Creation's Signs (Sonnet)

Ice beads on tree branches, lacy limbs, white
fog sky. Silent cold of solstice, frozen
buds and waiting, wanting more. Trust the fight
for spring will win; life is always chosen
by the curtain drop. Germinating, tight
encased in fallow ground; warmth will blow in
when it's day. Hazy sky will turn to bright.
Seasons shift from snow to green and flow in
new anticipated patterns, cycles.
Young to old and seed to flower, winter's
sleep to summer's fruit, living, miracle
of death, deeper love from friendship's center.
Good needs time to grow and patience, plot lines'
tensions, resolutions. Creation's signs.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

Stone Walls (Sonnet)

The sky's the tint of mourning dove and stone
walls. It's a dreamy haze, head in the clouds,
gray, neutral canvas backdrop paints my own
world the way I want. I can live aloud

or silent; find my light in things I've known.
Walls are made for climbing. Transcend avowed
limits in the now, no need to postpone
pleasure. Passions, wonderment, joy's allowed.

The peeling bark on blood-twig tree, lacy
lichen climbing to the tips of fing'ry
branches budding, reaching, future tracing.
Dogwood's old, but readies for the ling'ring

spring blooms, dreams of flowers, still life, water-
color skies, immortal imprimatur.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019


Let your desire for what is not, yield
to desire for what is. You can see
the light's shadows reflecting on the field,
faintly, and those dark patterns make lovely

pictures. Wishing on waxing moon appeals
to your slight perfectionist tendencies;
whining and complaining tend to conceal
invitations and opportunity.

In the steel gray sky, fog paints artistry,
cosmic masterpieces; the daffodils
peering in the rain. Life's complexity,
light in darkness, sun through haze, good revealed.

Blue-tinged mountains, puffy white clouds appear
above the storm. Perspective, the air clears.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

A Comedy of Tragic Proportions (Sonnet)

Have you noticed, all the gregarious
people have disappeared? No more laughter,
joy, now everyone is so serious.
It seems to have happened sometime after

the reds and blues became oblivious
to the Other. We're in a new chapter
this year, our world is so precarious.
Fear's overtaken. Who has the answer?

What are the questions? Who's profiting from
it? Who's suffering in it? Whose priv'lege
allows them their blindness to pain; income
escapes them from Others, privatized bridge.

Perhaps we need a cosmic comedy,
or, better yet, some naked honesty.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

Valentine Sonnet

Valentine Sonnet
She’s the shy girl in her scuffed Mary Janes
watching for lacy pink “Be Mine” hearts drop
into the gold painted glitter-filled box,
nervously holding her breath, but in vain.

Her valentine box is ready to gain
blood-red Sweethearts, frilled hearts, on her desktop.
She’s waiting for Prince Charming’s step to stop
in front of her freckle-faced grin, again.

Now she’s the very same girl who’s so learned,
no matter how much gold is spray painted
or how long for Prince Charming she’s waited.
that love is not found in boxes and verse,

but in moments of heart filled connection,
and in moments of tingling affection.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

Perspective (Sonnet)

Rainy day, cold. Bird caws reverberate
through the treetops. Rustling leaves, ravens cry,
blackbird-filled air. Travel incorporates
baggage; yours is much too burdened to fly.

Your navigation's broken and the weight
of dreams and dread confuse, drag down the skies.
Drumbeats of reasons not to, confiscate
your optimistic Pollyanna joy.

You can't release the cloak of doom, make light
your load, without the will of dark-filled night
to shine the stars, to part the thunderclouds,
to dance the moon dance, live the light allowed

for you, to find your candle, make it yours;
your blaze will less your weight and let you soar.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

Examen (Sonnet)

Woven together of heaven and earth,
holy-human flow of embodied self.
Foundation and floating, you are a drop
in the vastness of love. Feelings, fears stop

you, hold you back. The journey itself's worth
the wait. Restless desire, love, it's birth
of more, starts in the heart, flows from the top
of time to the end, this unceasing loop,

push-pull, pause, guilt purge, and holding the still
voice in your body, the force of your will.
Stalemate ahead; accept the self you are,
the calm in the chaos, you see how far

you have come, left to go. Quiet and breathe.
Respite of thought, striving. Let go and be.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019