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-This site is being created on 26 April, 2008. These are only a few of my poems dating back to the late 1980's.
Anyone can emil to me at the address below... thankyou.
bcdream2007@gmail.com
I LIVE IN THE CORNERS
OF THIS HOUSE
-I live in the corners of this house
and watch out from every window
I collect memories of rain and night
always
watching for another storm
If I die in my sleep
I would choose to here
where in summer the windows
are always
open and the wind blows
leaves in circles below them
and sounds are peaceful
like the rains that come to wake me
from
dreams I dream
If you come, it will have been long
since last we spoke, or felt the touch of hands
now dry and old
of age
surely not fit for piano's landscape--
strumming the strings
of my broken heart again,
nor touching the
long and darkened hair
that still hides me, from you now.
Unforgiven
My heart
still seeks those lost trails of yesterday
bright yellow leaves of autumn lining every path.
Familiar chatter from windows
and streets,
and a returning sense of ancient pulse;
two hearts beat – lost dreams recede,
like watered mirrors
in my past.
And if might I recognize what reason
this silent, disturbed drawing weeps,
I, like flame to lantern, fall into it,
and
somewhere through it, unto your heart I creep,
would then my tears of sorrow,
be too small a rose to bear?
Would
in some graceful net I stumble,
or heart in my voice tear, to leave me,
as once defenseless , and shrouded in despair?
For life’s passions within me subside to anger.
The bitterness and rage of a single word
protrudes far beyond
the imagination,
and no quieter is he, than his own frustration.
Silence, lines these paths I go—
it builds
in shadows, both dark and low.
And loneliness is a river that gently flows
back into times, I so painfully recall…
that,
but memory knows.
Though, amidst these summer nights I’ve stood
with open conscience of star and sky.
One falls from the heavens
to lost horizons,
skips into my dream, and dies.
But I now know the stillness of them,
in ways that only the sea
has known—
in ways that only a child remembers.
If cast out, forever alone.
For to have lived but once, an earlier dawn,
while in a world’s dark rushing tide,
once in the gray shadows
of dying suns,
one may learn his place to hide.
And however painful a breath may be,
sleep shall come.
Wherever
in fields of broken dreams… still, sleep comes.
I drooped in my sadness, without sympathetic care,
when asked so little; one whose patient heart;
bound up small
words, she thought I’d hear.
Of fading embers of love, a tear,
that I, but too blindly,
tore apart.
ROSE WHISPERS
-a new poem, that
I have written for Shannon, where in this poem, if speaking to Shannon, I suppose I would indeed ask, IF she is free, from
all the ties the earth can bind one with. And free... from those whose hearts were NOT true in their words, or
respects. So many fears and uncertainties inside a person, specially a child, which many people wonder, could possibly
hold a persons' spirit from escaping this world. A limbo of sort, where I firmly believe, bares no fault of a child.
I believe God releases his own children from any grips of fear, or violence prior to death. My faith, my belief,
is that God, took Shannon, before that mental darkness befell her. That she would not experience, perhaps, all that
she could have. I believe that God can do this, and why not? God, is truely God, and Father to ALL his children.
And to implement a comfort into a childs' mind or senses, would indeed, be a Godly thing... to be done. See... IF there
is truely a Spiritual world beyond this one... we MUST believe that things such as this, are possible, and they happen around
us, when we do not know it. That later, we would know so many things, that now... we can not even begin to
concieve. My thoughts and prayers are continually with Marie, and her family. I feel very sure, you will see your
daughter again... someday. -Sincerely; David.
 -Are you
free?
Or are you trapped with those
whose vengence, is not of God?
Who even
some, were bound by jealousy,
with eyes that fixed you in formulated phrase-
words expressing the tenderness of age,
while murmuring prayers of which...
were not meant for thee.
From the
closed door- the cold heart...
are you
free?
Are you
bound?
Restrained by laws of earth and mind-
meanings upon meanings, with no reason found?
For what
plagued the minds of so many, do still...
one face, that bares no soul to feel.
And through
all uncertainties,
their hearts were sealed.
For through
doubt and fear, no life is sound.
Nights are stirred in unrest, their unholy vows,
to seek out with vengence,
while yet somehow,
forget the leaves, that fall so clear,
that in unseen ways... you made come down.
Grief,
too sad for song or word,
so touches the few left, and I've heard,
chatters amongst the paper stars,
who hold
their titles high to see,
and wrote you, to a world of hypocrisy.
I come
here alone, to stand with thee.
From where I am... there you are.
Oh, bright
red rose, tell me silently...
are
you free?
"to priscilla"
-Here, through the many miles we walked and explored, we took but one path, where from we noticed the
very small, yet wonderful things that life offers, that through many eyes, are unseen. It was time though, of looking back
and remembering—always seeking one another’s supportive smiles, and sometimes too, forgiveness. It was a time
of laughter, and celebration, but also a time of learning, and self growth. And through our own compassion, we found a very
unique strength in ourselves, and for each other, that only we understood. And somewhere between all that is right, and wrong,
and that which is lived, and felt, we came to find ourselves, and counted each other, when others would not. It was here,
we found hidden, the many windows in our souls, and it is here, that now, we look back …. and remember, home.
-David
T. Culver
Somewhere
in April
It is here, where I and the window speak—
Where
clouds have danced on mountain peaks
And gusty winds leave them all but streaked,
Like cotton balls in the sky.
From
here, I’ve seen across the way
In the shade of willows, black birds play
And there where hidden, their nestings
stay,
Abandoned by the young to fly.
In meadows green, as green could be,
Stretched as far as the eyes to see,
Of
age, stands still a great oak tree
Telling of summers passed.
Cloaked in leaves of brown and green—
There
secluded, only few have seen,
For that which lies so far between
Takes one’s eyes, the winter grass.
Yet
far too soon the night will come—
Forgotten by many, remembered by some,
An Eden of beauty, and thus becomes
A
twilight of yellow, gray
. Perhaps a painter would stand in awe,
To perch an easel with intent to draw
But never
quite catch what once I saw
On the windy April day.
A place where love could find its own—
To never leave
one’s heart alone—
Oh, lovers run wild, run free, live young!
For your chance may never be again.
But
now, should if such visions die—
It rains should come and the willows cry
And colors fade slowly from a painted
sky,
There will then, be left a richer sand.
For I claimed it all as if my own,
But a moment gained is a moment
gone
And all I’ve left, a fragment of Hearthstone
Untouched in the windowsill.
Should if one day I return
to see
Its rippling waters and large oak tree,
I’ll give praise for what once it gave to me.
And the honeysuckle
grow wild there still—
A trace of Heaven lost …
In Jacksonville.
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