I have watched a myriad Of red and green lights . . . → Read More: Literal City]]> I wrote this wee poem back in late 2008 when things were not so grand in the land of Davis.  I found it today by accident while perusing one of my backup drives.  It speaks for itself, I think. 

I have watched a myriad
Of red and green lights reflect
In the cloudy rivers edge
When night has settled on this city.

I have trod around the broken green
And clear glass shards on the asphalt,
The flattened blue and silver beer cans
And licking smoke trails of spent ciggies.

I have heard the bellow of engines pass,
The screak of tyres as they brake,
The snares and drums of stereos
That blast from cars stopped at lights.

The smell of damp alley-ways,
From exhaust and discarded crisps
Half drowned in petrol runoff
Assault the air on nights like this.

I have felt the vacuum of empty streets
Between the buildings, wet and cold
With bits of dust and trash and rain
From construction cages on new buildings.

I have turned my back and walked away,
Peered down at the river from the bridge,
Seen amorphous ripple shivers there
And favoured them to the literal city.

Related Post

• Bittersweet (3)
• Blog? (3)
• POTD: Boo! (2)
• Futile Click of the Shutter….Ha (2)
• Daring Moonbeams (1)

Normally, I would have brushed him off as an . . . → Read More: A flash of broken Mirrors]]> Wednesday afternoon I was in city centre doing a quick walkabout to stretch my legs.  As I sauntered past the white collar littered promenade at lunchtime, a crowd of suits sped past me.  One of them pushed me and my camera gear up against a brick building facade.

Normally, I would have brushed him off as an eejit and went on my way.  But, I had something eating at my gut, so this little incident sent me slightly over the edge.  I have nothing against people in suits.  I have a lot of suits.  I enjoy looking professional, but being that I’m a country boy, I am much more comfortable in denims and a t-shirt.

“What is your problem?” 

He turned around, looked at me, whispered something to a cohort, laughed, and continued on his way.

Just the mere mannerisms and holier than though attitude infuriated me further, so I bit my bottom lip and lectured, “Between me and my family, we pay over a ****** ******* dollars to this state alone every year, so as long as I’m following the laws and mores  of our wee society, I’ll walk where, when, and how I want…I’d be more careful of who I knock over, if I were you”.

“Oh Yeah?”  He enquired whilst cockily crossing his arms and snickering with his twenty something pals.

“Yeah”, I boldly stated.

“Who’s your father then, tough guy?”

““*** Davis.”

“The *** Davis?”

“The one and only”, I answered whilst sighing.

“You’re kidding me, right?”  He jokingly asked whilst destroying a piece of gum.

“No.”

“*** Davis has no son…he has three girls.  I know him.  My firm, *********, does work for him”, he laughingly hollered as a crowd gathered.

“He has six children, whether you know it or not”, I muttered while turning to walk away.

“If I were you, I’d be more careful about lying to make yourself feel big", the chump yelled whilst pushing his comrades forward.

The English lady from the coffee house that I was standing in front of patted me on the back and told me not to mind him.  I had a café noir fuelled walk and went home.

Later that night, I was sitting here at my desk fuming about what the bloke said.  As hard as it was to swallow, it was almost the truth.  I had not talked to him in months.  We had a wee bit of a falling out over a wee money issue.  I had called his phone on numerous occasions and left messages trying to rectify the situation, but to no avail.

I went to the kitchen cupboards to fetch some Earl Grey and there peering out of the dark recess was a brand new bottle of a precious beverage from Ireland.  I grabbed one of my grandfathers favourite glasses and the green bottle.  Humour flowed from a TV show I rarely miss loosely based on the FDNY as well as the bottle. 

A crack of thunder rattled the windows, as I searched the darkness for the incoming light show.  The rain had lightly been pelting against the office window all night.  While trying to grab a ciggy and a light, I stumbled a bit not realising how much I had consumed.

I stood at the back door and gazed out into the blackness of the garden.  While smoking that one ciggy, a thought popped into my bevvied head.  So, I grabbed my keys and phone and headed out the door. 

I ran from one wet street to another until I approached the main thoroughfare.  Soaked from head to toe, I stopped and gawped at the quarter moon peering through a gap in the heavy mist.  I gazed at the moon, while standing on that sidewalk, enquiring as to why things are the way they are.  Then, a suburban whizzed by covering me in road muck.

So, I decided to run to the 24hr bistro, encountering heavy raindrop laden puddles, like broken mirrors illuminated by lightning strikes along my path.  When I got to the bistro, one of the waitresses that I know offered me a towel to dry off and brought me a cup of coffee.  She asked if I was alright, and of course, I said I was fine.  She knew better because I never show up in the middle of the night.  She told me to call Red, an off and on again petite amie.

