Sleeping Beauty
Tangled locks of auburn hair
Tresses strewn o’er satin pillow
Silken sheets cool to the skin
Under limbs… lithe as the willow
Languid eyes neath limpid lashes
Tightly closed in dreamy slumber
Lips as soft as feathery ashes
Eyes as brown as earthen umber
Yet as I watch her… the truth is revealing
This woman beside me…this woman I keep
She’s ever so much… more appealing
When she’s ever so much more… deeply asleep
poem by David Whalen
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How Curious Is Nature
How curious the occasion
Of the funeral procession
Of a young and innocent being
The ceasing of song,
and the darkness of death, The sunlight
thought no more to be seen
How curious that Nature
All around this sad event allows the sun
to yet shine and the birds to still sing
Perhaps Nature knows more than
One would suppose, and that death is
No more than a soul taking wing
Aye, how curious
Tis death
And the nature of things
poem by David Whalen
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Tracks, Trails, Lines and pages
Tracks in forests… of woodland creatures
Trails of shooting stars in summer skies
Tracks of rockets o’er bloody battlefields
Traces of wrinkles round wizened eyes
Lines of wisdom on wrinkled faces
Lines of ants upon the floor
Lines of prose on parchment pages
Lines of carts inside the stores
Pages of life, inside old diarys
Pages dog-eared to mark the places
Pages filled with tales sad and fiery
Pages filled with empty spaces
poem by David Whalen
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Bullet Below Her Breast (missed...udderly)
Sad, Saggy Saga
Ninety three year old lady,
sad and bereft
By her beloved husband’s
untimely death
Decided to join him
and no longer be apart
Twould best be done
by a bullet to the heart
To her doctor posed the question,
“exactly where does my heart rest”
The doctor replied,
“just below your left breast”
Gunshot under her left breast
Failed to set her free
She was admitted to hospital
[...] Read more
poem by David Whalen
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Will there be another
Will this be
The last Spring
I see?
Or will I enjoy
a few Springs
More?
Enjoy the last March thaw
The first robin’s
Call?
Or will I arrive in Hell…
Or at heaven’s
Door?
I’ll find out soon
Sure…There’s no doubt
Of that
[...] Read more
poem by David Whalen
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Recipe For Scotch Whiskey
Start with cold, fringed beaches,
Laced with Smoke and fog.
In a cauldron.
Add Cliffs and caverns
With just a dash
of Monuments of mystery.
Blend in the breath
Of Ancient peat bog.
Add then a dollop
Of flavor of brine,
To Malt barley
And yeast,
blessed by a priest.
Finally meld in together
In a vast vessel of copper,
The Smell of salt air and tears
Bottle in layers of old Celtic prayers.
Then sit back and wait
For a number of years
poem by David Whalen
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How Heavy Is Hair?
I Lost fifteen pounds
Over this past year…
but my pot gut and love handles
are still “hangin’ in there”
The only notable change
Is that my bald spot got bigger
And it’s really not strange
that my hair got thinner
So, it leaves me in
a state of confusion
And there’s clearly, only one
Question and obvious conclusion
The conclusion tis:
When in the mirror I stare…
that the big question is
… just how heavy is hair? …
poem by David Whalen
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Moms (Forever's Not Enough)
We don't (or didn't) get to have them
Long enough
We don't (or didn't)
Appreciate them enough
We don't (or didn't) listen
We think we've heard enough
We think we don't need them
We didn't need them enough
We think we'll never miss them
We'll miss them more than enough
We're only given one apiece
That should be enough
We don't tell them we love them
(at least not often enough)
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poem by David Whalen
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The coldest of the cold?
A greedy person’s Cold ambition
Or could it be Cold windy nights
The pureness of Cold clear water
Or the alien aspect of Cold neon lights
The careless Cold shoulder
The unfeeling Cold heart
The curse of Cold nature
Cold hands held apart
Could it be Cold feet
Could it be cold fears
Could it be cold weather
Or icy cold ears
Even above cold blood…
Even above… being apart
My choice of all, above, Would be
the unfeeling…of a cold, cold heart
poem by David Whalen
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Homeless
Peace on earth, mercy
Mild… give… to help feed, a
Homeless, hungry child
Snow so soft, winter’s
Just great! Unless one’s home is…
In a cardboard crate
Christmas…a place in
The heart…where many poor souls
Live too far apart
No coats…gloves or heat
No bed…Not enough to eat.
That’s Life on the street
Offer a hand up
To one who’s down, help to
Fill an empty cup
[...] Read more
poem by David Whalen
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