Me... Eccentricity... and Poetry
A pair of newly purchased, round lens glasses
That now perch steadfast and proud
upon my brow
Endow me the rather amusing mien…
of a startled, outraged and somewhat
surprised barn owl
A matted mane of shaggy grey hair
And a tiny flagrant bald spot
Poised defiantly there
Demanded that my eccentric appearance
Should be given
an upward rachet
So to be more in keeping
With Burns, Bierce and
“Bob Cratchett”
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poem by David Whalen
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Qualities of light
A certain gauzy luminosity
In the dawn of a summer day
The diffuse, dispersive quality
As morning breaks… across the bay
That almost palpable morning spark
In a young girl’s liquid eyes
Dawn’s nascent glow… ‘neath night’s dark
Of star and moonlit skies
Golden haloes drape oe’r mountaintops
Beams peeking shyly through the valleys
Columns of crystal, piercing thunderclouds
Chasing darkness… down empty alleys
Filtering through filigree lace of old lady’s windows
Spotlighting dust motes dancing in air
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poem by David Whalen
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Violets...Dandelions and Drought
My Front Yard…in Las Vegas Nevada
A hostile environment
A parched arid place
A Mars-like landscape
A few hardy weeds embrace
Dandelions struggle
For meager existence
Gripping dry, parched earth
With desperate persistence
undauntedly turning
Golden faces to the sun
Asking no quarter…
And Nature gives none
Almost unnoticed
In the early Spring breeze
Small timid blue blossoms
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poem by David Whalen
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Vampires (they Drive Me Batty!)
Vampires, Vampires, Vampires
Put vampires in your writing
These days it’s all the rage
Little pointy fangs and biting
And sucking’s all the rage
It’s only fictional wordplay
Or so most people think
But it’s much, much more, I say
And I say that without a blink
Vampirism does exist, it’s true
But without it’s traditional cape
And is still terrifying, through and through
In it’s new and haunting shape
Take our state and federal government
With their dark and sinister way
And how they sink their teeth into,
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poem by David Whalen
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Springtime and Old Irishmen
As an Irishman,
tis my prerogative
To be an authority on all things
Great and small
As an "old" Irishman
it's my fate
Of late (and as always)
To simply know it all
As an old Irishman of visage worn
Of craggy face, rheumy blue eyes
With clothing crudely rent and worn
Prone to ale, stout and whisky sighs
As an old wise, wizened Irishman
Who loves the winter as a wondrous thing
But as sure it is, I'm an old Irishman
I treasure most…the Irish Spring
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poem by David Whalen
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Spirit
I’m the presence you sense
when there’s no one around
I’m the whisper you hear,
when there is no sound
I’m the place where things go
When dropped on the floor
I’m the secret repository
Of things to be seen ne’er more
I’m the unexplained chill
That one feels late at night
I’m that unremembered dream
That awakes you in fright
I’m that sense of forbidding
That primitive feel
When the hair on your neck
Stands up cold as steel
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poem by David Whalen
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The 'David O' Investment Plan (for newlyweds)
Valuable financial lesson
Some young folks immersed in newly wedded bliss
Sometimes lack long-term financial sense
And if I didn’t give advice, I’d be sadly remiss
So this sage pearl of wisdom, I hereby dispense
Part One:
Put a large piggybank at the side of your bed
And each time you complete a bit of consummation
Be sure to dropp a quarter into the pig’s head
Before dropping into the sleep of carnal relaxation
Do this bit of bouncy, with avid eager delight
For five or ten years, as young folks happily do
But just don’t forget, at each and every night
To put a quarter in the piggybank too.
Part Two
After five or ten years take a quarter out
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poem by David Whalen
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To Chat with a Raven
Wind whispers through fingers
of ebony black pinions
Head cocked to watch me
as he drifts past my eyes
Apprising and appraising
My place in his dominion
Head cocked to watch me
As he effortlessly flies
To a graceful landing
Atop a lodge-pole pine
Then the head cocked again
Ebon eyes locked on mine
As if posing the question
Without uttering a word
What is your place here
In my world? …asked the bird
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poem by David Whalen
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I Watched
Pediatric E.R, R.I.P 11/5/09 (Volunteer work can be tough)
I watched…
A heartbreaking scene today
But I couldn’t take
my eyes away
I watched …
I feel shamed to say
I watched
a little girl die today
I watched …
an anguished EMT cry
I watched nurses drawn faces
I watched a little girl die
I watched …
Just outside the doors
The Frantic CPR applied
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poem by David Whalen
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Smile Power
A smile can be loose
A smile can be tight lipped
It can be acidic
Or be in honey dripped
A smile can be heart rending
If tendered in sad farewell
And also be heart mending
Quite curative as well
A smile when one is needed
Can be the lift one needs in life
Can be so slight as to go unheeded
Can be the salve to soothe one’s strife
A smile given in greeting
Can melt the iciest kind of soul
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poem by David Whalen
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