David W. Ballard: Professional Writer specializing in Web content writing, copywriting, feature writing, fiction writing, and poetry.

Heart

He glimpses our heart’s fullness and less,
Its tendrils fashioned from stone to flesh
Our part: submissive belief—
Saved from death’s mortal darts:
What relief!

My Love

Wrapped in bedding, my love sweetly slumbers.
My wife and two daughters’ mother,
Loves not what could be,
Should be,
Or would be,
But what is.
What a great gift she is!

Everyday

Somehow a dead leaf got tracked inside.
I didn’t ask from whom or whence it came,
Only wondered, if I did nothing, would it remain.
The more I thought the less I did,
Philosophy’s contribution to underbid.

The leaf, brown and crisp and stale and old
Was passed by everyone and disregarded,
Perhaps preparation for the coming cold,
Summer’s dreams now retarded,
Yesterday’s heat burned away.

Nothing young can remain that way,
Merely born again everyday.

Thanks

In bunk beds stacked in two
The older climbs the stairs,
While the baby snuggles you.
The one on top combs her hair,
While the baby on the bottom bed
Decides she doesn’t want to sleep there.
She wants to sleep on the top instead.

She climbs the stairs to get away,
But we’re determined to get our way.
“Stop. You need to come here,” we say.
“Get to bed. It’s getting late.”
She just laughs that we’re so irate.
We reach and reach till she’s in our grasp.
She kicks and screams and with one last gasp,
Asks of all things for a hug and kiss.
We sigh and can’t help but feel remiss
That she’s asked for this.

We hold her close and press lips.
She finally wriggles her hips
To get free,
And we want three?
I can’t imagine playing zone
Defense against this many
Or watching a third alone.
We sigh now that they’re all in bed.
Finally it’s dark in our home.
It’s one more night to give thanks
And pray the two in our ranks
Will also one day do the same,
And in the meantime keep us both sane.

Orb of Gold

This orb of gold
Shuttling through space
In shadows and darkness
Has a hold
On me.
A call from divinity?

I have grown old
Running apace in place
In shades without spades.
I am neither bold
Nor free
To alight with certainty.
In what will I trust to guide me?

Bending in the Wind

We must bend
In the wind
To win:
Consider reeds
Which always heed
The breeze;
Falling to our knees,
We all must recede
Until we leave.