12:30AM  Ring…ring…ring…ring

“Hello”, she whispered.

“Hey”, I hollered in a half inebriated manner.

“What time is it?”  She pleaded as the ruffling of covers and feathers could be heard over the phone.

“It’s 12:30.  I’m at the bistro.  I need you to pick me up so we can talk.”

“Are you kiddin’ me?”  She enquired with a bit of disdain in her tone.

“No.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Only slightly”, I uttered whilst trying not to laugh.

Click

I reasoned that she was mad at me for waking her up, so I finished my coffee.  The kind waitress offered to call me a cab, but I benignantly refused.  I took my time walking home.  The thunderous storm had passed and a murkiness thick enough to cut through with one’s body had settled in its place. 

It was around 1:30 in the morning, when I turned onto my street.  I sneakingly walked past the other houses, hoping not to wake my ever alert grandmother that lives two houses down. 

By the time I approached my front yard, the audaciousness and silliness had wavered.  I discovered a glint of something on my front stoop.  Scared, I drew closer.  A figure came into view through the vapours.  I got closer and realised it was…

It was her.  She walked up to me shivering, her countenance filled with rage and worry.

Slap

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again”, she whispered in my ear.

I had never been prouder than at that moment.  It was not my intention to worry her or anyone else, but it was nice to know that she cares.

For Her:

Freckles is a savage word.

How about dapples of lust,

Honey sisters,

Blunders of the Sun,

Love in lace,

Damsel’s shivers,

Silent baubles,

Caramel kisses,

Blotch of arcs,

Or a serene flock?

To Pops:  Happy Fathers Day, dude!  You’ll always be my pops, and I hope to make you proud one day.  A little bit of time is all I’m asking for.

P.S.:  Drinking and smoking are not things that I condone or would suggest that anyone start.  I don’t have an addictive personality, so I can get away with the occasional drink or gasper.

P.P.S.:  Most of us have father issues in one form or another.  Our fathers are our fathers no matter what.  Tis best to love them, because we never know when we or them may not wake up one morning. 

Honour thy Father and thy Mother.

Related Post

• Return to Green 2009 (4)
• Pet Peeve (9)
• Group Rantings (2)
• Literal City (0)
• Dust off Yer Boots (2)

I’m not on about global warming, just your average eefit that doesn’t see anything wrong with pouring motor . . . → Read More: Wee Tulip]]> Nature will always triumph over mans lust for money and power.  We are a strange species, indeed.  The very premise that we would destroy our own habitat without giving thought to future generations is insane!

I’m not on about global warming, just your average eefit that doesn’t see anything wrong with pouring motor oil into a stream.  And, the arses that know better but just don’t care.  Yeah, I’m a tree hugger but not a hippy.  Although, I was raised by ‘em.

Fresh, tall and colourful, they arise,
Dominating an ancient horizon,
Merely forgettable monuments
To the modern virtues of this land

Speculation is abundant,
Yet even more sprout,
All scramble; transfixed,
By their raw splendour.

Finally the wild brents have returned,
Perhaps weary and spent by foreign toils,
But, easily caught in the superb daze,
Of such a noble narcosis.

Politicians, lobbyist; the masses too,
Race to appease an insatiable craving;
Strive to conceive, produce and build ever more,
For pretentious opulence is their life’s pursuit.

However, the last days draw nigh,
When the harsh winter will engulf all,
And the unforgiving world, will,
Eventually destroy the wee tulip.

At least until the next season of exuberance,
When the ridiculous game will be reborn,
And eagerly embraced with revitalised mirth,
By the infinitely wiser sons of fortunate fools.
-Jefferson Davis-

Related Post

• Literal City (0)
• Blog? (3)
• B&W or Colour? (3)
• Riddled countenance (7)
• Beezzy Break (5)

It’s a word that conveys honour and compassion and focus and belief in futurity, . . . → Read More: Four Letters]]> It’s a word
No moment can ever fully restrain
It values no limits
nor rules nor mores
nor logic.

It’s a word
that conveys honour
and compassion and focus
and belief in futurity,
manana.

It’s a word
that’s gentle and euphoric
and soothing, a quilt on a frigid night,
a hand, an arm, a snuggle,
a smile.

It’s a word
significantly unique to each expérience,
unseasoned couples engulfed in it,
elders acrimonious from it,
parents fulfilled by it.

But it’s just a word,
four finite letters
cryptic, maybe,
indefinable, certainly-
but just a word.

Related Post

• Blog? (3)
• Elegant Lace (5)
• Sunday Jukebox (7)
• Lottery (1)
• Simple Things (0)

Exquisiteness, youth and brilliance in motion, Her purest of thoughts are my celestial notions, Bringing forth perceptions of wonder and desire, My heart skips as . . . → Read More: Elegant Lace]]> I’m totally exhausted, so I’ll leave you with a wee poem I wrote almost a year ago.  I shall return Friday evening with some new and original material.  Not sure what yet. 

