Adam’s Soul Mate

If he were upon her right now 

bringing them both to that needed end 

the universe itself would retract 

and the big bang would occur again.

This is the way it is between soul mates. 

New worlds created in orgasmic thrusts. 

Stars and galaxies are nothing more 

than the spewing of the cosmos 

into the great egg of nothingness. 

Sketch and poem

by Dave Holloway

A Day at the Park

You find a quiet place to park

at the park, shady and serene

and wouldn’t you know it,

some trashed out, poor man’s 

pimped out Chevy pulls in

beside you, speakers blasting

a gravelly devil-Vader sound

in full profanity absurd, making

you wonder the worms that squirm

in the drivers brain you fail to

acknowledge for who knows

what impending legalities await

such a glance.

So you drive to the other side

of the park and once again

find a shady silence till the

‘happy-for-no-reason’ crew

pulls in and loosens a half dozen

screeching toddlers who seem

to think your car is a playground

attachment so you quickly pull out, 

cautiously, and look

for another shady spot but find

none and you end up sitting 

in the quiet, blaring sun

thanking your god
for another glimpse 

into the 21st century.

by Dave Holloway

Antiquity

I lost something once

but can’t put my finger on

what it was but the 

lacking is most evident.

Some things are easy

and some things are vague.

Most things are just waiting

and never die

like fossils in stasis 

the life is in the finding

which probably sustains 

eternal interest.

by Dave Holloway

I found this drawing I did back in the early 70's of a Michelangelo statue and

saw that it fit with the poem though I don't really know how that happens.

Young Love

What’s more intriguing 

than a young girl’s infatuation?

Feelings intense, feeling’s that sing.

A young girl’s love is a beautiful thing.

But like a bird learning to fly

the temptation arises to see how high.

Never knowing what she’ll meet up there.

The eagles, hawks and all who share

the majesty and brilliance 

of the high open air.

A realm designated from the start

for the fearless, the noble 

and strong of heart.

The young girl tests her wings of love,

fluttering quickly like those of a dove.

An eagle swoops down, smooth and fast.

That adventure ends, maybe her last.

So listen well, you sweet young things.

Love is a mystery that softly sings

of a promise as vast and big as the sky

but more often than not

leaves you to cry.

True Love

The waves are pounding down below me.

The sun disappears setting the night free.

Darkness enhances campfires up and down

like glowing diamonds on a black background.

A warm wind blows into my face

coming off the sea from a distant place.

I smile to myself, contentedness surrounds me.

I ponder it’s meaning staring out at the sea.

My gaze drifts up to the distant city lights

edging the shoreline like a necklace that delights

an eternal goddess standing proud and sure

whose breath is the wind, an enticing lure.

Forgotten Love 

So, who writes poems 

for the ugly forlorn?

Eye’s radiantly dull,

skin blemished and worn.

Lips full but cankered

waiting to be kissed.

Love is the mystery

they always missed.

Blind dates forever

who never show.

A glimpse from a doorway

then off they go.

Tired clichés

about the beauty within

never made it happen

but said with a grin

and that look

they always denied.

The look of pity

by all who have lied

about this wonderful thing 

they love to call love.

Given to the beautiful

from somewhere above.

Sketch and poems by Dave Holloway

Entitlements 

Here I sit

in a windowless room

on skid row 

but I think I can live 

within my means

the work of a lifetime

has given me

with a bathroom 

down the hall.

With the inebriated 

I share

and the noise and smell

permeates the air

I breathe 

to write this stupid stuff.

by Dave Holloway

Land of the Lame

The world’s unrest

puts Americans to shame.

We, the great example

act weak and lame

when our jobs disappear

and we never have enough.

Our president bends over

and never stands tough.

Homeless lines grow.

Gas rulers rip us off.

Doctors want an arm and leg

to treat a simple cough

and we the great nation

just sit back and grin.

Give praise to revolutions.

The winners we befriend

and hope to bloody hell

it doesn’t happen here

for our couch size asses

compels little fear.

Descent

I’m of a generation

who ended a senseless war.

Reasoning was flawed

but man, we could roar!

Now of course we waddle

and squeeze thru every door.

Placidity is our reward.

We consume instead of roar

and skimp thru the day

and grumble thru the night

and only dream of a time

we knew wrong from right.

by Dave Holloway

History of the World

All leaders are plagued

by the subtle fear

they’re not as intelligent

they hope they appear

to a stupid world

that just grinds on.

Not for the rights

and not for the wrong

but for the momentum

it’s gathered to now

and no one can know

exactly how.

* * * * *

In a giant vat

six billion minds

float together

in slippery slime-

covered intent

always out of reach

despite what they think,

despite what they teach.

For minds without arms

is a stretch indeed.

A dream perhaps

is all that they need.

So lets give it a nod

and let it roll.

Momentum will gather

ever so slow

and abracadabra,

a history we know.

by Dave