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Bits of Poetry

~ Linda R Davis, Raven of Peace & Poetry

Bits of Poetry

Tag Archives: Poems

A Letter to the Readers

08 Thursday Jan 2026

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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AI, Grace, Human, Humanity, Letter to Readers, Philip Yancey, Poem, Poems, Poetry

You may have noticed my blog has been more active lately, and that is because I’ve decided to write myself back to joy. Someone said that if you have unexpressed poems inside you, it’ll kill you. (Something like that anyway. Perhaps, they didn’t say “kill” you.)

Lately, I am writing about what emerges each day. It might be in the news, or what I’m reading, or what’s happening around me. Two recent poems were inspired by Philip Yancey and his “fall from grace.”

To be honest, I didn’t know who he was until yesterday, and I find it interesting that his main concern in his writing was grace. So, as I said he has “fallen from grace,” it is only with some people. Personally, I’d rather say he has fallen “into grace,” the same grace he searched to discover, and explain, in his books. The kind of grace you deeply appreciate when you need it most.

Grace is a subject I, too, am deeply interested in and seek to explore in my poems, mostly through the natural world. I downloaded his book, What’s So Amazing About Grace?, and have begun reading it. (The universe works in mysterious ways.) I’m not sure I ever would have cared about what he had to say had he not “fallen.” He said he’s retiring from writing and I thought, What a shame! This is exactly when he should be.

Back to my own poetry.

Lately, as I approach each poem, I have one goal, and it’s simple: write better than AI. And by that, I mean more human than AI can ever be. I’ll never rhyme as well as it can, but it will never live like I can. When the poem begins to emerge, I ask myself why I care. What about that subject relates to my messy human story?

AI has its own story, and if it wants to write about its struggles, I would be curious to read them. But if it writes about human concerns, not so much.

This poetry blog came to be in 2013, and I will continue to tell my stories for as long as I can, to anyone who wants to listen.

Happy 2026, and best wishes to all of you writing stories, songs, and poems!

Linda

Snow Squall After Sun

08 Thursday Jan 2026

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Beauty, Hope, Miracles, Nature, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Snow, Snow Squall

A half hour before it came,

Before it rained down

Twirling, swirls of endless

Snow, the warning came first:

Avoid the roads!

Prepare for outages!

A day that began in sun,

Seemed unfit for a squall,

Yet, we found one–

Or, it found us,

Extinguished the lights,

The heat, the sounds

You don’t notice

Until you hear real silence.

Or, have it thrust upon you.

Whatever the case,

It was a thing of beauty.

And today, the sun is back,

As if it has returned for a bow,

Like, Tada! Look what I did!

And now, I am amazed

Nature, and its beautiful way

Of transformation

Of unpredictable wonder

Of, what feels like a baptism

For those willing to applaud,

For those willing to give

Even a standing ovation

For Nature, and its creation.

Let Us Dance

07 Wednesday Jan 2026

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Afterlife, Beauty, Belief, Eternity, Forgiveness, God, Grace, Gratitude, Healing, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Prayer, Sacred, Soul, Souls, Spirit, Spirits, The Universe, Yearning

Do you want to know

about God?

From one fallen

so short of God?

From one who cries

out for God?

Do you want to know

about Grace?

From someone in need

Of Grace?

From someone who yearns

for Grace?

Do you want to know

about survival, love,

even suffering,

like I do?

Let us dance.

Fallen Angels

07 Wednesday Jan 2026

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Angels, Death, Eternity, Fallen Angels, Forgiveness, God, Grace, Hope, Love, Milton, Paradise Lost, Philip Yancey, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Sin, Sinners, Souls, Spirit, Spirits, Yearning

“I have failed morally and spiritually, and I grieve over the devastation” Philip Yancey

Now the walk begins

Hand in hand, alone

With other fallen

Grace is greatest

Here, in the lonely place

Of our true selves,

Shunned by other men

And our only consolation

Creation, as it sings,

Stings, and wrings our souls:

Which way shall I fly?

