Floating on Sunshine After Rain Collection Vol. 1 by Lion Mel Davidson

2013 Poetry Collection Volume One

dwp Royal Order House of David 3/12/2013

INDEX TITLE

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Pining for Love……………………………………………………………… 3 Mortal Flurries……………………………………………………………… 4 Shared Shivering…………………………………………………………… 5 Loneliness Extinguisher………………………………………………… 6 Mistaken Identity…………………………………………………………. 8 Illegal Bagman………………………………………………………………. 9 Frosty-Warm Hideout…………………………………………………… 10 Pain of Forgiving…………………………………………………………… 12 Butterfly Ballerinas………………………………………………………. 13 The Choice to Choose…………………………………………………… 15 Unreachable Light……………………………………………………….. 16 One on One…………………………………………………………………. 17 Weekend Refuge…………………………………………………………. 18 Wonder, Wonder, Wonder…………………………………………… 19 Waes Hail…………………………………………………………………….. 20 Pumpkin Hoedown………………………………………………………. 24 Wombat Scat………………………………………………………………. 26 Triangulated Love………………………………………………………… 27 Immutable Flashback…………………………………………………… 31 Road to Infinity……………………………………………………………. 32

#1 Pining for love

‘My eyes roam the horizon seeking her flowing hair; clouds like frolicking lambs distract our reality: thus am I undone.’

#2 Mortal Flurries

And so the snow layers deep bedecked the land, the sleeping sheep; affright they woke, they wondered what happened had at this very spot where God to all spoke: what?

#3 Shared Shivering

Warmth cools quickly in the freezing sleet, yet two one soul become from heart to heart heat.

#4 Loneliness Extinguisher

Alone again, of course: glowing embers of love forlorn threaten to combust into devouring flames that promise near destruction. Like chasing shadows or plucking twinkling stars off Heaven's canopy or teaching ants to walk backwards; almost blind in Cimmerian obscurity, searching comfort in stumbling spasms I torture my disconsolate mind with Stoic stupidity stamped as an emblem of 'poor me' on my wrinkled forehead: "Hey, good looking! Wassup?" 6

Wrong remedy! No lasting solution to be found chasing flesh in sepulchral confines of blaring cacophonous noise where alcohol-fogs chill-out vain efforts to capture yesteryear. Love, not lust: which merely is communal loneliness compounded in frenzied market exchange of body fluids and copper coins mistaken as honey-squeeze. Loneliness thus had become an allergy obstructing my quest for joy and affection. "What, master, must I do, to avoid loneliness?" I asked in deep frustration. "One cannot avoid loneliness, but cure it can with love." The answer, resolute, assailed my senses: my master gently said, "Wisdom demands humility of her children: to find love you must give love." Oraculus ÂŠ All rights reserved

#5 Mistaken Identity

Somehow I was sure. Convinced that my sense of discernment could never be wrong: cloning a ‘swansong’ due to my hasty and poor judgment, I sullied the pure. Not much to look at his polio limp begged for pity: a magnet invite his 'poor me' respite shower-sang an off key false ditty that vomit begat. Right, t'was plain to see! His daily privacy intrusion one day changed it all, it wasn't my call: he saved my life with blood-transfusion; we both had AB. Instinctive revulsion had truth denied: inner beauty by my blindness hogtied. Oraculus © All rights reserved

#6 Illegal Bagman

A possum in the bag, a cop on my tail. Oh! What a drag, don't wanna go to jail; but that soft cuddly fur of my bagged marsupial had to split in a blur: arboreal nocturnal. So now I sell Vacuum Cleaners to little old ladies: door to door, by pouring buckets of horse manure on their wooden floor. One time an old hag slammed it shut screaming she thought me to be a nut! Quick as a flash, I wedged my foot in the gate and pushed it wide open: "This vacuum cleaner removes all trace of the horse manure I dumped in your place, or I will eat the remainder." I courageously said. She laughed out loud as my courage grew fainter, "I hope you've got a good appetite, and your teeth are fit for a checkbite, because the electricity was cut off this morning."

#7 Frosty-Warm Hideout

Verdant greensward carpets paradoxes of frosty snowblankets wrapping my mind’s eternal shivers with comfy tufts of soothing, ‘quilty’ down hibernating in the recesses of forlorn love nobody considers valuable, and yet, the balmy breezes of nocturnal sunshine warms the icicles hanging as stalactites dripping drearily their venom of bitterness to form stalagmites of forgiveness. But look! Hear! Oh, the tiny brisling brook’s blathering on and on about soft surrender in view of the overwhelming evidence Mother Nature adores her children as life recycles regurgitated cold death in spurts of rising sap and budding surprises, which conquers all fear.

