November 23, 2017 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

Alyssa Kibiloski photo



Rick Davis




the presidential climate & idealism



the sky is tragic.

rivers are brown


and turbulent.

there is much


to cry about.

we cannot see light


reflect at night.

shadows threaten


landscape lovers

but there is power


as we watch and pray

and so we escape time


as persistence is stronger

than clarified despair,


painting a shower

of rainbows and glitter.





walking south down kimball avenue



a disheveled

lonely man


seeks connection

shouting to nobody


and is stopped

by two lethargic


policeman who approach him,

chewing gum,


and begin to frisk

this trembling man


who screams

“bilingual murderers”


without using words.

the future is not


his ally.

i walk past him


breathing crisp air

communing with november-cool


ferns of calmness.

three children


and their mother

flicker by –


they are vessels

of brilliant energy.


i stream

over cracked concrete


speaking to

lazy clouds.





falling into a dream



the bed begins to spin.

waves burst on a


moonlit beach.

romantic volcanoes.


newton’s heavenly bodies

sing into the microphone’s


stainless steel lung.

a blue liquid eye.


there are little orange suns

where my own eyes should be.





walking in rain



the wind


is quiet in trees.


a sixth sense

guides me.


a rustle of wings

and a tangle


of vines and leaves.

hipsters with


spiritual anorexia

block crumbling sidewalks.


i am tuned

to the earth’s music


and voiceless ground.

fantasies like glass


bubble to consciousness.

small sharp rocks.


colors are like

vibrant crayons.



wet grass.







Rick Davis

Rick Davis is a graduate of Northeastern Illinois University, and several graduate programs.  He is married, and has over 700 published poems.

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