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