*******       ***********

Dancing Drops 

 

Dancing Drops on puddle tops,

sent there by the rain.

Silver globs of single drops

dance around each other

for various amounts

of rhythm and time,

then, upon the call to merge,

they fall back into the ocean

having danced joyously

with great love and devotion.

 

 

*******       ***********


Relation Threads  

 

Sacred threads

are woven

into the tapestry of family.

 

Warps and wefts

of generations

pass across the loom.

 

New colors

in the yarn

beget beauty

in the fabric.

 

Some mixing,

some similar,

durable characteristics

made ever new.

 

We are we

as I to me

and as you to you,

much the same,

always made new.


***********        *******


Hello My Friends The Whales               

 

Funny thing, I had been thinking of you,

early winter storm static

on the two-way telepathic radio,

so many leviathans out there.

 

Dear Good Friends Leviathans,

Needlessly greedy predators abetted, presently at bay.

What grace for your comeback!

Although you understandably complain

about poisoned radioactive warming water.

What will become of the anchovies, herring and krill?

 

I caught tinges of distress

when the fog on the water lifted a moment

before receding back down

under a blanket of clouds.

Then the telepatho-phone

played white noise fuzz again.

I hope you get my message…

 

Wondering, surely it must be

another phantasm in my mind

wandering across

the emerging spiral

of the moment.

The nagging doubt, insecurity

that haunts sailors lost at sea.

 

So what I wanted to I ask you,

my dear omniscient friend, leviathan,

was, is there, sight of land?

 

Or, will we drift on some more,

until we come upon the shore

of ever more, or never more?

 

Your wisdom I implore, dear friend,

Your plight I do deplore, Amen.

 

Yours in Thought, Word and Pen,

My Dear Friends Leviathans. 

Yours Truly, until the very end.

My Dear Leviathans.


*******       ************

 

Jonathan Leviathan                

 
All along the watery way,

so good to find a friend to play

and keep the rhythm of the waves,

as we sail away.

 

I’m floating in my boat they call “The Dave”.

He flies through the water,

beneath the waves.

We pass the hours that spin by,

with ballads, chanteys and lullabies.

 

Just off shore, I found a friend,

Jonathan Leviathan.

Strange it seems, though is true,

he came up from the blue.

 

I was out a fishing, but not catching,

when a whale came by.

Much to my wonder, he came over, 

and looked me in the eye.

 

He told me without saying,

“we shared a dream last night”.

Your melody,  my harmony, 

it was musical delight.

 

Now all of this came to me in his language,

I don’t know how we managed,

To understand without words,   

so wonderful, and so absurd.

 

I was half way to seventy, captain of a dingy. 

He, a young whale, just out of academy

He looked at me intuitively, right through me.

He said his name was Jonathan,

can we play a song? It went…

 

For three of us, we come here,

we only leave alone.

In between awake and dream,

we’re living nature’s song.

 

The dancing drummer dives

into the rhythm of the waves.

So good, where me and you,

can find the time to play.

 

Jonathan Leviathan,

you have been such a good friend,

I hate to see you go away.

 

But I know you’re hungry,

from your long journey.

And it’s time for dreaming on,

into the great beyond.

 

Down through the inky blue,

the deep blue beyond,

Fare thee well dear Jon!

 

 

*******       ************

 

Invisible One                       

 

Dear Invisible One,

 

Did you say you’d be gone,

disappeared for a while to the angels?

 

And how do you feel,

have your feet time to heal

from gravity nailing them down?

 

Did you go through the blue,

and fly to the angels,

to stay awhile and return?

 

How does it feel

to be naked and real,

with no one to answer to,

no one to look on you,

invisibly passing through,

Dear One?

 

Did they sweep you away to the angels,

to play music in their game?

 

You must cherish the view,

as you fly through the blue,

where no one can see you,

Dear One?

 

And how is the weather?

You say: “It couldn’t be better.”

Do you feel pain,

and cold drops of rain,

now that you are invisible, Dear One?

 

So here’s to you, across the sky,

I say to you, without reply,

I know you will return bye-and-bye.

 

And true, the friend, always there, ‘til the end.

 

Will you fly here across the sea?

We’ll be waiting with flowers,

when you return,

so don’t be long,

hurry home, invisible One.

 

Well, I must say goodnight,

so my dreams may take flight

And carry me on to the dawn.

 

To you friend, best wishes.

May your dreams be delicious.

We’re missing you now that you’re gone.

Dear… Invisible… One.

 

*******       ***********

 

The Unreal Becomes Real

 

The unreal becomes real

by reflective translation,

therein lies manifest inspiration.

 

Like the twinkle in a mother’s eye,

and the apple on Sir John Newton’s head,

like the colors that guide us,

and how we live on, when we are dead.

 

*******       ************

 

May All The Stories Be Told 

 

May all the stories be told,

as soon as they unfold,

upon the mind,

to chew and grind.

 

Then decide,

what to pass,

or to hold.

 

May all the stories be told.

 

May all the facets reveal,

so a ball comes

out of a wheel.

 

Then sides conjoin

into a whole coin,

when a ball comes

out of a wheel.

 

With joy for reunion,

of that split apart,

by a mind that divides,

 

now made whole,

with a new way to feel,

from a ball

made out of a wheel.

 

May all the facets reveal.

 

*******       ***********

 

Gold and Pink Seashells 

 

I had a sailor friend,

from the South Pacific,

who asked me

a very thoughtful question,

while we were out fishing.

 

And I pondered, as I listened,

while we were out a fishing.

 

My friend, named Rongo Rongo,

asked me cool and calm: “Bro?”

 

“What is up with gold,

why does it mean so much?”

 

I said: “Where have you been man?

Gold’s used for trading,

it is pretty and it’s “styling”.

 

It is hard to find

deep in the mine.

 

It starts wars,

buys whores,

adorns blushing brides,

and funds

the bling-bling stores.

 

Gold is used

for new teeth,

electroplates,

and treasuries.

 

A medium

of exchange,

which for

everyone

is wishing.

 

But I want to know,

Rongo Rongo,

why do you ask,

while we are out a fishing?”

 

Rongo Rongo said:

”Oh, hey, that’s the kind, Bro,

I see now what gold is all about!

 

“Back home on the islands,

There are little pink sea shells,

that grow out on,

the deep side of the reef.

 

They are hard to find,

dangerous work,

but when we get them,

we tie them in a string,

and trade

with those pretty things!

 

Gold is like

little pink seashells!

 

Wars are fought over them.

Brides are traded for them.

 

For jewelry,

and money.

Precious, rare,

to carry, or to wear.

 

Get as many as you can,

then you will be,

undoubtedly,

a very wealthy man.”

 

And I pondered, as I listened,

while we were out a fishing.

 

That really made me fidget,

and feel like a mental midget.

I thought he was dumb,

but I was the one,

who learned what it’s about!

 

Pretty pink seashells,

pretty gold nuggets,

mediums of exchange,

so pretty,

and so strange.

 

We make them

into everything,

money,

flashy chains

and rings.

 

Pink shells,

golden nugs,

Metal coins,

easy to lug.

 

Minerals,

crystals,

beads,

salt,

and precious stones.

 

Resins,

medicines,

shekels,

script,

and bones.

 

I was grateful for the lesson,

from this very thoughtful question,

from a friend,

from the South Pacific.

 

And I pondered, as I listened,

while we were out a fishing.


*******       *********** 

 

 

 

(C) (P) Arthur Davenport, Good Read Music LLC, all rights reserved.

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