Oceans Whispering Words

My mind is an ocean
keeping my body afloat
My mind is a rainbow
hovering above the earth
when the rain is done
My mind is spring
watching the lambs birthing
My mind is summer
my face searching for the sun
My mind is a jersey
knitted with loving hands
creating new stories
with every single strand
My mind is you & me
beneath the duvet
when it is cold at night
My mind is the pictures
you create
in my mind..
with your words..

Why do deny me?

Why do deny me?
When i give you so much pleasure’
you know I satisfy you
at your leisure
I am just a whore
I am just an angel
waiting to be fed
at your humble table
You tease me
with your fruit
You feed me
with your words
You mock me mercilessly
with your cutting sword
I am in pieces
carved up on a plate
Like Peking Duck
so succulent and sweet
Just add the condiments
Then pour the wine
Softly softly
Music to my ears
in the background
Lana Del Ray…….
My pussy tastes
like pepsi cola…..
I’m gonna be a fucken
high roller…
And so the guitar keeps playing..
Feeding my soul…


                        for Keikei

this early
my girl said
she loves me
large as the galaxy
that milky way
her way of winding
round me loving me
through star looks
i told her i’m a
hot spring for
her to soak
in me to
let the old scars
the old wounds go
to feel me as
warm as i
can get

some say the
pair of us are
good for nothing
except gazing
at the full moon
in rapture just
holding hands

they’re right
no doubt
about us
true to
a fault to
the foolishness
of ourselves

21 july 2016


So, probable is
the lapse. To embark
upon the smoke

Where we
blew in.

A brazen Falcons’
lateness, and finding

are like snow.

The lighter finds
you a candle, or some
kind of burnable

To expose
the uncomfortable.

Comfort, after
all, says for some, we
have existence.

© A2Kdavis (K Davis) 2016

Please Play

Please play, sir.

We like the way your hand skates

and your chin almost takes of residence on the keys.

It is as though the piano is talking to you;

you are certainly talking to it.

Isn’t it funny, that your voice is so rough

but your hands are soft, like your words.

All tenderness and insight, a bit of the pavement

in the lounge, if you know what we mean.

And you do, sir. You do.

We hear it. We feel it. Sometimes our skin

tightens. Just enough to make us think

you can read our minds.

moon smash

          moon smash

out on the sky

cloud patching over
the dark lay of stars
like rain moving
down in earth

i come to this sky
from the fret of love
talking of giving it away
taking it out on myself
the loss, that is.
hers, mine, his
something that won’t
come to rest on
the gambling wheel.

i greet this autumn
at the river.
sky deeper than the
sky above
discover a moon
east showing
its smashed heart
amidst the

may 1998

The Muse to her Poet

If you were young and free of care

And all the joy was ours to share,

The winding path would call your name

And I would walk with you again.


What man can ever shed old skin,

Undo what is done, start again,

Tho? Grow wings, terrorise the air;

And swoop upon his maiden fare?


Alas, you’re not the man I knew,

In love with all the world; you’re thru:

Asleep upon your bed of roses

And a thousand fragrant posies.


The pretty lambs are lame, devoured,

The appetite for spring flowers

Decayed; and the fine ornaments

Of May are worn with compliments.


Your classic lines once fresh, and born

From feelings that were true, are worn

With verses stiff that strain to rhyme,

Degraded by the march of time.


I cannot come until you prove

A man to shame the gods; first move

The hardened mountains and the field

Between my thighs, and I will yield.


April, 2016

An Idea of Love

He hid his eyes beneath a brim

but not so much he could not see

the way one lip just touched the other,

how they glistened with liquor;

how she inclined her head.

He imagined she might figure

in a dream in which he was what he was not:

sure and positive, the man who looked up

and women saw in his eyes that he was love

and passion; that he might approach with a suggestion

for an assignation: a man of assurance.

That would be the way; he saw himself

in snappy trousers and two-tones,

cigarette on an elegant petulant lip,

bright braces up a bursting chest.

Too many films, probably;

too many half-light dreams.