Walking on Air Collection Vol. 4 by Lion Mel Davidson

1997 2012

Walking on Air Book 4 Poetry composed in the spaces of time during travel and upheavalsâ&#x20AC;Ś

Daniel Wordsmith Praymore Royal Order of the House of David

Index Page Poem 1

Defeat of a King

Page

Poem 2

Daydream

Page

Poem 3

Sapphic Hunting Strophes

Page

Poem 4

Be Still in Adoration

Page

Poem 5

It’s the Pain

Page 12

Poem 6

The Garden Fountain

Page 13

Poem 7

Goosebumps

Page 15

Poem 8

The Message

Page 16

Poem 9

Ownership

Page 19

Poem 10

The Pilgrims Progress

Page 20

Poem 11

Backtrack

Page 27

Poem 12

The Last Dance

Page 30

Poem 13

Secret Chambers

Page 31

Poem 14

Fresh Coffee

Page 33

Poem 15

You Could’ve Told Me Sooner

Page 34

Poem 16

When Oh Why?

Page 35

Poem 17

No Longer Late

Page 36

Poem 18

David’s Mantle Transference

Page 37

Poem 19

Metamorphoses

Page 38

Poem 20

Feelings

Page 39

Poem 21

The Good Spirit Endeavour

Page 40

#1 Defeat of a King

Long ago and faraway a magical place Camelot, where wonder and enchantment interlaced secret wonders came to light, to wit: how truth badly misplaced led to the downfall of a knight! Behold! Here is the core of the thing: Guinevere's beauty hidden away behind her cascade of hair waterfall enticed the loyalty of the day, seduced the champion to betray: who for a stolen kiss threw it all, broke the heart of his king. It grieved Merlin that folly could say to the face of his beloved leige in the vein of cunning Morgan Le Faye: Lancelot had put love under seige! Not Mordred in his twisted soul such pain could conjure up: no evil, no spell, no wanton ghoul poured into Arthur's destined cup the murder of friendship untainted: tragedy's picture unpainted...

Innocence began it all 'twas neâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;er suspected foul; but chemistry, you see my friend, electric aura intercession overrides honor 'n discipline captivating heartstring enterprise allowing fantasy to mesmerize: Was a cure eminent? Was escape relevant? Was pain a deterrent? Right or wrong did knowledge make the realm strong? Lancelot nourished by his roots brought French culture to the court, eased marching of combative boots, smoothed galloping hooves, cut time short, delicious dream constellations introduced to warrior thoughts; mistaking Honor and Love perceiving not how such treasure trove unleashed fatal passions magical, rendering each motive fanatical; blinding his inner eye as no evil had to try loyalty to derail: self-destruction would assail in spite of any spell or prayer. Passion, greater than the sword, is a mighty slayer!

Arthur's realm was not at stake, swords 'n shields were not on the take: witchcraft or conjuration Merlin could counter ostentation by Mordred or Morgan Le Faye dispensed in envious loathing; jousting, battle heat, bloody combat: elusive victory clad in clothing of courage and quest divine with principles and morals high that seek to entwine a bond of sacrificial pledge lodged behind friendships hedge. But illicit passions that simmer beneath the worth of a knight poor Lancelot’s vision made dimmer, placed him in his torturous plight. No defense proved viable, no lie any substance had; his lust was undeniable, she encouraged his action mad; and so it was, just one solution the royal throne could save: Arthur’s love for Guinevere and Lancelot by death would pave reconciliation in truth: salvation of a kingdom, exoneration of youth!

