Our Kids Are In Trouble

Our kids are in trouble

They killing each other

In an organized – thought out sorta way

And it’s all over

Cold hallway bloodbath

Dropn like flies

While we so smug

Hold onto our rights

I hold my ground

You hold yours

And now they’re gone

My right to choose any gun I like without a question

My right to watch what I wanna watch, without exception

Our kids at risk since a positive test

Their protection way down on the list

Both left and right

Responsible for this

And now they’re gone

Our kids are in trouble

We’re killing each other

In an organized – thought out sorta way

And it’s all over

Cold hallway bloodbath

Dropn like flies

While we so smug

Hold onto our rights

I hold my ground

You hold yours

And now they’re gone

by Lisa Boyl-Davis

Written Feb 22, 2018

 

 

 

 

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Slice My Throat Silent

slice my throat silent

knife on neck

you block my tones

a ‘wanna be’

the song

i’ve always wanted to sing

stifled with

the cut

the drains

and

staples

they tear away my hope

that one day

i’d

sing

for

you

a stupid wish

with no place to fit

body would have never needed

to create the cancer

a reason for the preventative rip

 

slice my throat silent

knife on neck

your brow

and shaming

it blocks my truth

my story

the thing that happened

with no words

and no place to put them

the slice

it

shuts

me

up

and becomes

all the story I need to tell

slice my throat silent

knife on neck

you win.

NOT

you didn’t know

when plans you made

that my song

find

its

ways

through

SCAR

TISSUE.

never thought it through, did you,

that my story

is still as real

when

buried

by

a

fresh

wound

as it ever was before.

slice my throat

yes you may

and I sing

just the same.

my song

has

never

been

housed

in

vocal

cords

alone

cut me down silent

And

still

I

sing.

Here’s That Rainy Day

Maybe
I should have saved
Those leftover dreams
Funny
But here’s that rainy day

Here’s that rainy day
They told me about
And I laughed at the thought
That it might turn out this way

Where is that worn out wish
That I threw aside
After it brought my love so near

Funny how love becomes
A cold rainy day
Funny
That rainy day is here

It’s funny
How love becomes
A cold rainy day

Funny
That rainy day is here

Written by Jimmy Van Heusen

Beauty Sings Above The Pain

I found a poem I’d written two years ago, wobbly and foggy headed.  Written from hospital bed high above the Seattle skyline.  The surgeon had taken my thyroid, then a second surgery on heels of the first to stop an angry hemorrhage.  Had a hard time stabilizing, and with day six of yet another bed-bound meal of jello and broth when it soaked in how good my life really was.  Here’s to all of you out there struggling along, with an occasional patch of sunbeams and color peeking through the grey.

Jello red it shines
in Pudding bowl and waiting
And chicken broth a golden hot that warms me

All IV places swelling, bruised
Electric shocks into my hands
The wound from surgery still pains
And pressured chest from walking

But still red jello shines
The golden broth it warms
And beauty sings above the pain,
A song about my life.

Her eyes they brown as chocolate brown
A smile wide and joyful
His careful placing of the cuff
and working on the details
Raw I feel and wobbly
Too many days no shower

But still I see
Eyes bright and kind
One working on the details
And beauty sings above the pain.
A song about my life

Ugly Duckling and God

dsc_0493
To mock me is to mock God, for I am God Art.
To mock you is to shun what God has thought up, and formed, breathed into and had high hopes for.
To mock is to set myself as an equal with God.
I will not do that arrogant thing.
I will notice the beauty in me.
The loveliness and intrigue in you.
And when I do, I glance at God.
God Art.
God Offspring.
It is God who causes us to belong to each other.

A Challenge to the Actor

 

0431

My daughter Maley is a poet.  I’m posting her latest poetry on my blog, as I love the content and heart of what this contains.    

A word from Maley, and then her poem.

Poetry is a big thing in my family. Here is a poem I wrote that scratches the surface of some deep topics. It’s a challenge for myself and a challenge to others on this path. Blessing to each one He has called.

What makes a great actor? It’s an art that is tough.
So many people think they’ve got the stuff.
They see that they’re gifted, it’s what they so crave.
But it’s no gift at all if it’s selfish and grave.
It’s ruined, it’s lacking, it’s finished, it’s trivial.
It won’t find it’s mark in the history that’s pivotal.

To be a great actor’s no fortune or fame.
It’s the heart of the servant, to give without gain.
You see acting’s the art of bringing to life,
A character’s story of trial and strife.
It’s their realness of tears and the realness of laughter.
It’s putting their heart in the pain and the chatter.
Don’t you see, this cannot be accomplished?
With a heart that is numbed out, prideful or tarnished.

And what has become of the scripts that we write?
They take all our value for such a cheap price.
We fill it with crudity, violence— it’s cheesy.
Cause quality writing is truly not easy.
It takes extra money, it takes extra time.
We don’t have the patience; we say it’s just fine.
But decade by decade, the years slip away.
And the horrid sad truth is our children will pay.
For art paints the pathway of morals and logic,
It determines if we become holy or toxic.
It changes our ethics, the way that we vote.
Now that, don’t you think is worthy a note?

Sleep Apnea

dsc_1288

“The hose of solitude,”

he says

The tube that carries air to lungs

For tired body fast asleep

a-dreaming dreams forgets to breathe

“The hose of solitude”

he says

And so he leaves it lying there

And lays beside me

gasping hard

The man is breathing shallow snores

And now no breath

Long stretch of still

If I can wait

he’s got to breath

I can not take this sleepless night!

The moments pass

Before I dig

With elbow into silent side

The gasp

and now he starts again

He starts right up as my heart jumps

The hose of air

Might it be true

Could mean more left of me and you

Lisa Boyl-Davis

September 7, 2016

Seattle Summer

 

 

You come to us when hope is gone,  

grey sog-ed muddy though we be.  

A corner of the planet

slashed from Spring’s itinerary.

When finally when you show your face,

we swoon and soak our need.

We must not waste one bit of you.

Burnt parchment skin, with greed.

Proud we are when sun beats hot,

to let our grass dry dead and brown.

As if to say, we’ve paid our due.

We’ll have a summertime here, too!

Even when the rain returns,

has now been months since sun shone here, 

wipers working overtime,

cross the oft-washed window blur.

Lawn now filled in nice and green,

I find myself in summer things.

Legs a-shiver’n in my shorts.

Feet still lacking shoes.

A way to hold onto the heat,

tapping barefoot blues.

By Lisa Boyl-Davis

August 18, 2016

Weight Loss

Summer and Fall 2013 179
The writer and butterfly.

I use to be who I am now

Fat and covered in cellulite

Always hiding sloppy me

I didn’t the match the girl inside

And as I prayed and struggled on

Appeared, one day, just what to do

A friend I’d make

The one I hate

And over time

The change it came

Inch by inch

and

Size by size

I finally matched the girl inside

The years went by

most all was well

And then a cancer came to tare

And ripped the breast from off my chest

And choked my trust

And froze my bounce

And once again the hiding came

I didn’t match the girl inside

And still I prayed and struggled on

Appeared one day just what to do

A friend I’d make

The one I hate

And over time

The change it came

I grew to love

the one breast me

18 months of

all is well

And then a cancer came again

This time to claim

my thyroid gland

And spill around throughout my nodes

And throw my body balance off

I use to be who I am now

Fat and covered in cellulite

And now I know just what to do

A friend I’ll make

The one I hate

And over time

The change it comes

I grow to love

the one breast girl

fat and covered in cellulite

And as I friend away the shame

The outside me

it starts to

match

the girl I’ve always been