Prayer To be a faith warrior To root everything in that well of hope and trust To live as if every meeting is a holy encounter This is who I want to become To be passionate without self destructing To be charismatic without being self righteous To be religious yet never rigid To seek excellence but not perfection To treasure common sense and intellect without being ruled by either To know truth, to seek it, find it, experience it For the vibrations of my thoughts, my energy, my life, to be the very branches on the vine of unlimited creativity and abundance This is my desire For I wish not to just survive, but to thrive Not just to struggle against the river but to flow with it I do not wish to pray as much as I wish for my life to be a prayer. ©2004 Jo Davidson

Thru the window the sunlight streams the prism of new hope's song There on the ledge a robyn sits fluttering for the dawn of a new day where deep desire is awakened by one long kiss and there in that passion energy whispers upon my lips here's to the faith that fills the well here's to the drought now past here's to the moment of my hope release my voice release my voice at last can a prayer take a mountain and move it into the sea what of the times it does not move the fly on the wall in front of me so i began a journey from the step of my own front door traveled thru my own wilderness searching for something more here's to the faith that fills the well here's to the drought now past here's to the moment of my hope release my voice release my voice at last ©2003 jo davidson

Oh Crimson Bird OHCRIMSON BIRD PLAY ME YOUR FLUTE SONG BEFORE THE GOLDEN GATE. LAY YOUR HEAD UPON MY PILLOW OF MUSIC AND COVER ME WITH KISSES UNTIL TOGETHER WE MAKE CLOUDS AND RAIN.

Prayer Song: There are seasons in the sun when your golden dreams are spun sparkling like diamonds in the sky And your hope is a kite and your soul has taken flight spreads out its wings and begins to fly I am free I am free All the world is full of possibility It's your season in the sun when your golden dreams are spun In the meadows flowers are blooming bright It's the season of the storm there's no coat to keep you warm all the earth is cold, wet and grey you are dizzy and you're lost you can hardly bear the cost every waking moment asks of you to pay Rescue me rescue me i've forgotten how it feels to be free Lord hear my cry send your angels by my side I cannot take much more agony There is hope in the seed of the flower whose petals bleed color like a wash on the sky and the meaning is deep in the symbols of your sleep don't be the fear, be the lullaby rest in peace rest in peace and release what you don't understand there is pain before the pearl paint a flower on the scar you're more beautiful than you know you are. © may 27 2003 jo davidson

Childhood Haiku A new family lives in the house where you lived the treehouse is gone someone else's child plays in your yard 'til bath time begging to stay out back then we all played croquet or kickball until our mothers called us my sisters and me popsicle stains on our mouths from a hard days work we'd sit for dinner after washing our hands sweet corn, squash, green beans fresh from the garden with butter on them and salt we ate happily then for dessert we had a warm cobbler apple brown betty straight from the oven topped with vanilla ice cream from Milk and Honey some nights we would go to Maxi's and order a big mug of rootbeer we'd sit in our car wearing our spring pajamas windows rolled down A new family lives in the house where you lived I no longer need Amy and Lori to babysit me and my sisters and tuck us into bed at night scratching our backs after we play the bear hunt game.

More Haikus It is better to have one true friend than to have ten casual ones ---------- there must be darkness for there to be light and this is nature's pattern ---------------- Oh the work it takes to do the right thing and mostly, to want to. --------------- How easy it is to slip and fall and how hard it is to get up ----------------- After the rain left he said to me, "look, it's the mother of all worms!" ------------------ We fill our minds with weapons of mass distraction then go fire away --------- I don't want to make music that is shallow and just spreads lies around ------------ I love your body the way you look in your clothes the way they come off ------------- Just the thought of you massages my desires like an erotic bath --------------- I dream of your kiss your lips and the taste of you I am a woman ------------- If you were to die I'd stop the world and get off the sky would turn black ---------------- Did you hear the rain it was around 2AM so soft like a song ------------ sugar addictions emotional eating runs deep in families -------------- Older than the stars my love for you is like this eternity's thread ----------- You lashed out at me and so unexpectedly you were stranger ------------- Feeling that I have been left behind, a widow, dreams buried alive --------------- If i could sleep now do you think i would be here writing this nonsense -------------- Dizzy sensations swim in my head like ripples reverberating

