Christine Salkin Davis (Focail do a Chara)

How many ways can you describe the wheat
colored patch of grass outside your window?
And the mulch of dead, dried leaves, empty tree
limbs overhead? How many times you know

winter will not last, flower buds will see
the light of day any day, spring will show
her colors, blue will break the clouds, the sweet
scent of honeysuckle is soon to blow

by. The skies are turning, newly painted
pictures burst out in joy, yellow pops of
dandelions dot the reacquainted
seasons, sounds and songs of nature in love

with itself. You suffered through your barren
months; trust that warmth, next, is what will happen.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

Like a river after a month of rain,
deluge, your life rushes by, locations
and plot lines washing downstream, as you strain
to catch up to their teasing temptations.

The banks of the river cannot contain;
water seeping threatens your foundation.
Your shoes will get wet, or you could abstain
from wandering; it's your consolation

that your river overflows with good things
at least, knee-deep in opportunity.
You can stop, and see, what tomorrow brings;
or ride these rapids, with impunity.

Feel the warming air, the sun on your skin;
it's okay to savor, where you have been.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

Flash of cardinal red amid the wet
dreary winter, bird songs drowned out by rain.
Drops drip in streaks upon the windowpane,
pocks of puddles in the storm-soaked lawn. Yet,

a hint of blue peeks out, as if it met
the blackened clouds en route to earth and came
to save us. Birds chase the air, their rain-stained
feathers flying to the treetops, buoyant

avigation. Early signs of spring's sight.
You ponder rhymes to speak on paper, ink
blots blooming flowers, sunshine, painting pink
pictures on the page, portal to heart's light.

You know those words that terrify you? Be
brave. Secrets spoke aloud will set you free.


© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

Last night's thunderstorm, incarnation of
angry power, storms of life stop you in
your tracks. Sleepwalk until crash awakens
you, fear overtakes you, and you can't move.

Eventually, your thinking improves.
But the sudden flash, in my opinion,
of lightening, hurts less than the forsaken
drip, drip, drip, drip of the daily deluge

of rain, bad news and disappointments, dead
ends and terminal delays, like stepping
in a deep puddle while a car, spraying
you with water, speeds by. Fills me with dread

to read the weather report and study
my to do list. My spirit feels muddy.

© Christine S. Davis, 2019

Fog clears and opens up, blue sky shines through,
sunlight beams on naked, barren branches.
Full moon, inky clouds, playing peek-a-boo.
Day and night of light, super moon flashes,

spark the passionate, manifest in you
clear horizons, visions, second chances,
space to forgive, create, begin anew,
light the dim path, dance upon the ashes

of headlines, stories, senseless tragedies,
willful collusions in the dark of night.
Bad news, corruption, needless honesty,
they pain a tender heart, put up a fight.

Deep breath and moonlight, dreaming to the sky.
Love into being, let the night drift by.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

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

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

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
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

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

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

Midnight blue and crescent moon and black tree
tops in silhouette below. Velvet sky
falls. I am the bird banging against the
windowpane, dimly lit. Away I fly.

The breeze blows leaves across the lawn of wheat.
They dance and dash in frenzied battle cry.
I too am trapped by winds of fortune; freed
in dreams and storied visions passing by.

The cherry tree's in bloom in winter's chill,
and robin's wings emerge in feath'ry gust.
Inside, the fire warms my heart and stills
disquiet of my soul; return I must

to pictures painted on a page in black
ink wand'rings; riding letters forth and back.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

In the light of the sliver of the moon,
comfort from its hazy glow, eerie trace
of vapor sky bound, vastness, stars full bloom
and silence, breathless silence, in this place.

Joyful, rapt attention, the sky consumes
me; stillness, stillness, air in time and space.
I grasp the darkness, wraps me like a womb;
The blackening night surrounds me in embrace.

Blood red and wounded, pain, collective pain,
the weeping wails cry out into the night.
In the silence, agony of heartstain
pierce the peace, unsettled, 'til morning light.

They'd fill an ocean, tears we all have shed.
No one has peace in shadows of the dead.

© Christine S Davis, 2019

The winds blow in, hard, a longing to be,
ambition to do. I draw in that which
belongs here and savor the mystery,
life, death, what is, what will be, they bewitch

me, hypnotize, light and darkness moments
float in the air, like sun after rain, rain
after sun. Death stands ahead, I lament,
but 'tween here and there drift pleasure and pain.

