Last Days

In a grand finale

almost vengeful air

the sound mind

slowly slipped away

yet a youthful gleam

shone crystal bright

through cloudy eyes

that saw too much

of a beautiful world

that grinds to dust

the wicked core

of self righteousness

still plaguing a corner

of a mind now loss

but sweetly surrendered

to a nurse’s care

and a garden view

where baby quail

pick and peck

their stomachs full.

A Mirror Script

The astronomer said,

“I don’t know what it is either

so let’s call it dark matter”.

Scene flashes to the garden

where Adam say’s to Eve,

“I don’t know what it is either

so let’s call it god”.

Leaves

Dry leaves we are

falling away

from living limb

to ride the wind

and wave alike

to parts unknown

we accumulate

in heap and pile

to rot or burn.

by Dave

Survival’s Downside

A beaver who survives

predators and modern displacement

will eventually die of starvation

for the older he grows

the more his teeth curl under

preventing him from eating

life sustaining bark.

From The Edge

It’s only in hindsight

we determine

the journey good or bad

for while it’s happening

we only survive

one way or the other.

* * * *

So give me a box

or a ball and chain.

Without one or the other

I’ll go insane.

Recently I pitched my tent on National forest land 

to live within the boundaries of a fixed income 

with no job in sight.

by Dave Holloway

America, 2011

Alone

small dreams

and less hope,

futility embraces

the weary soul

with crooked finger

points the way to go

to the barren lands

where chiefs once stood

in reverent awe

of raptors flight

relinquishing all

in a noble fight

for what can’t be owned

 still goes unsold,

a majestic creature

worth more than gold,

a fragrance divine,

rivers without end,

I stand alone

cleansed by the wind

by Dave Holloway

Do waterfalls prove the river took the wrong path
or does the river fall victim to a declining terrain?


The Bailout

The shepherd’s men

culled the flock,

one in five

and they feasted

on mutton divine,

stuffing themselves

for all was fine.

Feast after feast

the sheep soon gone.

The men panicked,

sang a woeful song.

Cried to the shepherd

give us more sheep.

He agreed and left.

The men fell asleep.

Woke the next morning

claiming a recovery.

Prided themselves

in their victory

and to celebrate

another culling was done.

The feast began

at the setting sun.

by Dave Holloway

Dictators 

Within the perimeters

of anything

a dictator dwells,

rules and expects

total allegiance

and only when we slip

can we determine

how dictatorial

our dictator can be.

Outside the perimeter

where no dictators dwell

we yearn for one

nevertheless.

Lost Souls

I think souls are lost

unaware

and bodies left behind

to fair

the beastly mind

that dare

call itself holy and right

and guide nations

it might

in foaming greed,

unnatural need 

for it’s all

a beast can know.

My Crazy World

I’m inspired

by a crazy world.

The crazier the better

inspires the poem,

the art, the letter,

the continual quest

to find what’s true

inspires and makes me

 crazier than you.

So let it roll

you crazy f**k.

If you were perfect

there’d be no luck

and that dear world 

would truly suck.

So let it roll

I’m here again,

no hope, no home

not even a friend

on the edge of nothing

I look within

and staring back

with a fiendish grin

my crazy world.

by Dave

Senior Community

I wonder the line

these towed forever,

now gather together

in club house halls.

Clamoring in slow mo

to calendar events

with intense interest

they form a line

dancing’s the hit

four times a month.

Poker two,

and crafts only one.

School yard thrills

in blue/grey curls,

skin worn

like oversized clothes.

Smiles denture bright.

Boney hands clasp.

Fragile is the word

they carry in hip

pockets with fear

of the final scene.

Alone and gasping

is the way it comes.

Old and Wise

If I live ten more years it will be a surprise.

If I live twenty more I just don’t know.

If I live another thirty I’d have to surmise

we live the majority of life old and wise

but if that’s true please tell me why

we still fall victim to so many lies.

The Slow Death

A slow death

we fear the most.

The drawn-out ordeal

where pain is the host.

Sucking up memories

unto itself,

clearing every corridor

and every last shelf.

Ending it ourselves

is considered a sin.

Confirming who rules

we’re reminded again.

these poems inspired by Dylan's  "Not Dark Yet"

I Think We Think 

One way to solve the stupid problem

is to make everyone stupid

so we’re all too stupid to realize

we have a problem

and if I was as broke as the government 

because I spent too much

I guess I could stop buying food and starve

or I could just get more money

and oh by the way,

who’s giving Rafa Nadal wedgies

before each serve?

More Stupid Questions

When did it become fiscal irresponsible

to care for the elderly and less fortunate

and where are all these jobs

the Bush tax breaks have been creating

these past eight years

and is a wiener the same as a frank?