Paris No mirror tells the full story. This is part of my story, of my life, of me. It is about Paris. Or maybe not at all. Paris was a gorgeous girl with full red lips dressed to the nines for the dance. It was the same girl the next morning with puffy eyes, messy hair and a headache. Paris was the dog urine running down the street like a scared puddle. It was the strong coffee, the homeless, the patisseries, cafes and brasseries. It was a giant cloud of cigarette smoke. It was the gorgeous waiter i fantasized about, and it was my mad tangled thoughts ravishing me to bits. Paris was the polite salesgirl at the clothing store and the waiter at Cafe de Flore who spoke English to the couple beside me, but refused to speak English to me. It was the painting of a girl lost in thought, in the window of a studio on Rue de Tournon, the painting that rendered me speechless. It was the glimpse of Rodin's The Thinker that made me gasp for air. It was wishing I could have known Camille Claudel. Paris was my birthday, and my lover buying me fresh strawberries at the market on Rue de Buci. It was the "erotic" photos that never showed men, the sleazy strip shows, the eight dollar cup of coffee and the three hundred a night hotel room that was dirty. It was the tear i cried when i stood alone in the Luxembourg Gardens and the longing that pierced my heart with a freshly sharpened sword. It was the Fontaine de Medicis. Paris was the desire to live more passionately and the frustration of trying to. It was the sexy restaurants on tiny Rue Gregoire-de-Tours at night and two lovers doing the tango in front of a cafe near Rue Bonaparte. It was the churchbells I heard Sunday morning, the tape recorder I had left at home, and my despair at not being able to capture something that was never meant to be captured anyway. Paris was the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, the Arc De Triomphe, and the bridges over the Seine. It was none of these things. It was vine ripened tomatoes in my salad and shameless long kisses in public. Paris ripped me apart. It threw my dripping wet desires onto Blvd. St-Germain and left me there to beg. In Paris, I didn't find myself, rather, i felt myself flying in a million different directions, and i did not know which self to follow. Paris was my carefree impulsive I can do anything youth staring into the eyes of my mature sensible you can't do it all wisdom and the two of them sticking their tongues out at each other. Paris was the mirror i looked into that reflected back to me in its smug way, all I was missing. It was my fantasy under a fluorescent bulb, a desperation, loneliness, turbulence. It was connectedness, breath, sex and the color red. Paris Was Another Life I Once Lived. Paris was going to be my movie. I was to be writer, star actress, and director. I was going to determine every scene. It was going to be my perfect world realized. As it turned out, Paris, like life, was not a movie. I controlled no one, nor did I control dialogue or props or the weather for that matter, and i discovered that there is no perfection, only inspiration. My Paris, like all good illusions eventually do, shattered. It was a beauty and a pain that stung as passionately as it caressed. And as I stood there in a puddle of broken glass, I knew i could either let the glass pierce a hole through my heart, or I could hold it up to catch the sunlight and paint prisms with it on the ceiling, the wall, the floor, our bed. In that sense, Paris is wherever I am, whatever choice I make...... No Mirror tells the full story. This is a part of my story, of my life, of me. It is about Paris. Or maybe not at all. jo davidson ©2001

Yellow lemons sunshine grapefruit and                  daisies dandelions recycle bins blonde hair and                  honey sweet bananas in butterscotch syrup that taste as good as any                  boy i've ever had the garden of sunflowers that comforts me when the world splatters all over my                  dreams sweet corn squash baby chicks and beeswax candles that glow pretty in the night. jd ©2002