What then am I to do? Rush from a scathing sauna into heaps of frozen watercrystals? Roll unashamedly in the snow till my body glows? orâ&#x20AC;Ś Slumber serenely, sedated by whispers of Lovelight promising blessed forever after futures faceted by the kaleidoscope of ground-reality beckoning me to simply let gravity pull me into a grave?

#8 Pain of Forgiving

Yes, it really hurt me: almost unbearable pain; but, then again to see you so distraught just because you thought having fun makes everything all righ? It was a cruel joke and I am taking the sting; now I want you to come and sit here by my side, swallow the pride and let us start again: because not to forgive is the greater pain.

#9 Butterfly Ballerinas

Nimble notes, nimble toes, swiveling grace, unbridled pose balancing like on icy floes: animated music fluttery. How lovely are your turns: concerns, banal occupations vanish in sedation; sublime my spiritâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s elation defies consternation, scorns intimidation as the ballerinas flutter by: splendid consecrated butterfly. Nimble notes, nimble toes, swiveling grace, unbridled pose balancing like on icy floes: animated music fluttery. 13

It is because it is and yet not. Love is onerous to be kept in alabaster box like Magdalene’s ointment: a subtle paradox of the divine appointment, illumination of the anointing that requires daily dreary suffering in God’s glory and dispels Pestilence, that ancient curse on our sojourn through physical illusion and levity of the death knell tolled in crystalline clarity by the angel of charity: that whimsical ballerinas butterfly who sporadically will flutter by.

Nimble notes, nimble toes, swiveling grace, unbridled pose balancing like on icy floes: animated music fluttery.

#10 The Choice to Choose

Willy-Nilly, Namby-Pamby what a load of bunk, since when do we hold court? Godzilla deep in love with Bambi, Mozart plunks his funk, three little pigs will snort! Get it on now, make up your mind: decide where to go, stop looking at the map! Make the choice or remain purblind: your guff you can stow, am sick of all the flap. You say you don't know how to choose, cannot take the step; that's why you're copping out: yer watch dancing natives in muumuus so I gotta schlep in spite of whopping gout? Oraculus ÂŠ All rights reserved

#12 Unreachable Light

“Fear not death’s poisonous arrows, regard not pestilence’s dark-flight, let not horrors divert your path or move you to ignore what’s right. When then to choice you must narrow indulgence of an aftermath, remember how your ancestors to love and life were chancellors." These words have I hid in my heart: my armor to stand in the breach defying circumstances swart, hopeful in light beyond my reach. Ah! Such gentle silent whisper nudging my soul with a lisper: 'in the night black as Jaguars is when clearly we see the stars...'

#13 One on One

The saddest sound I ever heard was that of the old lament, 'I wish I had...' oh, so sad, so sad this way-sign to 'good intent'. Perhaps, I thought, the truth is far away from what we expect; could it a secret be on par with something that is perfect? Sweet perfume comes from flowers crushed, faith blossoms in midst of storm: each stroke of paint the masters brushed would not to drear conform. The price for lasting love to pay, the heartbroken have opined, is sharing each otherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s' day to day with pain and pleasure entwined. Oraculus ÂŠ All rights reserved

#14 Weekend Refuge

Yawn! Stretch! Saturday rise... Surprise! Surprise! No work, no office lip-service pretense today! True Blue reflecting sight: Kaleidoscopic view displays tinted wisdom in sets as comfort in knowing childhood flash-backs are refuge-reams, where to hide when evil mounts assault on private space: True Blue.

#15 Wonder, wonder, wonder!

#1 Aye, for him that waits upon a promise right reward will come when all seems lost: obscurity to clear sight turns and sorrow into joy; at last is reached that distant goal so costly labored for: the sunrise of long lost love bedecks expectant souls standing on the timeless shore of hope, trust and passion...

#2 So, where will it all end I wonder, could I have been wrong? Wishful thought did it blind me or was it judgment awry? Perhaps cost of lesson learned justifies excruciating pain; yet somehow, without you I'm just half a man.

#3 I reach out to touch you but you are not there, yet I see you as in a mist of obscure desires floating freely in my seared memory; willing you nearer and nearer only to wake shivering at the bottom of shattered confusion: when did you leave? are you coming back?