In the lowest deep, A lower

Deep, in the heart of it

Weakness. Always, weaker

Than we knew

Or, admitted to ourselves

Least of All

07 Wednesday Jan 2026

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2020, Flannery O’Connor, Life, Poem, Poems, Poetry, politics, The Barber

“Don’t spoil your complexion arguing with barbers.” The Barber, by Flannery O’Connor

He doesn’t ask about party:

Who do you think won in 2020?

Hesitation is answer enough:

80 million votes from his basement?

Now, your opinion doesn’t count,

Your thoughts and words go to mush,

Trumped by common sense math,

And you think about crazy 2020,

The way the world, as you knew it,

Flew off, (didn’t take long)

The spinning away of normal,

And norms, everything you hated,

Until it was gone. And now,

You look back, envious of simpler times,

Of stupid wars, and regime change,

(Quaint, you thought you could change it.)

4-D chess, and you, but a pawn,

Whittled down to bare existence:

What can we agree upon?

He said, Stick to photos of your kids.

And you did, because your opinions

Made absolutely no one happy,

Least of all, sadly, yourself.

The Geranium

06 Tuesday Jan 2026

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Poetry, Love, Poems, Poem, Life, Loss, Divorce, Happiness, Survival, Family, Geranium

I lit that house up like fire,

With stringed lights,

So that everyone who drove by

Had to look in.

It was a long time ago,

And before it was popular.

Year round lights, as if to say,

What happens here is a delightful mystery.

Once upon a time,

A man bought a house next door.

He was from Portland,

And thought the lights

Would make a good neighbor.

(He told me so later.)

Many years have passed,

And now I’m looking back,

Beneath the lights,

Wondering about the belief

That strung them, tree from tree,

That lit the fire in the chimenea,

And laughed into the late hours

With old neighbors, drawn to light,

Like a lone windowsill geranium

In a colorless city,

Eventually fallen from its perch,

Broken, shattered clay of pot,

Roots reaching for a smattering of air.

Barn Cats

05 Monday Jan 2026

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12th Night, Barn Cats, Cats, Life, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Survival, Winter

The mice are hibernating

And so are the boys.

No birds to catch,

And the lull of winter,

A snatch of dreams,

Days end fast.

Do they look forward,

Like we do?

Twelfth day, twelfth night,

A turning light of anticipation,

A transition to being awake,

Awakened roots of trees,

Preparing for spring,

The return to living.

Yet, for the barn cats,

A return to killing.

Finding the Sun

04 Sunday Jan 2026

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Afterlife, Belief, Courage, Divorce, Family, Fog, Freedom, Healing, Hope, Life, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Strength, Survival, Winter poem, Yearning

It is a dark night

And fog has settled

As if to say no

To every question

the solitude

of not being able to see

What will happen

Or if you’ll survive

What is about to come

This is the time to remember

Who you are

How you got here

Why you came all this way

Down the broken road

Even if you didn’t know

Life, like the fog

Never seeing too far

Sight is an illusion

One more step

Keep stepping

Eventually, you find sun

I Was Wrong

02 Friday Jan 2026

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Alone, Divorce, Loss, Love, Mothers, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Prayer, Survival, Women's Poems

I thought she was like me,

The practicer of goodbyes,

The mover on’er

The cutter of moldering ties.

I was wrong.

Had I known how long

She’d still be broken,

Would I have broken, too,

What remaining pieces in me

Were still able to be broken:

Lost shards, tossed about,

On the floor of my soul.

Some things are too hard to see,

They must come slowly,

Like our failure to answer,

Unanswered prayers,

Or to stop the cruel rendering

Of her chronically tender heart.

A Day

01 Thursday Jan 2026

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2026, frost, Life, New Year, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Robin

The frost is so thick

They mistake it for snow

The world turned to ice

Frozen, in a new year

2026, I must say it

Over and over

Since time has stopped

There is no reference

Except seasons

Except birds

Or, no birds

Yet, the robin remains

Fearless of the frost

And I’m left to wonder

At the reference

At time, or no time

All time, collapsed

Into a single day

In (say it) 2026

Witness

31 Wednesday Dec 2025

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

Life, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Sun, Witness

So, it is a beautiful day.