#2 Daydream

Faint rumbles reverberate through the dense forest, deep and sonorous sounds decapitate courage; vicious is too kind a word to describe the horrific beast emerging as branches snap and tree trunks crash… The red blood moon eclipses the sun, death stirs enticingly, the way of many races lead nowhere but the abyss; deafening silence suddenly prevails. Sweet tingles and stardust precipitate softening the evil heart. “Oh, to be loved! I want to be loved! Yet, I cannot love; I hate love and want love.” Insidious heartcry of the unrepentant Dragon obscured by thousands and thousands fairy wings fluttering flattery to coax back to sleep the devourer of stray sheep. Cavorting throes of Lovelight spasms: dainty creature small provoke to joust with orgasms silkily clad to enthrall;

Whither shall they fly away? Whence have they come? Underground in hills or rocks, in wells or a spring the Elven people of bright light defeat to dragons bring. “Who are they?’ stuttered I “What shall to them be said?” “Dina! Be silent! Ed’ i’ear ar’ elenea! By the sea and stars! Tula sinome, nurta; come here and hide.” The fairy sang to me, “Knights of the Eternal Flame, Ohtar en Oionaaru is who.” The beast sighed and sank contended into ferny brush and moss appeased by gentle winds of wings and fairy magic dust; “A mighty warrior are you, Lle naa belegohtar! Cuamin linduva yassen megrille, My bow shall sing with your sword! Faith has overcome the beast, peace shall suckle fantasy’s breast; dream on my Valiant One: Astalder!”

#3 Sapphic Hunting Strophes

“What are thee there? Dash! Slutheraway, mucky mouthed lil’ bitch, tha’rt a daemon: cheek an’ impidence. Be ta’ein yo’ whoam ‘gain; s’lt tha fear nowt then?” Quickly, sharp dog-yelps of a snarling wolfhound were heard rebounding through the quiet forest, as her hunter blocked the retreating victim caught in between them. Bloody red paw prints accompanied death-howls over snow-covered fields and meadows, headlong onto ice-filled streams, when suddenly there came prolonged, bleak silence.

#4 Be Still in Adoration

God of the universe my Savior sincere, I receive your tender whispers, in Holy Spirit adhere; I yearn for your voice, for your words divine: who is like you? Sweet Jesus: ever mine! I praise and adore you; I lift up my face; I sing to you praises, a constant embrace; you never change, youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re always the same: my heart comes to worship your wonderful name! When my soul suffers snares like a bird thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s confined with weights of misgiving and fears, then I long to be entwined with essence of peace; indeed I was wrong, indeed I strayed, yet still you are my song!

I praise and adore you; I lift up my face; I sing to you praises, a constant embrace; you never change, you’re always the same: my heart comes to worship your wonderful name! You’re my gentle shepherd: adoration guides, I am your little wayward lamb yearning for what touch provides; you know all of me yet still you love me: it’s God’s Lovelight which gives the blind their sight. I praise and adore you; I lift up my face; I sing to you praises, a constant embrace; you never change, you’re always the same: my heart comes to worship your wonderful name! Sheltering and guidance is your warm embrace, oh safe and delightful father, friend who ne’er brings me disgrace; my life, my spirit, my body are yours, to you I’m bound: I surrender, I'm found.

I praise and adore you; I lift up my face; I sing to you praises, a constant embrace; you never change, youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re always the same: my heart comes to worship your wonderful name!

#5 It's the Pain

On a fence-wood-plank protruding the cliffs' overhang midst stormy threats akin a drunken brawler, clings a wondrous songbird in the rain and thundering of the unkind gods oblivious to the vicious onslaught: delighting in its own exquisite dryad. Not far off on a grassy knoll hides a beautiful flower beneath hard unfeeling rocks knowing the day is nigh it must be plucked: yet unless the flower is crushed, perfume how shall it be made to entice?

#6 The Garden Fountain

Welcome! Welcome! Welcome! Enter the garden of my heart whence living waters flow: singing flowers on their part by its crystal river grow. Here love an’ ardour flourish true, free, untouched by passing time; promise of what’ll be merge into peace and trust sublime. Soft music plays sweet harmony, chaste children join the game void of guile an’ apathy: comfort heals, mercy restores the halt and lame. Friends with foes what to share, sunshine on good an’ bad? How to know how to care prevent hearts grow cold or mad…

Overcome tests an’ trials, endure illusion’s strife: walk with me the extra mile, let’s eat from the Tree of Life. Together we’re not far apart by the Garden Fountain of my heart.

#7 Goosebumps

Precisely to say least, mean most: shudder inner being, verbal music with designed connoisseur connection...