#16 Waes Hail

‘Invisible to the naked eye,’ the phrase worn threadbare stimulates my inner vision; in fact, it force-drops perspiration pearls to slither about my eyeballs only to mix with tears of incredulity: foggy Coke-bottle bottom glass-sight. “Ed’ i’ear ar’ elenea ‘Quel undome! Yallume! Malia ten’ fion? “ [By the sea and stars! Good evening! At last; care for some wine?] The Elf sent to help me startled my otherwise logical mind, and I plumped directly down onto my behind. “Who are you? What are you?” I exclaimed in dumb fascination, with not a little trepidation. Selfishly imagining the vision to be aspiration generated by personal power to see, I found myself rendered absolutely blind. Encounters with creatures of inter-dimensional declension, albeit counterpoise to human evil we clone from nearby Aliens’ depravity, who could imagine?

Elven saints have sworn to protect our indefensible fallen stand that crawls as incomprehensible toward the bottomless pit possessed by human obsession in a meaningless fit. “Mankoi naa lle sinome? Amin naa Cala’quessir Ohtar; ilfirin Megiltura!” [Why are you here? I am High Elf Warrior, the Immortal Swordmaster] My query was countered and I saw myself relentlessly battle loathsome legions of nefarious finite apparitions scurrying to inflict death before their bail expires and they too must totally die. “Saesa omentien lle Uuma; oio naa elealla alasse’. Lle quena i’lambe tel’ Eldalie?” [Pleasure meeting you; ever is your sight a joy. Do you speak Elvish?] Understanding every word spoken knowing not how my senses had fully awoken. “Amin nowa ikotane… I, I think so; but I do not know… Amin n’sinta. Amin sinta lle? Do I know you?” Confusion assailed my reality: Where was I? Who am I? What happened to my beloved banality? “En! Heru en amin, rmaeee lle ettuul Lema ed’ ando en’ rmae rma haeannon; Carad’Loki KAAOS daedeloth khiluva lle a’ gurtha ar’ thar; nan’ ma’ ten’ rashwe, ta tuluva a’ lle. [Look! My lord, 22

I saw you come out from the Gate Travel dimension door; the Red Dragon dark demigods from the land of the dead follow you to death and beyond; but don’t look for trouble, it will come to you.] The Elf spoke with authority, confidence, and trust; his message of priority gave faith to the just. “My armor of divinity,” said I “is able to stand against the wiles of evil. Nakedness I hide with Lovelight’s Ephod of Truth; my Sword of the Spirit, my Helmet of Deliverance, a Breastplate of Righteousness, Belt and Buckler of Power, shod in Shoes of Willingness and Preparation and with my Shield of Faith. The bones of our foes will gleam under the sun! I’narr en gothrim glinuva nuin I’anor!” “Lle naa haran e’ nausalle. Lye naa lle nai ar’ lye nuquernuva sen Amin sinta thaliolle e dagor, Heru Edan.” [You are king in your imagination. We are yours to command and we will defeat them. I know your strength in battle, Lord Human] Suddenly without warning the shrill sound of Mom’s old voice cut through the upcoming battle, “Get yer kister outta bed, boy! Time to milk the cows!”

#17 Pumpkin Hoedown

Fresh and crisp without a flaw: welcome to the Realm of Straw! To flames and sparks come not too near or you simply disappear. Dear child of the dancing bumpkin at this hoedown of the pumpkin we advise no restraints, entertain no complaints; mind you, what must burn away in the blaze of yesterday: scorching embers of disgust coiling up in smoke of lust, all your fears and aberration, mundane tax of contemplation, ghosts and ghouls, Devil's spawn that fade away in the dawn when creeping silent golden light overpowers dark of night and leaves you with a memory of things that were or used to be.

In silent awe cold with envy, stands the Wizard of Desire musing how he lost his grip, how he could've let it slip: the keys to time and empire; how love became his enemy.

#18 Wombat Scat

Amazingly cute in fact quite astute, our fellow little Wombat the size of a wildcat is a cuddly and sweet mammal. In the animal book of who is who it resembles a miniature kangaroo, but not in actual looks or habit: here more like a huge rabbit; character flaws aren't chasmal, but simply marsupial: 'Hissss...screech!" here am I, "grunt-squeal" as in pig-sty. An unseen herbivore this fella, as told in folklore, is the seeing version of a mole with offspring pillion; a rather practical mom keeping kidz for two years to come: "Huh" dear mom, “what'd ya' say?” "Hhhmmpph" silly son, no roots today; marking territory with scat: improved model of a rat: a Tasmanian Wombat. Oraculus © All rights reserved

#19 Triangulated Love

King Arthur certainly was idealized: a myth, a legend not historical fact the once and future king personified in folklore and magical mystery of honor, betrayal and iniquity; life for the people, agriculture in barter-based economy, homespun tunic and trousers, houses of wood and thatch in post-Roman Britain defending themselves against the Angles and Saxons. Arthur found guilty of treason his queen, sentenced her to death by burning at the stake. Adultery was the reason of Arthur's courtâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s lying breath: loyal love turned to fake! Lancelot the rescuer battled Arthur to utter ruin. Did Gwen run away to Caerleon? Who then was the crueler Love or Lust, the magic of Merlin? Meigle, Glastonbury or beyond?

