Love Yourself...I Do!
I love myself…in and of this very moment
I will be what I can be
In and of this very moment
For this very moment
Is all that truly exists
Yesterday… no more than a memory
An fading echo in the mist
Tomorrow…only an expectation
Of what our mind thinks is to yet to be
Tomorrow…a figment of our imagination
That we may never come to see
The choice is mine
To be mellow…to have bliss
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poem by David Whalen
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Random rhyme (killing time)
showers give birth to rainbows
Ripples radiate from streams
Dells lie down with meadows
And nightfall gives leave to dreams
Frost is water, etched in rime
Oceans are spawners of tides
Crystal is ice, frozen in time
Headstones guardians at gravesides
Clouds are the genesis of showers
Cuffs are the endings of sleeves
Days are collections of hours
Garlands are sisters to sheaves
Mists are liquefied dreams
Willow is nature with head bowed
Dusk is the midwife of moonbeams
Fog is the offspring of cloud
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poem by David Whalen
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There better be pizza
When I go that kingdom, high in the sky
When I shed life’s coils, when I lay down to die
When my breath finally leaves me, with a last soft sigh
I’ll go to my reward…and an eternity of hot Pizza pie
I pray that there’s gonna be cheese filled crust
And piles of Pepperoni’s a definite must
I wanna see oceans of melted Mozarella
An’ don’t be getting’ stingy with the olives ‘Big Fella’
Lots of angelic onions, bits of heavenly ham
Could even contain slices of spiritual spam
Some divine diced tomatoes, some holy Swiss cheese
I’ve been real religious Lord, and I’m beggin’ you please
I better see hot cheese abubblin’
I implore you o’ Lord to provide that rapturous smell
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poem by David Whalen
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untitled abstract painting of Custer's Last Stand
Untitled abstract painting of Custer’s last stand
an abstract painting of custer’s last stand
Hangs in the Montana Museum of Modern Art
A fish with a halo and many Indians mating
And no name tag makes this painting, stand apart
Montanans know the title of this portrait
Although no name tag is shown
Yet, as the gaze falls upon it
the title is intuitively known,
the last words that were spoken
from this famous man’s mouth
As the battle of the Big horn
Began to go south
Oddly enough, as in the painting
his last words were not prayer
Though the words; “copulation and Indians, “
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poem by David Whalen
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Master Of Your Own Domain?
It's out of your hands
Beyond your control
No matter your demands
No matter your goal
The alarm commands
When you arise
The clock demands
When to open or close your eyes
Your appetite determines
What and when you partake
Your thirst decides
Of what and when to slake
Your education, not you,
Determines the course you take
And an indifferent boss
Decides how much you make
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poem by David Whalen
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Words About Birds
Tis the sight and the sound
of birds that enthralls me
They give my mind sustenance
And substance to see
Tis the peep and the patter
The quarrelsome chatter
And the fact that not a whit …
Do they care about me
As far as they’re concerned
if I don’t move, then I don’t exist
Kinda like my home situation
Only with a bird like twist
They are the essence of acquiesence
To the whims of Mother Nature
And to the oft, ugly whims
Of Human nomenclature
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poem by David Whalen
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Ode to The Scent Of Cinnamon
The heady scent of cinnamon
Upon the opening of the door
The tugging out of memories
From the mind’s musty store
The warm, soft smell of pie crust
Upon the opening of the oven
The revisiting of the memories
The huggin’ and the lovin’
The aromatic aura of apples
Baked with a crispy honeyed glaze
The remembering of the memories
Kitchen memories, happy days
The Smell of hot peach cobbler,
The tantalizing odor of allspice
The callin’ back of the memories
Kitchen memories, warm and nice
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poem by David Whalen
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It's Not So Much
It’s
Not so much… “what” you feel
But the “way” that you feel it
Not so much “what” you say
But the manner in which you reveal it
Not so much “how” you loved
More so… how “deep” your affection
Not so much your memories…
More so the richness in your fond reflection
Not so much how long in years you live
But how full your life was… or is to be
It’s not so much in the “what”
But in the “how”… that you can see…
It’s that when I look out the window
Into the inky dark of night
that I can see far beyond the shadows
And the black velvet that blinds your sight
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poem by David Whalen
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Empty Old Houses
Empty Old Houses
Empty old houses can talk…
But one must know how to listen…
to hear them
Empty old houses have stories…
But one must be eager to listen…
to hear them
Empty old houses can suffer..
But one must have empathy …
To feel it
Empty old houses can feel pain
But one must be able to bear it …
To feel it
Empty old houses have memories
But one must believe … that they have…
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poem by David Whalen
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That elusive perfect poem
Some day I’ll write one…
That won’t garner great numbers
Yet will linger in hearts…and
Rest sweetly on one’s lips
A poem that readers
will want to come back to
A poem that readers will savor
Tasting, …In long, sensuous sips
A poem that warms one’s cockles
Makes one lean back and smile
Makes one glad to have read it
To enjoy my writing…for a while
Maybe place it in their favorites
Hopefully, at least… keep in their hearts
Repeat to themselves favorite phrases
All my descriptive and alliterative parts
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poem by David Whalen
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