Tiramisu Orgy today my desk is one big piece of tiramisu i am jumping on the ladyfingers like a trampoline reciting my lessons my schoolbooks are tiramisu and i want to eat them up and digest all the knowledge quickly without getting a stomach ache or having to go to the bathroom and losing it all everywhere i smell the Italian bakery espresso drenching the air my pencil is tiramisu with it i shall write a new rule that women everywhere have the right to eat without guilt i will be the first to declare it a national amendment my chair is spongy tiramisu with cinnamon on my backside would you like to taste the valet parking is free my neighbors’ bed looks like a giant tiramisu and through a sliver in my blinds i can watch them enjoying it over breasts and thighs and penis and legs and lips soaked in coffee i hate diets jd ©1995

Hallucination I am cinnamon and cloves kissing baked apples I am whipped cream making love to a steaming mug of hot chocolate the clang of a shirt button whirling in the dryer I am red licorice and papaya juice I am a maple thought, a seaweed catcher, a thinking garden my 2 feet planted on the ground my head like a branch waving in the sky I am a purple handshake I want to be a white vision I used to be a black line I had muddy brown edges but orange intentions i've forgotten how much I love pink I remember green leaves in the sea blue sky outside of my bedroom window I am lips far apart expressing important things and unimportant things I am a spin in the top of life with red stripes I am a thumping heartbeat in a safety deposit box i am the bank robber busting open the lock I am the wind against the pen I am a piano I am a symphony of darkness and light I am the cry of a woman who hurts like a child I am the voice of laughter into the phone receiver the voice that says hello on your private 900 number I am the soft breeze whistling across corn fields the wind dancing through your hair and your longings I am a lily pad humming under the weight of a happy frog I am a red '68 ford mustang with a loud radio and a big backseat that caresses you I am a black saab convertible with my top down and tennis racquets in my trunk and i will kick your ass I am a silver jeep wrangler that feels every bump in the road and tips slightly in the wind but looks cool I am a ford pickup truck with logs of wood and in the back, a dogbox I am a champagne lexus with leather seats and a sunroof I am a landcruiser parked at night along the ocean i am the sleeping bags in the back and i am feeling you I am cuban beans and plaintains covered in onions and lemon on a bed of white rice I am rainbow sherbet and cottage cheese with avocados and french dressing(a lady's lunch) I am mango iced tea with fresh mint I am a slice of german chocolate cake covered in coconut icing melting on your tongue I am the fresh basil on your stomach I am a hot chili pepper exploding like a bomb I am your espresso at night your chamomile tea in the morning I am marshmallows sticky and soft, burnt on the edges I am cinnamon buns and cream puffs, green jello cake, and a Betty Crocker cookbook i am a room at the four seasons a suite at hotel bel air a tent in the woods a blanket on a beach in Hawaii i am your room service tips included i am a long poem a love affair breath and intensity i am and more but for now I have said enough. jd ©2002

Carousel From a long sleep i wake up wondering what day it is and find it is time for dinner and my stomach hurts from sadness more so than from hunger and i do not know why exactly it is just something that happens from time to time some mystery of the human condition when you become aware that life is continually changing and that the motions do not wait for you or anybody or even time itself i feel like i have come out of a dream a state of hypnosis where my past has a foot in my present and it is not comfortable i feel so sad i feel like i did in high school when on the outside i was popular i think maybe but inside i felt so alone and feared the aching would eventually swallow me up nobody was like me that is what i thought i felt like i did not belong anywhere that i was and the music played in my head and the notes went flying by at speeds unheard by human ears symphonies banging on my door all the while my surroundings tried to keep a lock on those longings among other longings i remember and feel it all to clearly and now as i did then i pick out my favorite horse and as the tides of longing, regret and loneliness fill me up i ride sometimes i even sit on the bench that is what i did as a child when i thought i was too old for horses why is it we spend half of our lives wanting to grow up and the other half wanting to stay young? jd ©2002

