Davis' Grandeur by Brazen Clay Ramey (best detective novels of all time .TXT) 📕

saw him, though, and didn’t care,


until at last we saw him everywhere.
We told nobody. Everyone believes
we never saw the ghost (if he was there),
we never saw him and we didn’t care.
Berlin Wall

Feeling the seas breeze on my face
smelling the scent of the seaside
seeing the glint of the sunlight off the body of water
tasting the mist from the sea, slamming into the wall.
touching the wall.
experiencing the history behind.
The emotions.
Seeing the bigger picture of that towering wall.
The wall with all of its cracks and graffitti
Street art enveloping it.
Gift shops surrounding it.
The tourist attraction.
The Berlin Wall.

The Unmoving Guardian of the park

The unmoving, gaunt figurine.
Its shape, that of a golem.

The guardian of silent park.
Never moving always still.

Until the day that some hippity hoppers arrived.
Laying out their mats and robotic tune throwers.

The day the Golem no longer stood still.
The musical wave enveloping him.

The wave pumped life into the old Golems iron joints.
He silently drifted between them as they gawkeda t him.

They clapped him on and on
His feet a blue of intricate patterns that he beat into the dirt floor.

Until they put a halt on the music.
To which he again, became still.

Collaboration

Seeing her every day, smiling with her friends
Reminicing the happy days i had with her
Knowing she wants nothing to do with me
Always roaming with a hungry heart, a heart hungry for her love.

Thinking of all the times we had
The long walks, gazing at the stars
Her eyes glistening with a radiant smile
But these are only memories of us now

For the past is gone, and will never be present
I try to block the thoughts that remain
What was once, is now thrown in the trash
But every now and then i go dumpster diving.

The Romanian Spiderman with a Lightsaber

The romanian with a fedora
The fedora with the cockatiel feather
The red one.
you know, that one.

Spiderman.
The man who is part spider.
Flinging webs every which way.
Gliding through the air

A creation of light and magic
A Lightsaber.
The mythical sword of the war of the stars.

The Romanian Spiderman.
The one that wears the red feathers fedora.
Gliding through the air
Brandishing his lightsaber
He swings wildly as he imagines pirates and merchan ships,
His imagination running wildly.

The Glove

That baseball glove
The one i was taught the game in
my dad the teacher
the smell of the grass,
the touch of the leather
the taste of the crisp air
the sight of the ball heading towards me
that whooshing noise that always shadows the ball
the elements of baseball, surrounding me
my dads teaching hand
the thwack of the ball colliding with the bat
the sight of it sailing
the happyness that enveloped me as the gloves safety net cradled theb all
the ball was mine now.
the glove as well.

ElDorado!

Gaily bedight,
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.


But he grew old—
This knight so bold—
And o’er his heart a shadow—
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.


And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow—
‘Shadow,’ said he,
‘Where can it be—
This land of Eldorado?’


‘Over the Mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,’
The shade replied,—
‘If you seek for Eldorado!’

Merlin

And once out walking at night
I stumbled across the speckled body
of a small hawk,
the hasp of its wings closed.


One note, one note.


It sings in the rills between words,
between hopes.
It sleeps between leaves in a book,
gathers like dust on the piano.


I heard it once on a green hill
in Aberdeen in short puffs of wind
stirring the new grass among stones.
Prayer could not alter it


nor clods breaking upon bronze.

Orpheus

When he first brought his music into hell
He was absurdly confident. Even over the noise of the
shapeless fires
And the jukebox groaning of the damned
Some of them would hear him. In the upper world
He had forced the stones to listen.
It wasn’t quite the same. And the people he remembered
Weren’t quite the same either. He began looking at faces
Wondering if all of hell were without music.
He tried an old song but pain
Was screaming on the jukebox and the bright fire
Was pelting away the faces and he heard a voice saying,
“Orpheus!”
He was at the entrance again
And a little three-headed dog was