David Whalen Poems

Buckskin brown eyes stare deep into the fire
Leathery brown faces turn up toward the sky
Sinewy brown muscles tensed up like wire
Tomorrow will be a good day to die
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Soft murmuring sound

A soft murmuring sound,
From a deep hidden place
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showers give birth to rainbows
Ripples radiate from streams
Dells lie down with meadows
And nightfall gives leave to dreams
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A caress can be the simple touch
A friendly squeeze of one’s shoulder

Can also mean so very much
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You lose a little bit of something’
Somewhere along the way

Perhaps a little more, than just a little bit,
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The Lonely Writer

Some writings tell me
This person is lonely
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A fleeting mental picture
Conjured up in young lad’s head
Of shopping malls and Christmas trees
Of warm kitchen and warm bed
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Twas in a wee little kirk
Nestled deep in the heather
Where leprechauns lurk
mid fog and brash weather
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Ya Gotta know when to run

When a redneck says… “watch this”
Ya just gotta get out of his truck
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Silvery angels,
Clear cold crystal creeks
Fresh Christmas trees
Frost reddened cheeks
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