#8 The Message

There once were two beings from far away who decided to come to Earth and stay awhile to reflect mankind. Upon their arrival not long ago they discovered more than they cared to know and thus well-neigh changed their mind. A compact fellow with a large round head, poor muscled limbs, obtuse, seemingly dead, belched his crapulence loudly. “Say, whom might you be?” asked the visitors. “Why, I’m Endomorph the Pyknic, of course,” replied the fat man proudly. In swirling clouds of dirty dust appeared one doughty type who none and nothing feared. “What Ho!” greeted he the three. “Waste ye time on that Vicerotonic?” I, Mesomorph, am here, flesh demonic: all you’d ever want to be.” “Somatotonic fool,” wheezed a thin boy. This sedate predication, a decoy, left him intact, refrained. “Pshaw! You, Ectomorph, a fragile brain-child, seed of inhibition, caution gone wild.” Mesomorph seemed quite restrained. 16

“Such ‘snip-snap’ stands scarcely steady to hear, allow allusion to delight your ear,” intoned a fourth arrival. “By observation I stand three in one: a gallimaufry of the best begun, my name’s Dysplastic, your pal.” “What of your women?” the guests propounded, “how-come we’re only by males surrounded?” The men stared at the aghast. “Whence should a bint be of bother to you? They somewhat function as they’re sired to.” The response came hard and fast. Guffaws accompanied this shabby froth like the words on their insignia-cloth: ‘Blood, Vomit, and Alcohol.’ “Our Leptosomic friend does the thinking, we just obey ‘n pay without blinking: we steal, oppress; we enthrall.” “Wherefrom do you come and why are you here?” Questioned they the visitors. “How near is the place where you two stay?” “Our homeland lies beyond the sands of time, ‘twixt ‘n ‘tween stars where brilliant sunbeams climb, reflecting love every way. We have come to deliver a message, which might help you to see light and assuage painful hearts of loneliness. From what we’ve witnessed, yes, so often heard: mortal man shall surely return to dirt, yet, hope sprouts faith through distress.

All flesh must finally surrender to the insistence of time, equal for you: like ripples in a pearl pool disturbing the cool, still serenity, voiding themselves on shores immutably in gasps of attained parole. As if emulating the yet un-dead this anticipation they now bated, lost souls fall in agony. Life’s yesterdays have passed beyond your reach: God has them in his keeping; we beseech you leave them there solemnly. As wheat-corns in the ground must die to live, to bring fruit, you must learn to receive and have your feet with peace shod.” The two aliens, a mother and son, paused as they prepared to leave; said the one, “You see my friends: Love is God!”

#9 Ownership

Did you suppose in literary spheres Lord Byron would disclose his intimate fears instead of erotic desires? Have you one who admires the essence of your id: one that might deserve a tantalizing hors d'oeuvre not having to pay even a quid? Is what you wanted to say in poetry's musical vents, expressed to othersâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; dismay with subtle yet direct intents, the same as the reader absorbs? Now then, what is the sum of poetry expressed: brilliant or glum and to whom addressed? Our muse is she our own or does she belong to our readers and singers of our song?

#10 The Pilgrim's Progress

Walking this worldly wilderness filled with pain and distress, in a Den I laid me down to sleep praying God my soul to keep. A dream I dreamt so strange, so vivid about a Pilgrim livid his book in hand, the pages quite torn: afraid he looked and forlorn. Wretched he was the burdened bookworm, “What shall I do to be saved?” Cried he, reading the book true to form. My dream-path became paved. “Children, sweet children, good wife, my dear have ye naught patience to hear the troubles deep my dream imparted? You pity, you scold, cold-hearted.” Many a day the fields would he walk; Evangelist then appeared. “Flee!” said he, “Flee Destruction, don’t talk; ‘tis time; for burning has neared! To the City of Zion make haste, Christian, my lad, time don’t waste! Perilous the way, from your home run; heed not the ruckus begun!

