David A. Ross
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Publisher
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The poetry of David A. Ross has appeared in The National Anthology of Poetry, in Sacrifice and the Sweet Life, and in Happy Holidays Corfu Magazine.
"My poems are written mostly off the top of my head, in a few minutes at most. I edit them only briefly, for they come, I believe, from the deepest part of my subconscious. There they have had ample time to evolve and take shape. Writing prose is sometimes hard work, poetry is a pure release."
Poetry by David A. Ross
"Holy-Stone"
(A Poem)
I have found a holy-stone,
Oh fate! I thank thee for the find,
And the spirit who upon this road
Hath made this flinty mine.
I go each morning at earliest dawn,
Forth I walk through pleasant vales,
Seeking peace from my travails,
Seeking rue and sweet vervain,
They bring good fortune, this I know,
I guard them closely at my breast.
Spirit of good omen,
Who comes to aid me even
As I have great need of thee,
Spirit of the red, red demon,
Since thou hast come to aid my need,
I pray do not abandon me.
And as I walk through pleasant vales, I pray:
‘Be what may, by night or day!’
"New Sandals"
(A poem)
New sandals,
Sandals from the Holy Land,
Shoes made of leather,
To walk upon the earth.
I sat one morning underneath a shady tree,
A Eucalyptus tree,
And listened
To the sounds of yet another day.
I, the poet,
A man locked within himself.
And the birds sang,
And the children in the schoolyard played their games,
And the village women swept the sidewalk,
And I had time,
Precious time,
All the time in the world,
All the minutes of my life,
To retreat inside,
To reconnect,
To find the long lost center,
My center of gravity.
Then I happened to glance across the street,
Only to see Yianni the lame grocer
Standing in front of his fine shop
Wearing my new sandals,
Identical sandals,
Shoes from the Holy Land,
Shoes bought at discount,
Shoes made of leather,
To walk upon the earth.
And as I saw Yianni,
Yianni also saw me.
We watched each other
As we watched each other.
In turn, we each looked down at our feet,
Calloused feet,
In our new sandals,
Identical sandals,
Shoes from the Holy Land,
Shoes bought at discount,
Shoes made of leather,
To walk upon the earth.
And we laughed and laughed.
Then we cried tears of joy,
Joy over our new sandals.
"String"
I am string
Stretched tightly,
I resonate when plucked,
In sonorous vibration.
I am string
Made of fibers rare,
Threads that intertwine;
A helix of creation.
I am string,
Baled and wound,
Bound in knots,
Only to unravel.
"New Love"
(A Poem)
New love, simple, innocent, pure,
A celebration!
It rejoices at each turn,
It calls out for itself,
No conflicts,
No ultimatums,
Only love,
Joyous sensual love,
Passion.
Exploration gives itself to wonder,
Trust gives itself to ecstasy,
A touch! A touch!
The soul knows.
Corruption…
Egos, individuals,
Where I end, where you begin,
Doubt, lost visions, tears,
Heavy hands,
Hands to cover a face, to hide expression,
Fear, protection,
Busy feet,
Running, running for doors,
Obstruction.
Silence… Deafening silence.
Dark thoughts, mortal questions,
Regret.
It is night.
Morning comes slowly.
First there is grayness,
Then a tentative light.
Nocturnal memories filter through veils of naiveté
Sorrow floods the eye,
Who is the one that lies here beside me?
It is he,
It is she,
Yet recognition is slow,
An open heart slower still.
And something is lost,
Yet something else found,
Once cast out of the garden,
They must toil now,
A fleeting love immaculate,
A fractured bone, a scar upon the hand,
Yet such imperfections impart character,
And reclaim faith from human frailty.
Perhaps imperfection is bliss
Where there is love…
And forgiveness, and acceptance…
Yes, this is a new love,
A love undistorted,
A love of tolerance and compassion,
As we remember why we began,
To love.
"The Willow Tree"
(A Poem)
In a clearing stands a willow,
With a trunk thick and strong,
Its roots are well grounded,
As it whispers its song.
Yet its branches are seasonal,
Its canopy wide,
They bend with each breeze,
As they shade fertile ground.
I know that willow,
Alone in a field,
It takes light and water,
Its service to yield.
And though not immortal,
Its tenure is long,
For its roots are well grounded,
As it whispers its song.
Read an excerpt from the author's upcoming novel, Second Life: The Novel
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