love curdles from
your loving mother’s teat.
Make it matter despite what you moo to cattle.
Prod the brittle; the previously dilly-dallied say,
“Tagalongs, hogtied stowaway freeloaders with
the trade inside loading and shipping containers.”
Longtime division produced its remainders.
A cove far off the oceans cost.
A cove in a periwinkle sea,
frothing with a bacterial foam
whipping up these sweet
whipped creamed treats
and other delights.
A fondant atop it all
till the klutz ruination
curses cause clusters of
curse wordings together,
finding their bindings.
Shame soaks the rag that wiped away
a distressed and disastrous look upon face.
Words impact with a continuous compound fracture
under the masterful tongue's dismantling of the
peace talks upheld on the other hand.
An elder berry said to one who was blue
“My lad, is there something you rue’
The youngster replied, “I haven’t a clue”
“Let us partake of this here rabbit stew
‘Capital idea,’ thus Sir Elderberry,
‘I hear tell it’s an excellent brew.’
“That’s the whole problem,” replied ‘Mr. Blue’
“I’m only 12, too young to drink, Elderberry ~ unlike you
Barefoot Beneath the Twinkling Stars
Kevin Davis, 2024
Dusk slipped into darkness without a moon,
Children played on, though they’d be called in soon.
Hide-and-seek forgotten, feet flashed through the green,
Chasing fireflies and dandelions tucked in between.
Laughter rippled softly through the honeyed summer breeze
As stars blinked awake in the rustle of the trees.
Their giggles rose with secrets shared beneath the velvet sky,
Moments of magic as the night’s curtain drifted by.
Barefoot adventures—the night was their friend,
Wishing that twilight would never quite end.
In the glow of the streetlight, shadows shimmered and danced,
Each youngster wandering deep in a summertime trance.
The world felt so big, yet cozy and small,
Wrapped in the night’s gentle, comforting sprawl.
Memories born in that soft evening light
Would be treasured forever in the hush of the night.
Barefoot beneath the twinkling stars overhead,
Wonder still sparkled in each child as they fled.
No one was ready for the end of their play,
But their mother’s soft call drew the magic away.
“Time to come in,” she called, “and get ready for bed.”
Barefoot Beneath the Twinkling Stars
Kevin Davis, 2024
Dusk slipped into darkness without a moon,
Children played on, though they’d be called in soon.
Hide-and-seek forgotten, feet flashed through the green,
Chasing fireflies and dandelions tucked in between.
Laughter rippled softly through the honeyed summer breeze
As stars blinked awake in the rustle of the trees.
Their giggles rose with secrets shared beneath the velvet sky,
Moments of magic as the night’s curtain drifted by.
Barefoot adventures—the night was their friend,
Wishing that twilight would never quite end.
In the glow of the streetlight, shadows shimmered and danced,
Each youngster wandering deep in a summertime trance.
The world felt so big, yet cozy and small,
Wrapped in the night’s gentle, comforting sprawl.
Memories born in that soft evening light
Would be treasured forever in the hush of the night.
Barefoot beneath the twinkling stars overhead,
Wonder still sparkled in each child as they fled.
No one was ready for the end of their play,
But their mother’s soft call drew the magic away.
“Time to come in,” she called, “and get ready for bed.”
Naughty but not nasty.
Cheeky but not rude.
Innocence, ere what blushes
Darker for each face.
Hyper, histrionic
But not unstable.
The youngster, ere what runs, bawls
In complete disgrace.
I bought some lemonade from a youngster
Selling from his front lawn table and chair
And I bought some strawberry ice cream
From my hometown local fair
I mixed the two together
To make a tasty summer drink
But when I drank about half a glass
My pee turned a yellowish/pink
I really didn't think much of it
Until I had to reuse the John
Because my tummy kept on telling me
That there was something going on
I sat there in my bathroom
Because my tummy really started to ache
Well, low and behold, just like that
I made a strawberry/lemon-like shake
I love the muse that one day came to be.
Although sometimes I feel her start to stray,
a gift from heaven she has been for me.
As a youngster, never did I foresee
the day when she sprightly came out to play.
I love the muse that one day came to be.
My muse can make a fragrant cup of tea
in honey - blooming like a rose bouquet.
A gift from heaven she has been for me.
Sometimes when I let her run especially free,
I’m amazed by the things she can convey.
I love the muse that one day came to be.
I love her going on a writing spree,
for she brightens my world when times are gray.
A gift from heaven she has been for me.
How strange it is at times to think that she
lives within my mind. It blows me away!
I love the muse that one day came to be.
A gift from heaven she has been for me.
Based on a true story
Now there once was a youngster named Jake
So ornery he made his folks quake
Santa left coals in his shoes
Giving young Jake Christmas blues
Who then forever tantrums forsake
Once, I found a youngster in the last row.
Our eyes met together out of the blue.
A hidden glow of scholarly brilliance
I perceived from his timid berry eyes.
As his guide, turned to be a catalyst.
My cogitation didn't go abortive.
When glide through the pages of nostalgia,
I hear the echoes, "Diamond in the rough".
What to say, what to write—
What to read, what to find?
Drift upon an old, traditional tide,
Common youngster, with a murky mind.
Is this the way I’m meant to write?
Neither the prose nor the perfect verse—
A quiet curse moving in reverse.
Let me pin this before it disperse,
Waiting for its arc to impact the universe.
Let me write– without judging myself wrong or right!
Demystify my thoughts on white, under dim-sun light.
Further, chaos finds its height—
Exactly the way I wrote all my thoughts, right?
Good or bad, valued or trashed,
For now, let us delay— no inner clash, neither lad nor lass,
Let the judgment wait— only a moment allowed to create.
Isn't that the
objective of life?
To get in
a position where
you don't have
a care in the World
It brings you
back to when
you were a youngster- - - - -
But it is
hard to achieve
once you
become an adult
There are so
many worries, responsibilities- - -
Just trying to
make ends meet
keeping your health
living a moral
and peaceful life
It’s 253 am here I am
Craving a midnight snack
But it’s past midnight
I shouldn’t delight
I’ll just starve in the sack
I must fight the hunger monster
For my goal is to avoid fat rolls
Calories aren’t imaginary youngster
And bread add booty to a soul
things do not often shock or surprise this youngster named Sis
However, things are happening in the USA we can hardly miss
Eleven million people marched against having a monarch king
Yet, the Supreme Court is owned by him, a really horrible thing
Czar of America had declared war, without congress or any rules at all.
See his diabolical red glow? I cannot wait until he takes his big fall.
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