Walking the Talk ~ Feb 7 2013

Respect, The word that rattles back and forth, like the sway of the train as it rolls rollin' down the track.

Two speak like chattering mice, one or two, three and more.

Fire in the ears as the Innocent run screaming.

Youth resounds as the young ling walk, and talk, like the world is all but a dream;

What's up y'all, Respect y'all,

Who, Is the day of the midnight sun finding each fleeting star, with each sound of the bell,

Ding; ding; Ding;

One so young thinking she is all that, carrying life like a stalk flying so high.

When, Is the heart that beats, thumping from generation to generation.

Where, Is the end...

 Baby Girl I'm Out!

Back Story

While on the Trax train going to work I sat at the back of the train car when two young girls between the ages 13 - 15 sat across from me.  These two girls were swearing every other word. Parts of their conversation was about wanting respect from their peirs and not get it. Also about some of their friends not hanging out with them due to one them becoming pregnet. The last word that one of the girls said to the other as they were going their seperate ways was, "Baby girl I am out!"

Because of this coversation I wrote this poem.

From Within ~ Dec 2 2012

Broken tears of fear and love,

guilding each new step in the falling sands of life.

One soldier falls as another steps to lead,

like the winds of the wisping moon.

As sun day dawns with fire flies swarming,

new beginnings rise with each flower turning.

Quiet and soft the hearts are thumping,

like the melodies of a fresh forest rain.

Time flows with the mountian streams,

as if stars above are found below.

Keeping time with each striking flash,

as one moment to the next fills each everlasting.

Fixing the Fence

I was hanging out with my friends Andrew, Zane, Jonathon, Brandon, Nikki, Shara and Jon, when I recieved a page (Yes, I had a pager in highschool) from dad. I called him right away. Dad told me that he got a call from the police telling him that we have some cows out. Dad asked me if I could go help him get the cows back in and fix the fence where they got out. I told him I would be there. When I got off the phone, I told my friends what had happend and asked them if they wanted to come help or I could meet up with them later. Ofcourse they wanted to come help out, due to the fact that we are all from the small city and good friends. Everyone of my friends and I drove our car/trucks to my families fields (which is at the end of a dead end road). Once we arrived Andrew and I found out where the cows were at and acted accordenly. When my dad saw the convoy of cars coming down the road, it was evindent on his face of how suprized, and filled with graditude. In someways I could see a knowing in his eyes of how much this meant to him.

Dec 29 2012

Open eyes, Watch the lies,

as the Windless mountian

Touched the sky.

In the Minds Eye

by David Shamo May 2012

While in the minds eye, all appears from one to another. With the emerald light within the piercing darkness. It is but a walking fire that is within. One light or ten only one stands alone. Many come to see, as many have fallen heads, like a teardrop that has run its course, not knowing what it’s life means. One grain of sand may only be a world within a world, but like the stars above for all to see the wonders of that one who stands alone, as if like a ripple in the water without the pebble of life within. The one without another is but the fallen tear of the dark unknown, while the walking fire is but an embracing look upon the windless breeze of life.

Elements of a Dream

by David Shamo May 2012

What do you see when the air wraps around you like a friend hugging a friend, or when the water reaches high as if waving to the passing moon. While fire burns from within, as if like snow covering the earth in a sheet of pure white feelings like a dream among dreams. Finding this vision is the light at the long dark tunnel keeping just out of reach or as it has been told just a fingertip away. Yes the elements of the dream within a dream.

The Days of the Week

By David Shamo

May 2012

The days of the week are like the pages of a book
 blinking on by with each turn of a page.

While Monday is but a stressful day as if
on a rollercoaster just starting to fall.

Tuesday will be the strength of one to hold their head high,

as if only to take the life saving breath needed.

The laughs of the world will find you on Wednesday as time

slows down like watching a clock waiting for the day to end.

As swift as the river is,

the river is like unto Thursday coming to a lull.

The lights go up like the rising sun when Friday arrives,

when plans get inked and friends get lured in, while turning the music up.

Nice and early it seems as Saturday sneaks away like a

mouse zig zagging through the day to escape the pouncing cat.

As Sunday brings the day of rest, the tears of joyful sadness

starts to appear for the week is coming to an end or is it just beginning.

This Poem came about when I was working at University of Utah. I was talking to my co-worker and he told me how hard it was to right a poem about the days of the week, and then he challenged me to write one.  it was a lot of fun and kind of challenging to write it in a way most would relate to it.  One thing I know for sure is that, it felt good to get back into writing once more.