In the Dark

Screeching cries,

talons sink deep

the yielding flesh,

raptors reap.

Carrying screams

upon the wind,

chorus like

the two blend.

In a eerie fate

for the dying kind,

orchestrated above

by swaying pine.

A conductor’s wand

through a dark night

filled with fear

and void of light.

poem & artwork by Dave Holloway

Real Horror

Who knows what horrors

slither and slice

the mental domains 

in anyone’s life

sparking recollections

of bleedings and gore,

painful regressions

and images galore

compelling obsessions

in projects and text,

wide eyed in the dark

fearing what’s next,

heart pounding loud,

a line chopped fine,

a chance to transform

into something sublime

overcoming at last

the horror within,

making way for the new

with a demented grin.

by Dave Holloway

Other Observations

God sits in a great swirling vortex
at the heart and mind of the world,
all giving, all knowing
and everyone in that world
is taught to look away.

God says,
“ASK!  LISTEN!  WATCH!”
but everyone hears,
‘REPENT!  WORSHIP!  OBEY!’.

* * * * * *

You ask the proverbial question;
How could a loving god allow so much suffering?

The simple answer;
God is not in the ‘allowing’ business.
God’s business is ‘knowing and giving’.

If there’s so much suffering it’s what is being asked for.

My question;
How can you expect to rid the world of demons
when you keep inviting them in????

* * * * * *

As long as strength and control is the answer
the curse must be endured.

Relinquish strength and control
and peace will prevail.

* * * * * *

‘Information’ has a flip side;
The more we know
the more we suffer.

The Intellectual Caveman

      

I've heard it said 

man uses 20-30 percent 

of his mental capability, 

yet still, 

he considers himself atop 

the knowledge tree.

If vision was reduced 

to a 20-30% capability 

he'd be considered 

legally blind.  

* * * * * *

it's all such a mystery 

isn't it? 

percept upon percept, 

bit by bit, 

this life of influence 

and continual effect, 

living reality 

with impartial respect, 

all in vain 

I strongly suspect 

Modern Fatherhood

Oversized T shirt

down to his knees,

jailhouse tattoos

serving as sleeves.

Hat on backwards

sneakers untied,

a baby in a car seat

behind the driver’s side.

Pocked marked old lady

sitting quietly by,

looks of understanding

as the baby starts to cry.

Reluctantly he responds

un-strapping the little one

then hugging with pride

his god-given son.

by Dave Holloway

Boom Town

A high desert town

in a desolate land.

To boom or bust

is where it stands.

Rigs moving in.

Oil to be had.

Calm before the storm

till they all go mad

as black fluids flow,

their silver and gold.

Roughnecks in bars

both young and old

exchanging rude words

as if they’re all bad,

gangster rap gestures,

contemporary but sad

to this old derrick hand

now weathered and worn

who rode one down

before they were born.

by Dave Holloway

The Barren Land

We beyond the perimeter

welcome the silent dawn

slowly burning away

the wet and cold

remnants of a starry night.

Little creatures stirring

blinking in wonder

at another chance

to escape the raptor’s claw.

Somehow I relate

in a silent world

without convenience

or the compelling notions

that drove this beast

to the barren land.

poem & photo by Dave Holloway

A Moment Before

Even in the face

of adversity,

onslaught,

and the end,

a father,  

with child in arms

soothes and strokes,

“it’ll be alright”

hands cover eyes,

horrific hovers,

heat rises,

moments suspend,

light engulfs

every ‘alright’,

cinder and bone

fall to the ground.

by Dave Holloway

The Second Death

He died the death,

woke and remembered

he almost died.

Then he died again,

woke up again

but couldn’t remember

he died.

So he never knew

he lived in a heaven

exactly the same

as something

he can't remember.

poem & photo by Dave Holloway

Force-fed

Force feed them

with media garbage

and fear gourmet

the guard said

from his lofty tower,

highly acclaimed,

bearing the name

of the most high

puppeteer for those 

who have no name

and hide the shame

of their oily truth.

poem by Dave Holloway

Fates Amiss

She was the one

thirty years too late.

A heartfelt caress

proved all that

I quietly thought

heading into the east

where abstracts unfold

a despairing truth.

Fates amiss

produce strange fruit

we come to love

nevertheless.

poem & drawing by Dave Holloway

from out of a slumber

words materialize

almost as if

they’re memorized

a line or two

then ponder what’s said

 shut up and listen

more words fill the head

and after awhile

like a flower opening wide

a poem emerges

from the other side

poem & sketch by Dave Holloway

To Marvel

I marvel at 

how we live,

how we give

but don’t

yet say we do.

I remember

flood waters

dragging me under

and dad yelling

if I needed to talk

he was there.

Thru muddy waters

I waved goodbye.

I marvel at

the road alone.

Every tree 

and every stone

being where

they’re suppose to be

and I marvel, 

what about me.

Armchair Saviors

Once again

the world ends.

She washes her face,

millions displaced,

thousands die

and we wonder why

through every 

commercial break.

poem and sketch (Affluence) by Dave Holloway