A dragon great Kilgharrah was Aithusa as his ward: a tale of terror, love and pain, King Arthur and the sword, Excalibur, undead to slay, from dragon’s breath thus forged, magic’s fickle frailty Merlin discover would, when Uther swung the mighty blade instead of him that should handled have that weapon’s power, a doubt of trust became the sower. Into the Lake of Avalon by Merlin’s hand the sword found way only to return once again Camelot to save on the day when all was lost and Uther dead, Excalibur cast in a stone to protect Arthur and the throne placing Albion’s crown upon his head. Dragon Lord Balinor with mighty Kilgharrah bequeathed an honor legacy in spite of defeat by vile intent, betrayal in a way most saucy: twenty two years of imprisonment; Great Purge the dragon thus endured until by Merlin unfettered; prophecy bespoke his destiny. Arthur and Merlin antithesis, two sides of the same coin; Kilgharrah said, “I have lived over a thousand years, seen civilizations rise and fall. Yet this combination eclipses them all!"

Kilgharrah spoke through riddles but Merlin, though disturbed, told him he overly niggles; in fact he too betrayed: the sorceress Nimueh refused to take Merlin's life 'n thus delayed the final confrontation determining the fall of the noble nation. A young druid boy, Mordred, Merlin as Emrys confuses in fact his trust abuses and after much love triangulation Guenivire, Arthur and Lancelot oblivious to their respective stations open the portal to mortal 'finity: the end has begun; to kill Arthur who would be the one? King Arthur, once more I ask, â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;who was he?â&#x20AC;&#x2122; A real person or a folk tale, a late Roman, a Celt; a king, a general, or a guerrilla warrior in the north of England: who was he? Guinevere who was she? Elaine of Astolat, the Lady of Shalot, who died of unrequited love for Lancelot? Or perhaps she was Vivien the Entomber? Mayhap Gwenhwyfar, daughter of Gogfran the Giant, Arthur's second wife or a sharp murderous knife, a noble lady with a Roman heritage who betrays the King by becoming Mordred's lover, is that who? 29

Was Lancelot bravest knight of all, most noble Camelot ever knew? Dorochaled introduced that fall where Lancelot met Merlin, where vengeance and evil would spew the venom of hatred and bitterness: a love triangle of distress, the empty place of 'end/begin'. And so it was dear reader, hark! This tale here told is but a spark: ignition's launch with visions dire whereby your own imagination's fire can freely burn and inspire tomorrow's youth from yester-years age through words of a long bygone sage.

#20 Immutable Flashbacks

As you were then, yet never again, I see you standing there reading my mind: resolute though kind still loving me from a distance; t' was never about the body, mine now old and shoddy, our hearts and minds one became: biology followed after. Alone I am incomplete, actually obsolete: decaying in stages without spouse to nurture me and support; loneliness makes joy abort, leaves me reaching like Tantalus!

#21 Road to Infinity

Trudging along the beaten path of the old muddy creek pondering: had I forgotten how to be meek? Weather dismal, rain torrential, thoughts abysmal, laments of the hopeless permeated every fiber of my soul; forgotten in greed cries of the wounded abandoned in need haunted me. Was there no end to this way? Was there anything new to say? Through the Valley of the Shadow of Death was I led by illusions of yet another hopeful exit at yonder bend: the end?

Labyrinths of invading aliens: Anunnaki Pygmalion Ossuary lost in obscurity, shrouded in bandages to hide hereditary guilt knitted into a DNA quilt that in the cold of the morn keeps humanity warm with lies of Federal Banker knaves who, like mental wanker slaves, employed are by society's Illuminati: mentors in the Land of the Free. Have they no shame? Of course not, they hold death as a game, pave their road with the halt and the lame: they enjoy to destroy. Ach! Such thoughts toiled my mind as I made my way forward in the guck and muck of fallen mankind searching a lost soul to find. I needed to rest by Jesus' breast; to succor from his grace, to see his face that his glorious light possibly just might through his word open yet a heart granted life and favor to indulge the inclination that brings salvation. Ah, the life of a missionary is to make a bridge for all who sold their heritage for a bowl of porridge. Oraculus ÂŠ All rights reserved