David Whalen Poems

I would see the old lady in the halls where I did volunteer work.
About eighty plus years old, with the bent over shuffle of the very old or very feeble.Pushing her walker laboriously, yet with determination as she went to her appointments.

I stopped often to talk to her, usually in the cafeteria where she had her favorite spot.
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Nature opens itself more
To people who look deeply
Than to those that bother
Only to just see
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Today I solemnly resolve to say nothing
Not to observe nor write a single line
I won't even mention the man dressed like a cowboy
Nor that voluptuous chick lookin' fine
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I am tall, handsome,
an outstanding lover
Athletic, slim,
a romance novel cover
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Moron tattoos and the financial benefits thereof


One should get one's kids tattooed
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The gravity of blood
Holds tight the satellites
Of family and
The ties that bind
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Devolved into a genteel kind of madness
And no longer beloved today
Morphed more…into a still stranger likeness
Removed of reality in every way
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Tears of joy and happiness
Trace cross one's cheek
When love fills one's heart
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Poetry, to me
Mends the hole, that time has worn
Deep within my soul
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Let us speak of light and colors
Of ephemeral hues and strident tones
Of luminescence that commands
One's eyes to observe it
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