golden pastures


to pass on, to rest
it ain’t nothin’ more, at best
we hope that this life
with its heartache and strife
is all our bodies have to bear

but is there true peace?
is this life just a lease?
if we rest, do we dream?
does it end, does it mean
that the dream is everywhere?

in that deathly sleep
forever counting sheep
do we long for this toil?
for this broken mortal coil?
and all our bodies have to bear?

to pass on, to rest
it ain’t nothin’ more, at best
so we hope that this life
is all by design and
the dream is everywhere

the dream is everywhere

i swunny, i swear

the dream is everywhere

© 2024 Foulk Davis. All Rights Reserved.


me and crow

An antiqued photograph of a crow on a table with a cup of coffee.


Black feather on your pillow
Been days since you took flight
Seen ways to to fly by night
Over the willows

Claws tick down wooden stairs
My poems pour about your death
You speak until I’m out of breath
But no one cares

The smell of everything you touched
I hope it never goes away
I hope I never smell that day
I can’t believe it hurts so much

Black feather on your pillow
Been days since you were here
Though the reason ain’t clear
Now it’s just me and crow

© 2024 Foulk Davis. All Rights Reserved.