Comfort an’ friends those all leave behind, Obstinate’s nonsense, hear not! Pliable sounds sweet to fearful mind, yet returns back home whatnot. Slough of Despond is muddy defeat weak souls from there will retreat; Help leads you back to faith’s solid ground: no turning back homeward bound.” Afar off Worldly Wiseman spied he: guide of illusion’s domain, boss of the town Carnal Policy wherein lays imagined gain. “How shall I of my burden be rid, from off my back lift what’s hid, vested in village Morality from eyes of Legality?” “Ah!” Wiseman said, “Civility ask, a faithful son he be; this work is not a difficult task, they’ll ease your burden, you’ll see.” But the hill was high, would bury him whither he’d gone on this whim; when Evangelist again came forth whose encouragement had worth. “Go back; seek the Gate you sought before departing the narrow way!” This Christian did hoping more an’ more it’d begin a brand new day.

‘Knock and it shall be opened for you’ The Gate signboard stated true. So knocked he did on the wooden frame: Sir Good-will to answer came. Christian his story of risks then told how he sought liberation from the burdens that held him in hold, kept him from God’s salvation. Good-will thus spoke with soft forbearance, “The place of Deliverance soon you’ll reach, whence Christ drank bitter gall, off of itself there will fall your burden; so be therefore content yet to bear it a short space.” I dreamt Death would finally relent in the cross and tomb road-race. At the road end his burden off fell into the Sepulcher of Hell where it was not seen any longer, Christian in joy felt stronger. On his way Difficulty Hill lay, from his climb rested he there: read the word at the arbor that day, slumbered in sweet something where hastily when he awoke he went to the top of the ascent, on Mistrust and Timorous chancing: their lies said ‘stop advancing’.

“Lions in the way eat you they will; go back to fire ‘n brimstone!” “God’s word I have like money in till; but wait, my book it is gone!” To the arbour he returned, maybe his book he’d find: what did he see when he lifted his eyes? A palace beautiful without malice. Discretion, Prudence, and Piety three lovely damsels here dwelt along with the Lady Charity: Christian most welcome there felt. Peaceful now, ancient treasures he saw, Bible history beheld in awe: Countries of Delectable Mountains, Emmanuel’s Lovelight fountains. “Once you reach the New Jerusalem Celestial City Gate, you saints may see and who rescued them fulfill their most holy fate.” Thus spoke to Christian the damsels fair erasing all his despair; the Valley of Humiliation to be next destination. A devil known as Apollyon met him upon arrival in death claimed his soul as Abandon: what would be Christian’s survival?

Allegiance sworn to the King of Kings citizenship to Zion brings: a battle fierce Pilgrim had to face salvation for our human race! The Castle Beautiful Armory, our hearts’ innermost desire, weapons of praise provide eternally to defeat Satan’s ire! Leaves from the Tree of Life all wounds heal, every battle being real, saints prepare for battle yet again against sin in the lives of men. The Valley of the Shadow of Death where all the blind lead the blind into the Ditch of Last Breath, a solid foundation none will find. Now time and space will ne’er suffice how in the view of holy eyes the mouth of Hell truly seems as I saw it in my nightly dreams. Yet surely strength of the Lord our God is what makes Evil to yield: Faithful testified Christ’s shepherd rod empowered his sword and shield! When to inform of Wanton Madame perverse daughter of Adam? Lust of Flesh, of Eyes, and Pride of Life unworthy as sacred wife?

Arrogance, Pride, and worldly-glory espoused to that fellow Shame, accentuates my horror story, employs a most foul name. Vanity Fair, yes imagined gain, lovers of inflicting pain: Envy, Superstition, and Pickthank, experts from Satan’s think-tank, Martyrs murder in gleeful delight, ignoring facts of God’s wrath; love and good they always put to flight forgetting the aftermath; imagining that Doubt and Despair will make of saints prisoner subject to the Harlot Diffidence full of blasphemer insolence. Conquering pride, defeating conceit Pilgrim with the Shepherds lodged near the Golden City God to entreat, having passed and evil dodged. “Two difficulties more you must meet,” the shining ones to him said, “inside the City will tread your feet after the price has been paid.” The River of Death had to be crossed, fear and darkness must be tossed: God’s word is what gave them victory, promises of what would be.

