A poem about contemplation and writing by David Tombale: The days

There are times when you intend on writing and yet nothing worthwhile comes out. Moments like that are what The days describe.

The days

There are days when the words will not

hear me out, when the dried out version

of my remembered youth will not fill

a page or ten, a book or a passage in my

Bible, the words fulfill me but the present

needs me so the clatter of my keyboard may

have to cease, may sit out silent beneath the

shade of a blacked out screen while the

white buzz of sound runs out.

I could not write a line that felt like my beating

heart beating out a memory of a summer’s day,

the heat and flight of birds in June,

there is no music, no hope or fury,

 I place my book bag by my dusty window where

the sun will see it, where the wind will blow

against its glass perhaps to wake the thoughts

that rest inside, the note pads full of scribbling,

the pens half filled with ink.  

A poem about writing and contemplation by David Tombale: Falling Away

Contemplating life from through the lens of your pen can give you a fresh perspective and that’s what Falling Away is all about.

Falling Away 

The window yellows with the light

of morning burning through the

heavy shade of streaming clouds

and it cannot kill the clinging ache

of last night’s drink, it cannot

kill the thoughts of winter that keep

me huddled in my heavy coat and

slippers, the sound of my pen moving

over printed lines that blur against

the background of city lights, the

distant roar of passing planes that

have me shaking, falling away from

sleep.

A poem about contemplation on a Monday morning by David Tombale: Above the clouds

Above the clouds is about that Monday mood when you’re still in your covers and random thoughts pass through your mind.

Above the clouds

There is a shallow cough that builds

beneath the breast, almost like the

spirit yearns to be rid of this tender

flesh and I am waking, dreaming only

of the summer when the sun sits

high above the clouds and does nothing

more than glare. 

A poem about solitude and contemplation by David Tombale: In my house

In my house is about solitude and the thoughts that can run through your mind when you open yourself up to them.

In my house

Sometimes I sink my nose into the pillows

and smell the fragrance of my cologne,

I spread a blanket beneath the window and

lay my head against the sill and imagine

the glow of moonlight around my fingers

as if I could bathe in it, infuse my thoughts

with silver dreams that I might share with

angels that flock around the winds of heaven.

Some days I sit alone inside my room and just

listen to it breathe and imagine the carpet

is like the lining of my tongue and this whole

house always yearns to speak to me.

A contemplative poem about love by David Tombale: Pearls

Inspired by the Carl Sandburg poem Maybe.

Pearls

Maybe when the sun goes down

she’ll be waiting for my call,

maybe sunshine will be the last line

in a poem meant for two,

maybe her love line will be long enough

for my own to wrap around and hold,

maybe loving her will be my hobby and

my job and I will work forever to keep

those flowers in her hair,

maybe by touching her I might shed the

shadows round my eyes and I’ll be watching

her until the days go by and my promises

are like pearls she wears around her neck.

A poem about life and suffering by David Tombale: In spite of us

In spite of us is about looking at the struggles of daily life around the world through the lens of poetry.

In spite of us

In spite of us the days drag on

and the misery slowly grows,

the footsteps on the carpet,

the artillery in the air.

In spite of us a child goes on

in his struggles all alone,

the concrete walls, the stink

of slime, the howls of feral cats.

In spite of us the jungles burn,

the streets turn black and our

people lose their souls.

In spite of us the broken doors,

the screams, in spite of all of us

inside of all us is this yearning

to be free.

A poem about memory by David Tombale: When I am lost

When I am lost describes a connection I felt and still feel for my old high school. There is something about that school that will follow me for the rest of my days and I think that's true for everyone in regards to at least one place they've been in their lives. That these places always serve as shrines to memories we cherish.
When I am lost

There were too many calls to make,
Too many places to be when I could
Have gone anywhere but there’s this
Place where I lay my head and it feels
Right.

This one place where I come often,
Not really to sleep but to be renewed
As if I want to be reborn again in a
Bid to become better in my second life.

This place I come has all the look of
A school but it’s really my home.

I left my heart amongst the chalkboards
And battered desks, loaned out my love
Hoping someday I might get it back but
It was not to be.

I came back here when I turned twenty-one
Only to realize that there was no place to return
To.

It should look the same but it isn’t.
Something is missing here so I’m parked
Outside trying to remember what I was
Trying to find but it’s getting harder to
Picture me inside its walls perhaps because
She’s missing and without her the echoes
Grow, the grounds look old and I’m just
A little boy stuck looking for himself.

A love poem by David Tombale: The honey in the lion's mouth

This love poem is one of a series of poems I wrote from my younger days all the way to my adulthood that tell of my great weakness for extraodinary women. This how I have chosen to honour my crushes.
The honey in the lion's mouth

In seeing you I see myself reflected
in your eyes and my face looks somewhat
strange when I’m staring at you. It’s
a look I’ve seen in many faces bent to
pray, somehow you’ve become my prayer,
words I whispered into the dark, my heart
is needy, I, I cannot breath, I’m in need
of air and love and shelter and of these
three I will always dream of love, these
things I say, I say them only in this place
where no one’s listening so they will never
know I have pinned my hopes on a mirage
that shimmers in the desert, a mirage that
I think waits for me because no one will never
know her as I do, she is hardly perfect,
she is no one’s angel yet she is mine, the
rhythm in the rhyme, the answer in the dark
the honey in the lion’s mouth, this woman
whose name I speak out loud who will never
know me is the only woman I’ll ever need.