Exquisiteness, youth and brilliance in motion,
Her purest of thoughts are my celestial notions,
Bringing forth perceptions of wonder and desire,
My heart skips as fanciful lips fervently enquire.

Her mystique, spirit, heart, and soul so tranquil,
Her adoring smile that rushes forth life’s grandest thrill,
Her ways of caring, nods of affection,
Beauty and grace; a tantalising deception.

She evokes love and kindness, from deep inside,
A deluge of emotions, setting forth a great tide.
She gingerly paints a world so serene
That life will never become a routine.

-Jefferson Davis-

Related Post

• Blog? (3)
• Four Letters (0)
• Riddled countenance (7)
• Unspoken (3)
• Literal City (0)

The moon becomes pallid When I gaze upon your luscious skin. And gravities hold on the stars falters, When my thoughts sway to you again.

A heartbeat becomes an infinity, With the utterance of your name. And like an infant, I . . . → Read More: Raindrops]]> When I want to weep
Rain seems to a – pear.
When I want to smile,
Should the sky not be clear?

The moon becomes pallid
When I gaze upon your luscious skin.
And gravities hold on the stars falters,
When my thoughts sway to you again.

A heartbeat becomes an infinity,
With the utterance of your name.
And like an infant,
I lose myself within eyes aflame.

I could stay there evermore.
Awash in warm sea of blue,
But when I do
It rains the scent of you.

-Jefferson Davis-

Random Posts

• OMG – Check out this Camera/Phone (0)
• Hands Across the Divide (5)
• Happy belated New Year! (2)
• Write, damn you, write! (3)
• Message in a Bottle… (0)

We weave away loneliness in unison,

As the tele cries . . . → Read More: Unwanted]]> This wee poem is about two friends of mine…Eejits, they are! I will not tell you what it is about. Perhaps you can figure it out. Just know that it is not relevant to me. I guess you could call it an angst poem.

We weave away loneliness in unison,

As the tele cries of war and famine;

Unwittingly, we continue on

Totally unaware.

We tread streets oozing in lurid day dreams,

Surreptitious perils on a microscopic scale;

Counselled by a hoarding with a tale

Of sorrow and despair.

And we sit in a benighted peep show,

With veiled teeth and lips in motion;

Awaiting a carnal promenade,

When skin goes bare.

-Jefferson Davis-

Random Posts

• Off the Cuff Review of The Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland… (2)
• Women and The Great Beyond (6)
• One small Step, One Giant Leap… (3)
• Sun Baked (0)
• Me having trouble with shag scenes (3)

I sometimes fear to live life, I fear of oeuvre, I fear of night, I dread driving my car in daylight.

Lunacy, an ideology, it strips us of our reality. What is factual, what is fake, It’s too much for my head to take.

And then it strikes me, Reality. The thing we forgot about, The thing that we froze . . . → Read More: Climbing Higher]]>

I sometimes fear to live life,
I fear of oeuvre, I fear of night,
I dread driving my car in daylight.

Lunacy, an ideology,
it strips us of our reality.
What is factual, what is fake,
It’s too much for my head to take.

And then it strikes me,
Reality.
The thing we forgot about,
The thing that we froze out.

The cosmos, the galaxy,
the sun, moon, stars, and seas.
It’s so elementary really, so easy to embrace,
We are drifting on a wild boulder in space.

But the globe is spinning
At a high rate of speed
We’re devoured by hate,
By fright and greed.

We strive to vie,
To be the best;
No one will stop us,
Survival upon request.

To desire the world,
It makes no sense,
What’s here and now,
Is much more immense.

 Life’s not ’bout the
Hands we shake,
It’s all ‘bout the
Bonds we make.

It’s ascending to that
Higher state,
It’s benevolence we share,
We gravitate.

The incessant negativity,
We must rise above,
Because all we really crave

is Love.

-Jefferson Davis-

Random Posts

• Old and Feeble (0)
• Older Short Stories.. (2)
• A Jig and a Rig (9)
• Mexican Flavor… (0)
• Boozer (4)

This poem was originally posted in February, but I felt it deserved another look. It is becoming increasingly harder for me to write a poem and walk away from it. I’m constantly going back to older poems and refining them. I’ll hopefully hone my skills enough to have them published. . . . → Read More: Lazuline Seas]]>

This poem was originally posted in February, but I felt it deserved another look. It is becoming increasingly harder for me to write a poem and walk away from it. I’m constantly going back to older poems and refining them. I’ll hopefully hone my skills enough to have them published. (One day) I can only hope.

