Greg Davidson
Greg Davidson Poems
- Thoughts of a dementia patient
Faces and memories,
Lost in time and space,
...
A black dog follows me,
No collar nor a lead,
Its form I can not measure,
Of undetermined breed.
...
Old and empty rooms,
The places in my heart
For near forgotten memories
Of now departed friends.
...
My life depends on medicine
From boxes on the stand
One by one I count them out
And place them in my hand.
...
My life is a conversation
But they say there's nothin' to talk about
Tomorrow's so uncertain
And today's just full of doubt
...
Words are for reading,
Lies for misleading,
Lessons for heeding,
We learn from mistakes.
...
Damaged vessel,
I surrender to the Potter's hand.
Unworthy here I stand,
Waiting for my Lord's command.
...
He still remains.
Do not say that he is gone.
His memory lives within your mind
As long as thought remains,
...
I - Morning Frost
White and crisp the lawn,
Breath to mist before my face,
...
Voice 1: Gently is a rain that falls,
Voice 2: Gentle as a tear to cheek.
Voice 3: Falling as do tears on cheek.
...
He was younger than the earth about
Still older than the trees,
As constant as the stars above,
Elusive as a breeze.
...
It’s Friday, at the close of day,
Homeward bound, on a crowded motorway.
My half-made plans in disarray,
Align like crimson lights along the road.
...
Wisps of cotton clouds drift across a pale blue sky
And send a fleeting shadow to the mat of rolling green beneath.
We sit alone, my God and I,
The silence bringing soul relief.
...
Will you come to me in lavender and green?
With bells about your feet,
And music in your step,
When you come to me in lavender and green.
...
Bring me not those words of Winter,
That icy breath, cold and bitter
Faces flushed and tear laden eyes
A cutting blast and joy’s demise
...
Clatter, growl and grumble,
Through the roundabout they rumble.
Cars and trucks and motorbike,
All slalom through with mixed dislike.
...
It's six A.M., near break of day.
Warm beneath my blankets I stay.
I hear the traffic blocks away,
Whining on their ribbon of grey.
...
Greg Davidson Biography
I began to write poetry of sorts in my twenties. Occasionally, in times of either deep angst or quiet solitary elation a muse would gift me with words. These times proved to be a blessing, and oft times a catharsis, for the emotional chaos that bubbled over me. As distractions were added to my life; job, wife, family and the mundane priorities that accompany them my muse paid me very few visits. After teaching mathematics for 35 years and then become “surplus to requirements” I have found the need to remake myself. I do not wish to be seen as another old man out of work. I have sought out my muse in desperation. Again I find myself in need of catharsis, of balm for the soul. I have found it here, both in the words of others and the joy of posting my own. I am posting both the old (some of which have a modicum of merit) and the new.. As I create the new me, revered poet (say I with tongue planted firmly in cheek) seems a much better alternative than retired. I hope that you, dear reader, may find some enjoyment or encouragement in what you read. In the hope that you will, my self-esteem has begun its rebuilding.)
The Best Poem Of Greg Davidson
Mynah Birds And Passing Memories
- Thoughts of a dementia patient
Faces and memories,
Lost in time and space,
Like birds, flit by then flee.
Dark wings I see,
Bright eyes and smiles.
Upon my window sill they stay.
Perhaps tomorrow I'll remember yesterday.
Tied in time and space,
Locked room, bound to a chair.
Denied my explorations.
Disconnected decorations
The photographs,
Nameless portraits in a strange array.
Perhaps tomorrow I'll remember yesterday.
The meal bringer comes.
Food and basined water,
And sheets to make a bed.
The birds have fled.
She spoons the food
From plates upon a tray.
Perhaps tomorrow I'll remember yesterday.
The flower bringer comes.
Bright eyes and squawking.
Strange words are read.
A tear is shed.
Her hands cover my hands.
Now all the birds have flown away.
Perhaps tomorrow I'll remember yesterday.
The night bringer comes
To free me from my ties.
She leads me to a bed.
Strange words are said.
She strokes my brow.
I gently on my pillow lay.
Perhaps tomorrow I'll remember yesterday.
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4/25/2024 3:18:11 PM # 1.0.0.1119