Ribbons of mauve and blue, late evening sky
and grayness settles over me, in me,
departing light and fleeting, robins fly
to rest their wings, to nest, in quiet, trees.

While life is bright, it only stands to joy.
Save sorrow for the grave which can destroy.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

Cool winds caress my arms; the sun lowers
toward the horizon and a hazy mauve
rises from the winter brush. Bird sowers
scatter seed, for squirrels, a feeding trove.

Flutt'ring wings and running deer and dark'ning
sky, the eve' is close, calm, flying bug lands
as I write and thanks for sun, spring coming,
slowly now, I know, yet, I understand.

I sense there's more a chill to be before
the thaw, the sun a hint to cheer my heart,
remind me of the good, courageous, sure
to come, after winter has done her part.

The orange ball's beneath the trees now, songs
of birds are heading home. The night belongs.


© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

Sunsets and dreams and secrets of the night,
hazy mauve and gray watercolor sky.
Painting pictures in your head, full moon light,
squinting, reading messages from on high.

Ponder, wonder, which is wrong, which is right,
dimly rememb'ring , dreaming, as you try
to see the love, lost, shining in the bright
body of the moon, nightly lullaby.

Thoughts and feelings wax and wane, in darkness,
ephem'ral luster hides behind the clouds.
Oh, lucent moon, fire up this harshness,
this world, this life, both evil, good, endowed.

She's silent, moon, for such a brightly shine,
yet, her specter illuminates my mind.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

Originally posted 3/22/2018

The flame, a spot of light, a spark,
my fingertips, cold, icy nose,
wind blowing, leaves, flying,
the frigid air brings a chance to claim a new pattern.

There is a ripening within,
sun's warmth,
satisfying heat of the first sip of coffee,
warm in my hands and on my tongue,

I wonder at the wind,
she blows cold or warm,
can change the world with a gust,
invisible and powerful,
hiding,
seemingly still but a quivering leaf gives her away;
can fan a flame or extinguish a candle,
caress an arm or chill deep inside,
blow away debris and dead leaves,
clearing.

I savor the spark,
the light,
the warmth,
the leaf flying past,
and the wind rearranging the leaf patterns on the fallow ground.


© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Originally Published 9/16/2018:

(in response to the news headline "Trump Claims Without Evidence that 3,000 People Did Not Die in Puerto Rico Hurricanes, Blames Democrats for Inflating Toll"

Three thousand people dead from incompetence
and indifference but their lives don't count,
didn't count then, don't count now -- the
"collective black," too dark to be seen
in the black pit of our collective soul.
The transformation starts with your eyes
wide open. Count them now before
there is no one left to count.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Originally Published 7/27/2018:

I am the rain, relentlessly falling,
unbound and unable to resist the downward momentum.

I am the leaf, blown adrift by winds of change.
I am alone and far from home.

I am the raindrops and I will cover you,
caress you, and keep you company.

I am the thicket, I offer protection,
a new home for you to lie until the drops evaporate and you join the carpet of leaves under me.

Nature protects the fallen, shelters the beaten down. Sunlight is there if you look around.




© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Originally posted on 11/14/2017

Look!: A Sonnet for a Country in Need (sonnet)
The need! The need! Engulfs your perfect view;

Burning flash of death abounds the air. See

the thund'ring crashing rain, the flooding l'ee.

The next storm spots a glimpse ahead of you.



The need is great; I spot the helpers few.

The muck is rising, clinging to your knees,

the devastating sight is staggering --

it's really hard to glimpse just what to do.



Focus your vision on the hazy hue,

your world, surrounded by humanity;

the helpless, homeless, hungry, are your cue;

like rushing thunder rain the human pleas.



The price for your long life has now come due.

Stranded among our shared identity.



© Christine Salkin Davis, 2017

Originally posted 4/8/2018

Revised 1/30/2019

Communion of the Body (Sonnet)

Embodied speech, community of saints,

touch of bread in hand, taste of wine on tongue,

re-membering, re-entering, restraint,

holding on, healing, with the power of one.



Welcome cosmic wholeness, my holiness,

sunlight shining, cold and warmth, warming heart,

Rest into the mystery, haziness,

dark and light, sparkling leaves, magical, art.



Begin the walk; the guidance will appear,

pinprick answers, the edge of consciousness,

of your wildness, wilderness, now, here,

body's truth, move through the experience.



Reflection, voice, laughter, circle closing,

cleansing, embracing, wintry green's knowing.




© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018