What say you?

The blue of sea these turquoise jewels shine,
And they effulgence to more for they aren’t mine.
And when observed from afar,
They glisten like the northern star.

Among the grot, these gems are found,
Mingled with the dust and earth.
But illuminate the dingiest search,
For man’s faith and rebirth.

So chaste and bright like the smallest elf,
And so abyssal that you could lose yourself,
In enigmas of the parallel,
Or in the antechambers of blackest hell.

Without them life would surely die,
And with them to forever cry,
The words of auld prophesies:
Fortune!, Glory!, and the bluest turquoise seas.

-Jefferson Davis-

Random Posts

• Happy 4th my ‘Merkan brethren (2)
• Interuption of Services (2)
• I’ll be Back… (0)
• It’s a Bad thing (3)
• Episode 41 (3)

Watching her Terpsichore about like a vigorous lion cub.

Glistening rays of violet and crimson fall from her copper ringlets,

As I cogitate, “Will she be the queen to my king or will it just be a fling”? . . . → Read More: I’m a Fall Guy]]> Silently, I sit amongst a sea of blackberry shrubs,

Watching her Terpsichore about like a vigorous lion cub.

Glistening rays of violet and crimson fall from her copper ringlets,

As I cogitate, “Will she be the queen to my king or will it just be a fling”?

I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself with that last line.

Yesterday, a friend told me that the redheaded lass that my heart leaps for has been talking trash about me behind my back. Over the years, I have found that it is much more respectful to tell someone that you don’t like them, instead of telling them that you do, when you really don’t. How hard is it to say, “Bugger Off”?

Ah, she’s not broke Jefferson Davis though. I’m a dreamer and a schemer, so I’ve got something up my sleeves to make her wish she would have thought different about me. Beneath countless layers of redheaded evilness, there is a sweet young woman. I’ve seen that side, but only for a moment. She’s worth the trouble, I think?

Random Posts

• Otus asio (1)
• Friendship… (0)
• Yes – Dubai Ports World gives up takeover of six US ports. (1)
• Recent Search Terms… (0)
• Brown eyed Billy (7)

This poem was originally posted almost a year ago, but I think it’s worth another look. What say you?

I kneel here without an utterance watching you sleep, With your eyes shut I ponder what it is you seek, We only find pleasantness in what it is we keep, And it’s easier to trust in things we perceive, Even . . . → Read More: Virtuous Eyes]]>

This poem was originally posted almost a year ago, but I think it’s worth another look. What say you?

I kneel here without an utterance watching you sleep,
With your eyes shut I ponder what it is you seek,
We only find pleasantness in what it is we keep,
And it’s easier to trust in things we perceive,
Even still there’s a sparkle emitting from your eyes,
Vesicating and scorching it heightens my desires.

The spilt milk clouds are breaking and the morning is sunned,
As the Nox has taken its fleeting last breath,
Your eyes they flicker as the new day dawns,
And I am greeted by a recherché smile,
Even still there’s a power that glows from your eyes,
Vivid and fiery it heightens my desires.

A word gently uttered lets me know you’re in love,
And that I’m the one you were dreaming of,
My thoughts are now encapsulated with the look on your face
So fragile, elusive and so in its place,
And still there’s a light that’s beaming from your eyes,
And still there’s that essence of powerfulness in your smile,
And still you’re so guiltless and such a delicate prise,
You’re faultless and priceless as you fulfil my desires.

Random Posts

• Hi Folks (2)
• Gone Fishin’ (3)
• Skint’s Back! (2)
• The Da Vinci Code – Again! (0)
• No More TomorrowsCover (0)

Exquisiteness, youth and brilliance in motion, Her purest of thoughts are my celestial notions, Bringing forth perceptions of wonder and desire, My heart skips as fanciful lips fervently enquire.

Her mystique, spirit, and heart and soul so tranquil, Her adoring smile that . . . → Read More: Delicate Canvas]]>

Exquisiteness, youth and brilliance in motion,
Her purest of thoughts are my celestial notions,
Bringing forth perceptions of wonder and desire,
My heart skips as fanciful lips fervently enquire.

Her mystique, spirit, and heart and soul so tranquil,
Her adoring smile that rushes forth life’s grandest thrill,
Her ways of caring, nods of affection,
Beauty and grace; a tantalising deception.

She evokes love and kindness, from deep inside,
A deluge of emotions, setting forth a great tide.
She gingerly paints a world so serene
That life will never become a routine.

-Jefferson Davis-

Random Posts

• Benignancy of the knee… (5)
• Sickening Behaviour… (0)
• Muse (5)
• Thirty-Six Dramatic Situations… (0)
• Me having trouble with shag scenes (3)