Art Davis' book of poetry

As I've blogged before, I love the off-beat poetry of Art Davis. We have been after him to organize his lifetime trove for publication. His children also pushed so he pulled together over 200 of what he liked best and self-published. If you would like a copy, send $12 to him at his home, 3006 Caring Way, Port Charlotte, FL 33952.

Just to remind you of his quiet wit and wordsmithing, here's one printed on page 169:

GROWING OLD

Chromosomes begin to tarnish,
my neurons start to rust.
The spice of life no more the garnish,
my engine's losing thrust.

Sadly now I've lost my flair,
creativity is lacking.
I've no longer dapper air
and my memory's sans tracking.

What is left to be desired,
where to travel. what remains?
Ambition lags, now I'm retired,
all that's left are pills and pains.

Medicines do miracles,
prolonging day and night.
Health guided by empiricles,
to pharmacist's delight.

If growing old is such a gift,
why carry vials or pills,
to calm us down, or give us lift,
to greet dementia's ills?

Alas, forgetting comes with ease,
and not without chagrin.
"Has anybody seen my keys?"
a daily-facing warp I'm in.

Growing old, a universal plight,
about it, little can we do.
I think someday I'll try and write,
to share these thoughts with you.


Art understands his place in the universe and what poetry is for him. He put the following in the book as his foreword:

An Ogden Nash,
I'm really not,
Nor Maya Angelou
of hallowed spot.

I write poems
one can understand
of people or
events at hand.

When one takes time
to read my works,
they'll not wonder if
some hidden meaning lurks.

True thoughts on printed page
for all to see;
no need delving
introspectively.


He's in our writer's group which meets today here at my house. He is a delightful and humble friend and I hope I have piqued your interest in his poems.