Led by Lovelight with ease drew they neigh to God’s promised Paradise, Heavenly Hosts from Heaven on high honoured them as truly wise. Raiment of Gold, harps and crowns greeted two Pilgrims undefeated, “Into the joy of Jesus enter who with God dwells at its centre.” Holy saints ambled about inside, joyous and peaceful it seemed: I saw it and wished I could abide myself among the Redeemed. And so it was the children and wife repented, sought a new life; when the King’s letter was delivered they with excitement shivered. Yet only Christiana the wife to the City gate made way none else crossed over that day she alone had ceased from strife.

#11 Backtrack

A bright sunny day, I'd say birds frolic high in the sky, eggs fry breakfast is ready. Living in a railroad shack seven kids to raise near railroad-track, take what you can get. Sometimes when we fate abet, this morning I shall never forget, death drops by for luck. Billy-Jean is a good boy plays by himself, with his homemade toy sits on the sidetrack. The rest are mad for cricket, use the main track to prop their wicket; told them it's not safe. Anyway, still they will play nothing happens ever, no never; in spite of the trains that come fast around the bend, the tall gorge-wall buffing out the sound: a mute ghost, almost.

Today's the local town match, my six kids can fifty bucks make if they take the prize; need the money that's for sure. No issue, they have never yet lost, breadwinners they are. All dote we on Billy-Jean cute, sweet, obedient, innocent, never harms a fly; plays on the sidetrack only even thought sometimes it is lonely: he plays and prays there always. Game is on, spectators watch; stationmaster, town-folks are engrossed, no one notices the time pass or see the train rounding the bend so fast it'll never stop in time to avoid the competing cricketers who should not have been there on the track; what could stationmaster do? "Switch the track, yes! Switch the track!" God only knows if time would suffice, I saw my kids frozen stiff: I jump to push the lever, Billy-Jean looks up and smiles, waves, all is slow-motion.

Why sacrifice innocence, the obedient who did no wrong? The six and the ogling throng: I, they remain and again remember forever: just to sit right may be so wrong...

#12 The Last Dance

Did we forget the last dance? Do we regret the last chance? Where should we be and what should we follow? Illusion wraps tightly and spirit journeys become hollow; tuned to the tango of time entropy claims its rogations. On Death’s waiting list I am caught in the sham that dictates gravity’s pull-down to the grave, where even big personalities become slave to unavoidable dimensions of inescapable biology. The joy of youth verily turns uncouth, as ligaments and sinews their proscribed strike stage, while claiming union rights in fallen humankind’s cage, whence lamentable terms and conditions apply. Bah! My heart dances in the Garden of Eden forever: albeit, the Devil’s deceits are no match for God’s promise of love old things pass away: all things become a new treasure-trove safely tucked away in my heart of hope.

#13 Secret Chambers

I know of a garden, only seen by a few if you keep it a secret I’ll share it with you it’s a magical garden full of wonders unknown protected by angels, and surrounded by stone it’s a secret location, known only to me there is only one entrance, and I have the key. From the outside its covered by ivy spread wide concealing the secrets, that lay hidden inside it cannot be climbed, and the top can’t be reached and a witch cast a spell, so it's walls can't be breached the only way in is take hold of the key and whisper "reveal your secret's to me" the wall starts to tremble, you stand there in awe and appears just in front, is a grand golden door excitement takes over, untrue to behold you approach and you push on the entrance of gold. Once inside, a small walkway, made of little white pearls and your welcomed and guided by two little girls who are doll-like and gentle, and hold on to your hands and they whisper "welcome to our magical land" at the end of the walkway a magnificent light made of all different colours so beautifully bright and silver-like speckles and gold fairy dust it takes a short while for your eyes to adjust.

Slowly yet surely the vision thus appears of magnificent flowers singing through tears brought on by joy you share with the little girls; as a sweet smelling butterfly fondly twirls above your head giggling while dancing away into the bright light carefree from yesterday. Soft moss lightens up as you tread off the path of little white pearls past mundane worldly wrath arriving at secure pastures full of love garnered from a surreptitious treasure trove, where aged for eons ancient deep secrets lie telling you a tale of someone who can't die! Sorrow transmutes into new hope once again perhaps you may believe the children of men somehow could achieve at last pure guiless breath to bring end to pain and cessation from death! Well, now that you've seen the garden from inside you surely understand why I want to hide the unknowable source of bliss far apart: stop evil entering the garden of my heart!

