Poetry

Alyssa Kibiloski photo

 

By

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.

 

perfectly

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.