Tag Archives: love poem

Beside the Cottonwood

a villanelle by Thomas Davis

“Beside the cottonwood,” I start to say.
She looks at me. Words fade out of my head.
What now? I think. I focus on the way

She’s standing by the massive tree, the gray
Streaked through her hair a halo that has wed
Her essence to the glinting interplay

Of light and shadow dancing leaves that sway
And flutter in a breeze that seems to tread
Out from the tree into the fields of day.

The sudden silence morphs into dismay,
Confusion, even, maybe, just a hint of dread.
What if, inside a moment, disarray

Has somehow found our lives and cutaway
The passion in our hearts that’s always led
To moments that are glorious and fey.

But then she smiles. The tree’s roots dig through clay
And living sustenance flows to the spread
Of branches reaching to the sky, the play
Of light her spirit as my spirit’s quay.


Filed under poems, Poetry, Thomas Davis

A Lover’s Song

by Thomas Davis

We strung along a priceless string of stars
And made the moon a pendant just to show.
I cut the night into a dress, the bars
Of moonlight setting stars and dress aglow.

You laughed with love deep in your doe-brown eyes.
You swirled the universe upon your hem.
As dizzy as a lover filled with love’s first lies,
I watched your eyes grow dazzled by your gems.
Then, with a shrug, your dress fell to the ground.
The night became a puddle at your feet.
Stars glistened in a heap, their skies cut down.
The moon gleamed silver-cold without your heat.
We swirled together deep into the night,
Our years illuminated, blazing light.


Filed under Poetry, Thomas Davis

Lobster-Colored Sun of Fire

a love poem to Ethel by Thomas Davis

Like a snowflake in August is my love,
Like an August sun on a winter day,
Like the small thunder of a shining raindrop
Striking on a roof of stone.

O lobster colored sunfire,
How can the heavens be strewn with stars
When the sun has not felt the coolness
Of the gently silvered moon?

I have felt snowflakes in August
And been warmed by an August sun in winter.
I have heard small thunder ringing,
Brought by the drumming of raindrops,
Upon the stone roof of my soul.

O lobster colored sunfire,
Do you not know the differences made by love?


Filed under Poetry, Thomas Davis

The Waters

a love poem by Thomas Davis

The waters have come clear to my soul.
I have sunk into the abyss of deep waters.
Like the currants clustered upon the vines
I have taken nourishment from the leaves
and roots of the earth.

Song O song of my love into the deepest night,
eyes dark like pebbles on the bottom of the sea,
Can you not hear the waves running like elephants,
gray and huge, as they crash on the rocks of the shore?

The waters have come clear to the soul.
I have sunk into the abyss of deep waters.
Like the currants clustered upon the vines
I have taken my nourishment from the leaves
and roots of the earth.


Filed under Poetry, Thomas Davis

Sonnet 7

by Thomas Davis

We drove to Mesa Verde as the San Juan’s rose
in morning sunlight green, majestic, soaring.
I’ve met this girl, he said. He rubbed his nose
as if he had a pounding headache starting.
But I don’t know, he said. I feel like smiling
whenever thoughts about her make my day.
She’s with another guy she’s basically supporting.
He sighs. Sometimes I think she’ll walk my way,
but then she hesitates, he says. I sway
as if I’m in a storm that generates
emotions strong enough to make me flay
myself as who I am deteriorates.

Love isn’t what it really ought to be,
he said. The flower should accept the bee.


Filed under Poetry, Thomas Davis

Moonlight’s Footings

by Alazanto

The moonlight:
bloody and scathed,
yet still intimate with a surreptitious fog,
crawls under the roots of November oaks.

The crows:
Forms shifting,
aspirations tuned to the leaves,
plot their conquest of riches untold.

I lean against an old light post:
Its tenuous figure leads my gaze toward a languid archway.

Dim shadows can’t stop whispering
as they congregate among misplaced bricks.

I want to talk to them,
but they scuttle away (in fear?),
spreading their wings atop higher estates.

As the streets, so tranquil, succumb to the fog,
the crows burst into chatter,
the oaks slip into laughter,
and the shadows, now mute, carry themselves into flight.

Anger pierces through the thick, grey and encroaching,
dragging along what mooning remains.

The archway awakens with unease.
My footings lost, I fall through its twilit bosom,
only to find you, my love,
at sea in a serene slumber.

That which haunts us shall set aside a bearing

of touch (to awaken),
so gentle of knowing,
that it may resound
in a moon

finally restored.

Note: There are a couple of versions of this poem. This version was on our home laptop. It is shorter than the other versions, and I like it the best. I believe Kevin put it on the laptop during one of his visits to New Mexico since I do not remember doing so.

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Cryptic Moon

A sonnet by Thomas Davis

The moon rose over Grand Mesa’s dark blue rim
dark red, a presence hanging ominously vast
above our heads, the hills around us, dim
from fading light, now eerie, light recast
into a land of shadows burned with burnished red
that made the piñon’s stillness bristle gloom
and rocks elongate as they shined and bled
across a landscape rising toward the moon.

We walked, hand clasped in hand, our love intense,
into the weirding light, our senses shocked
by how the day had disconcerted sense,
transmuted time, the spirit of the rocks.

We walked in silence as the red, red moon
compressed to gold, then silver, a cryptic rune.


Filed under Poetry, Thomas Davis