Waxed Fruit one day when he finally had her it was like biting into watermelons only to taste peaches, that was when he first did understand. that's how it is with watermelons mostly, they are pretty as lies, they are floating purple balloons in the aqua heavens but just one prick and they pop mindlessly twirling in broken strands of confetti like nuclear fireworks in a fourth of July sky, it's a sad parade. jd ©2001

Weird A pig with feathers a pillow with wings a cello filled with beads stairs that go sideways a Sunday afternoon under my bookcase an upholstered VCR a nun with lingerie a yellow blueberry a linen fork cereal in the crockpot churchbells at a communist party a Jewish pig my thoughts at 3AM when I am missing you are very weird jd ©2002

Lullaby Sleep my child and rest your thoughts for all is safe tonite Sleep my child erase your worries under the moon's soft light Sleep my child close your eyes and set your troubles free For every one is in God's hands and He watches over thee. jd ©2000

To Him May the sun relax the weight on your shoulders May the Robin's bird song inspire you to dance. May the giant oak give you a sense of roots and time May the tulips and the poppies remind you to laugh as much as possible. May the breeze touch your skin and calm you. May the earth bless you the with the rhythm of the seasons. May the moon hold you as you dream peaceful dreams. May my love give you a sense of home, a sense of what you can become, and the strength to be who you are. jd ©1996

Layover i overheard the conversation in the airport as they were whispering i pretended to read my newspaper apparently she just had found out her uncle was really her father he told her because nobody else would i don't know where she was headed if i were her i'd go to Jamaica and drink myself silly til it all seemed like no more than a bad dream but she didn't even seem shaken her voice was calm and all along i thought something seemed strange when i heard her have the same conversation with someone else a complete stranger so finally i could not sit still from the curiousity and i approached her about it not knowing if she would cuss me out or hit me it turned out she was writing a novel and made the whole thing up just to get people's reactions and gain a little insight into human nature i have always believed in minding one's own business jd ©1996

Resistant Clay God made me an artist, but I was so afraid of being misunderstood that I took no risks. God made me an artist, but I was so fearful of offending anyone that I inspired nobody. God made me an artist, but my church didn't allow me to use bright colors, and so my art was dull. God made me an artist, but the judgments of others filled me with shame, so I censored and edited my explorations. God made me an artist, but the more I grew, the less my childhood shoes fit, and sister friend already thought my feet were too big, so I bound them to please her. God made me an artist, but I was driven by fear instead of love, caution instead of curiosity, and I hid what could've been my greatest masterpiece. God made me an artist, but I wanted to escape criticism, so I created nothing worth being criticized. God made me an artist, but in my desire to please, I sacrificed my originality, and became nothing but a cheap imitation. jd ©1997

ponytails and breasts you have to work       late          again but i don't feel sad or disappointed like i'm suppose to like i usually do      i call my friend up                    to complain anyway and she says i'm a big girl then she laughs and so do i when i hang up the phone tears p o u r dow        n my face and i think for a big girl sometimes i'm such a child jd ©1997

Potluck dinner at the Church the potluck dinner was last night and everyone was told to bring a dish that would serve up to eight people gertrude gibbons brought eight olives served on a little glass plate  I hope when I am eighty years old I am like still laughing jd ©1998

The Best Soldiers Don't Need Guns Come to me. Come inside me. Follow me no more. I swallow you up, fear. I eat you whole. You are my enemy no longer. Sit beside me, and we'll talk awhile about all I never did because of you, all I would've been had I told you long ago that you could be my friend. I once kicked you in the sides. I smashed your face and snapped your bones like twigs. I gouged out your red eyes with my naked fingers and pulled out your hair in clumps. Then I cried, because I had hurt you and you were in me. I bandaged you up, bathing you until you healed. I had thought that hating you would destroy you when all along it was love that would take away your power. Now I know that you are in every living color, every flower, every bird, everything that has ever had courage, and you are the one who waits, dressed in disguise, trying so hard to scare me. But I am not scared. Now it is you who is afraid, because I have given you the key to my house, and I'm telling you, you can come over ANYTIME. jd ©1997