#14 Fresh Coffee

Fresh, boiling copper clad water whistles good-morning breakfast-time. Daily chores are thus made shorter. Fresh, boiling copper clad water ground coffee mix becomes porter bringing short shared moments sublime. Fresh, boiling copper clad water whistles good-morning breakfast-time.

#15 You Could've Told Me Sooner

Look, I know you’re probably confused, in fact I was myself rather less enthused to divulge such startling news; we found the will among pigsty swill: the old lady left the farm to you! All that was hers fit to disburse shall be yours on three conditions: you must marry me, pay the license fee, and repair the doghouse partition! Any objection will result in nullification: an adult win by relatives and secret lovers entitled from work under covers to possess the entire place; and you’ll be banished to outer space…

#16 When Oh Why?

Maybe, just maybe mind you, one day I'll know why the sunbeam leaves and who has taken it away: after all, good thing never last, so I think I'll lay around awhile longer sipping on memories to contemplate the dust diamonds: their flash swirls floating in harmony with my feline feelings as to when my next meal will be served...

#17 No Longer Late

Kneeling by the gravestone writing face in moonlight tears are fighting; she does not see me watching her, musing such grief is dividing. Yet sorrow deep cannot deter how love will form, how love will stir. Her heart does not this realize how hope will loneliness defer. There is no need to scrutinize, nor yet the pain anesthetize: the gate of death we all must pass. The bleeding stops to agonize. In silence now the tiny lass sleeps safe and sound beneath green grass, she hears no more the curses crass, no longer stones can break life's glass...

#18 Davidâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Mantle Transference

Time and place, God's word, God's grace, unchangeable will for all to see: the prophet's appointment, sacred ointment holy spirit power came to be passed on in the old mantle worn, probably randomly torn as age and days demand, as circumstances of air and land decreed in response to a miracle: never ending wear and tear by history's faded pages concerning saints and sages; sacrificial oxen served, consumed by greedy publicans, praise and curses neatly swerved avoiding stains of bloody hands; homeward path of God's chariot denying shades of Judas Ish Kiriot seals predestined fate not too late.

#19 Metamorphoses

Ambivalent desires plague my soul chained to compliance: sparks of sovereignty ignite Passion’s flame to cut welding cuts and set me free from this insane slavery. I’m addicted to your touch, yet hate to be bonded; captured by the sweet odor promising sensuous excavation deep into the quarry of love that heeds no vow: eternity’s here and now. Blinded to escape by thirst: wanting to quaff Immortality’s paradoxical grail thus to ever devour you, my soul mate and nemesis; to relive each pinnacle before again we die. Jan 10. © All rights reserved

#20 Feelings

'Feelings?' she said, 'Feelings fluctuate as desires grow; who can trust feelings? Illusion's dealings as arrows twang from bow swiftly undulate and delude the dead.' 'Love I crave, not feeling! Give me constant hope, maybe then we'll talk; perhaps we should kiss? To emote amiss will make lame men walk or help despair cope with such freewheeling?' 'Love I know is God, but don't ask me how: there's no real reason given to suspect wrong may be correct; yeah, open season always here and now buries under sod.' Feb 8. ÂŠ All rights reserved

#21 The Good Spirit Endeavour

He gallops through the night in cloak and dagger clad, a faithful hound beside his steed follows til daylight bright. Justice is their errand, their plinth is righteousness; forever truth as breastplate shines, fruitful makes the barren. Evil seed spares he not but by the wayside casts; yes, doubts and fears with wanton lust: discarded are the lot. He thinks in wishful thought, he hopes against all hope: his soul in pain he pays the price for all that evil wrought. His soul indeed too pure, soars high in public view: it takes a chance, floats on romance and dies in facts obscure.

(He searches out his bride, he wanders to and fro: his soul in pain he pays the price for all his loved ones pride. Pledges his heart, sets free, soars in life's gondola: 'tis no gamble or tombola, just lost immortality.)