David Whalen Poems

Empty Old Houses

Empty old houses can talk…
But one must know how to listen…
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True, but little known facts

Our eyes are always the same size from birth
But our nose and our ears ne’er stop growing
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Vampires, Vampires, Vampires

Put vampires in your writing
These days it’s all the rage
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Out of work, Not much of a future
My life seems to be for the birds
Got no specials skills, life’s in the sewer
The only thing I can do is “words”
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Everything lacks perfection
In the smallest particle there’s a flaw
Imperfection is our protection
Imperfection’s an immutable law
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Each time I first post
a newly written poem
I feel deep regret
that I’ve done it in haste
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Love can be a cruel, demanding master
While at the same time be a delicious delight
Can shatter one’s heart as if twas fragile alabaster
evoke sensuous pleasure or vicious bite
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Their World, Not Ours (free verse)

Watching the doves and chickadees
From my patio,
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A crescent moon, sharp enough to prick one's finger on
A Sun that could sear one's eyes
Clouds buoyant enough to float away upon
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