Poetry

September 5, 2016 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

Paul Morgan

 

By

Rick Davis

 

 

Altruism

 

 

Bella jumps repeatedly

As though she is

Watching

Private sparkling

Explosions

 

So I let her out

To run around

The messy yard –

 

She is excited

And amazed,

Barking and playing

Finding, perhaps,

 

Moonlight in

Early spring

Afternoon

Urban expanse,

 

Running back in

My arms,

 

Now, carefully

Prancing

As if avoiding

Imaginary

Splintered glass

 

Then, she jumps

On my lap

To help me

Write this poem.

 

She slides to the

Living room

Daylight deep

In old windows

 

Greeting

A homeless man

Who sings

In the street.

 

She glides back

To the office

Nudging my arm

Asking me

 

To watch this man

 

Who makes

Eye contact

With me

And has a hunger

For understanding

 

So I trip

Down awkward steps

To give him money

 

Before he gets away –

 

Still singing

His thanks

 

He leaves,

 

And I hope

He gets

Something to eat –

 

I suppose

My heart

Is a misty

Rose

 

Worrying about him,

 

But perhaps

There is

 

Holiness

In eating alone –

 

A Zen

Sort of peace

 

To mask

Loneliness.

 

Thunderclouds

Rumble up

The horizon.

 

Thinking

Of the man,

 

I almost cry,

 

As though

I have

 

Marble arms.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Walking

 

 

morning:

beauty drips

 

like soft light.

red autumn leaves.

 

dressed for a meeting

i wear a costume

 

of respectability.

walking near the lake

 

i stop

to watch

 

dark desired waves.

a playful storm

 

floats out of sky.

children play

 

in shadowed forests.

i am wind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rick Davis

I am a Poet and life-long Chicagoan, married, and am a graduate of Northeastern Illinois University.

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