Holiday Prelude in C Minor if i was santa claus i'd send rudolph to shit in the yard of that  boyfriend of yours, the one who ridicules because he is afraid i'd hang peace on your tree like an ornament and when it lit up you would feel your worth and jesus would sing you lullabies the angels would cradle you in your sleep and they would bring you a smile that stretched all the way to the north pole and back i would fill your rooms with the scent of fresh pine and eggnog and give you every reason to celebrate as you sang "joy to the world" your stocking would be filled with the strength to leave him again meanwhile another year has come and will be going and i see you like Christmas morning you run downstairs with excitement beaming on your innocent face you open your beautiful gift and it is a piece of chewed gum jd ©1995

Monkey Glee Club They all hang from the branches of their insecurities like spaghetti strands being hung to dry they look the same not one stands out from any other imitating each other scatching their pits making funny faces and being obnoxious when they are scared which is most of the time They think they can tell me how to dress how to be cool how to think and how to define art they would not know art if it shoved a gun in their collective face They feel important in their offices enclosed in fear and they have no talent to recognize talent unless they want in its pants oh they recognize that all right just look at the sleazy cover of Christine Aguilera on Rolling Stone the smiles eat at my skin like acid because i know they are not real so let them think they are your friends but don't you ever think they really are because they are a fraternity of clones dead brained scared comparing bananas  oh who has the bigger banana???? and what is the prize anyway? A banana leaf to swing on? jd ©2002

True Love I know you like nobody knows you i know how you smile when you're sad and how you criticize when you are afraid i know how amazing your meals are and what a chef you can be and i know how much you love details and the way you sort laundry so perfectly and seem to be able to organize piles and organize everything even me if only life were not so messy and it could be more neat and things would have more order but they do not do they i have my flaws and my contradictions and my weak spots and i am everything you know me to be and i am things you would not believe me to be i am human and imperfect but i am good so although there is nothing neat about me except there is  one thing this feeling i have that is true every moment and it is this; no matter what i love you. jd ©2002

Mental Pollution the poem Today all the media bombs went off in my living room and nine hundred and ninety three jagged irritations went flying though my skin like Satan's mosquitoes The crystal vase on grandmother's antique vanity shattered like a toe of lightening dancing in a glass shoes so don't talk to me about innocent songs I stare at the rubble after the storm dizzy in the pale beating of the January heart that rests upon my head like a lead snowflake nothing can melt me now The glass box, the giant screen, the pages of recycled babble like a happily dysfunctional family singing in their dusty operas choke my senses and refuse to give me my voice in the show I sit like a pear rotting under the frozen tree that dropped me if I could I would chainsaw its tempting branches off and reveal it for what it is an ugly worthless trunk of decaying chocolate a mass of sugar coated carbon monoxide in the plastic tree car with fake wheels Every day I tiptoe around society's constant hangover and gagging although nothing comes up but desperation in dry heaves I'm afraid that I have exhausted myself from fighting the devil sheep who devour me out of the bitterness that lurks far beneath their own wool If it were my choice and if I felt allowed to hate as much as I feel I am suppose to love I would slaughter them all and enjoy a feast for supper not to mention a new coat. jd ©1995

Longing The moon knows more than I. It knows how you slept last night and how many times you looked at my picture or if  you even did at all. It held you in its arms when I wanted to. When I ached for your stare, the moon caressed your eyes and danced in circles upon the shadows of your bedsheets. The sun knows more than I! It bathed you, when I wanted to be your water. It watched you about your day and noticed if you were tired or happy or sad or impatient. It put a warmth into your skin and held you close as a feather in the great bird's wing. Is it any wonder I'm jealous? jd ©1999

©2006 Jo Davidson. All Rights Reserved.