a children’s poem by Thomas Davis
There was a little mouse that I knew
Who was singing to the big blue sky.
“Say little mouse,” I yelled at him there.
“What do you see? A blue sky pie?”
“No,” said the mouse as he sang his song.
“I only see a cloud and the blue,blue air,
But the cloud is as white as the winter snow,
And a sky so blue is rare.”
Filed under Poetry, Thomas Davis
a children’s poem by Thomas Davis
A dragon ate away the night!
Clouds, white from fear, fled through the sky.
A morning trumpet stormed to flight
As reeds lay silent, hushed and shy.
The sun burned red into sky-blue.
Great ships sailed white from burning sun.
A lonely goose with honking flew
Up from hushed pickets, slim and glum.
Filed under Poetry, Thomas Davis
a children’s poem by Thomas Davis
Way down in Caf∞a∞ghan∞a∞stan,
Down by the restless, wave-tossed seas,
I met my true love walking home
Through sands, past forest trees.
The flowers, lemon-blossomed yellow
Spread out beneath the sun
And blossomed spring-time on the earth
And put cold winter on the run.
The pearl gray oysters fell to flocks
Of kiwi birds with prying beaks,
And long-eared owls laughed at the moon
And fished from moonless creeks.
Way down in Caf∞a∞ghan∞a∞stan,
Down by the restless, wave-tossed seas,
I met my true love walking home
Through sands, past forest trees.
My love wore golden earrings bright
And a gown of misty, sea-morn blue.
My love turned day into the night
And said to give this poem to you.
Filed under Poetry, Thomas Davis
Blue on yellow, yellow on green.
The white cloth-patched sky belongs
With the thin gauze look
Of a dragonfly’s wings.
A poem is…. a conversation
Just heard by you and me,
A laugh, a smile, a deep black sky,
And the ever changing sea.
a children’s poem by Thomas Davis
Filed under Poetry, Thomas Davis
a children’s poem by Thomas Davis written for Sonja and Mary when they were young
There was a song that I once heard
When I was very, very young.
I heard the songs of bright night stars
Cold singing in a silent tongue.
There’s no one else within the world
Who heard their silver lullabye,
But now I’m telling you, my loves:
Go out and listen to the sky!
Filed under Poetry, Thomas Davis
a children’s poem by Thomas Davis
“Well fellow old, my faithful friend,”
The kettle sighed as she began.
“We’ve cooked away until the end
And finally our long earned rest’s at hand.
“Sleep softly this black household night
And when bright morning trumpets in
We’ll wheeze and steam just like the light
And start our work all up again.”
“Oh yes,” the old stove answered her.
“The morning always seems to come.
The only thing is that I’m tired
And wish that all the endless work was done.”
“Oh yes,” the kettle wheezed and sighed.
“I know the feeling. Yes, I do.
Sometimes I get steamed up inside
And boil the silliest things. I do.
“Why, just today some tea was poured
Into my deepest inside part,
And I steamed up with salty tears
And salted tea down in my heart.”
“There, there,” the old stove gently said.
“Now don’t go getting steamed again.
My fires are cold and long since dead,
And sleep’s the thing that eases sin.”
Filed under Poetry, Thomas Davis
a children’s poem by Thomas Davis
Softly whisper to the snow
As the snow whispers down from the sky
And cover yourself with a blanket of song
As the snow comes down to lie
Upon the ground, to cover the ground
With a blanket white and cold.
Softly sing your snow white snow
And sleep with the sleep of the snow.
Filed under Poetry, Thomas Davis
by Thomas Davis
a children’s poem written when Sonja and Mary were young
After the stars were all hung out,
Some wet and some half dry,
Rain dripped down from heaven’s black
And cleaned the blue into the sky.
Then the laundry woman left
And let the stars grow dry and cold,
Shining, flapping in the sky,
Becoming stars instead of clothes.
Filed under Poetry, Thomas Davis
a children’s poem by Thomas Davis
I saw a thin-necked, brown giraffe
Walk through my tallest, night-long dreams,
Its long legs flowing like the wind,
Its neck as thin as desert streams.
“Say,” I said. “Please, oh tell me, sir.
What are you doing in my dreams?
My dreams are full of dancing stars
And not giraffes brown, thin, and lean.”
The brown giraffe then looked around,
As if it hadn’t really looked,
And then it bolted from my dream
Into the pages of this book.
Filed under Poetry, Thomas Davis
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