"Where words, thoughts, opinions, equations, and poetry collide to become artful expressions…"
A rose
simply remembered
doesn’t
quite intend
well.
She’s not fragile,
nor
do her petals
dictate
to the sun.
She exists
within
the notes
of every concerto,
but
also
she carries
the
notes in between
that
often
begin
with a whisper.
See, a rose
remembered
is
never
simply
remembered, as
she
is created.
A rose
remembered
only knows of
itself
in
this way.
M.C. Davis
Every so often,
we decide to let caution
flail,
dance in between the notes,
and
precariously
allow the sun to
wipe
away the rain’s
desert stain.
We,
as they say,
are in the wind,
but
unlike most things,
you and I
get
to also
become the
wind.
M.C. Davis
Let’s chase the moon,
upside-down
and through
the layers,
letting fate
decide what
to
do with our
hands, letting
them
dance like the
sun
does after
she’s
figured out the
necessary
steps
in waking us up.
Let’s
chase the moon,
and
decide where our
feet touch,
allowing the sandy
pieces
to
assemble like ants
do
after a great
feast.
We’re here,
figuring all
of this
out,
and when the moon
has
slowed down,
let’s
bring her into
our
proximity
like the Gods
do
before an afternoon
rain
shower.
M.C. Davis
In all of the wisdom
that
saunters
in
between
the
semicolons,
and
the
layers
of words that describe
us,
I get stuck
reading the
lines
where
the poet
forgets
he
has an
audience. I get
lost
in the characters
that
dance
like a summer breeze
does
after
a quick
dampening.
See,
we’re much
better
that we think,
so
let all
these poets
linger in the space
in
between
the in
betweens.
We’re
just getting started.
M.C. Davis
I’ll be there,
just like you asked,
with love
on
the brain,
and with you
settled in my heart.
I’ll be there,
and without the chaos
of
dust
too busy to settle,
or a
sun too
prideful to
shut
everything down.
See,
I’ll be there
because my need
to
be with you
shifts
and permits me no
latitude
to
simply
be
here
without you.
M.C. Davis
Last year
we
danced like
no one
watched,
then
decided to fill
the
void
by singing
when the moment
focused
away
from
us.
We’re destined
for
greatness
you said,
stretching
our morning routine
to
a
new routine,
like
the time we
didn’t
forget what
brought us
here
in
the first
place,
and
just sat without
speaking
one
word.
M.C. Davis
This year,
solemn and weary,
the days
deter from
deciding quickly to
become
the things we
want
them to be.
They
linger,
and force
us
to watch
in disbelief
in
their ability to love
without
knowing
all
of
the facts.
See,
if only
for one night,
we
can
become like the
solemn
days,
then we’ll
just be right
where
we
belong.
M.C. Davis