The sun will win it,

Blue sky have its way,

Beyond the trees to Mt Spokane,

Even Canada.

There is frost on the ground,

No snow or rain,

The painful heat of summer,

Barely a memory now.

In my finite days,

This offers to be a good one.

I should mark it:

December 31, 2025.

I am alive

To witness the sun shine.

A New Year And New Door

30 Tuesday Dec 2025

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2025, 2026, Freedom, New Year, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Self, Survival

A New Year, or so they say,

A new start, the passing of one day,

Which allows us to close a door.

I am thinking of who I want to be,

If believing a clean slate can set one free.

What didn’t serve well in 2025?

Or, didn’t serve my entire life?

And how does one change the habits

Of who we are, even bad,

The hobgoblins of our past,

Which lead to regrets, sadness.

What is it blocking joy;

What foils our better self,

Cedes territory to the evil elves

Sent to destroy happiness?

If age, and wisdom, could be a shield,

And we’d yield no more to influences,

What could rebirth truly be?

I’m asking you to envision

What I cannot see. Or, haven’t seen,

A shiny new door, clearly marked ‘free.’

Day of the Cello

29 Monday Dec 2025

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Angels, cello, Death, Fallen, Fallen Angels, Grace, Hope, Life, Love, Music, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Redemption, Sacred, Sinners

He drags the bow,

Steady, strong, and slow,

To its freedom.

And in the air, silence.

There are, maybe, one hundred souls

Sitting together in a long quiet

Before the shredding storm of song,

The hairs from some magnificent horse,

Breaking free, too. They linger, they long

To dance, eyes closed,

Raptured to a heaven,

The songs of suffering angels,

The way he sings the cello,

Transformed

To its ways, its sways,

Its dangerous foreboding,

Its celebration,

Its redemption.

—-

Six Months Later:

—-

I still find delight

In the memory of wine, music,

That candlelit night

Under a rumbling train,

Where we released our hopes to soar,

and even our mutual pain, with song;

Captured, for a moment, then gone.

Like fallen angels, we fell,

To a silent night, a silent world,

Perhaps, indistinguishable from hell,

Except in those rare moments.

Traditions

28 Sunday Dec 2025

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Christmas, Death, Death Poems, Loss, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Purpose, Survival, Traditions

The traditions remain:

An old family tree,

The making

Of Gingerbread houses,

Wreaths, and lights,

A Christmas fondue–

And I ask,

Will they get me through this?

On the other side of the shadows,

Is my shadow,

I take that by faith, too.

He said, I can’t find my purpose.

I wondered out loud,

Is there a purpose?

Besides surviving, that is.

And the smaller things we cling to,

Making them bigger things–

An outsized portion of our existence

Is in the minutes, winding down.

To wallow in the shadows

Is, perhaps, a luxury.

It comes to this:

At first, we know everything,

Then, nothing,

And at last,

We are okay

With our lack.

Those Who Do Not Leave

27 Saturday Dec 2025

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Dad, Death, Death Poems, Father, Loss, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Robin, Robins, Spirit, Winter

Everyday I carry him inside me,

And beside me, like the robin

Who should have gone south,

But is dangerously late to leave,

Eating the berries from my tree.

I carry him to the sink in the morning,

And in the mirror, I see his crease

Above my nose, or the one wrinkle

By my right eye, under his hair.

I carry his burden of wanting to know–

Too much, at the risk of happiness,

Even expecting something bad

All the time, in the midst of good.

What excuse do I have, except being his daughter,

To carry such personal things?

And yet, to lay him down, to walk away

Into the lightness of my own shadow;

I do not want to leave his burden alone.

So, I will stay here and hope

The winter is not too hard,

And that the days, growing longer,

Are not ungenerous to one lost,

Scavenging forgotten berries.

Introduction

26 Sunday Oct 2025

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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being human, Death, Family, Gratitude, Hope, Humanity, Life, Loneliness, Loss, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Souls, Spirit, Suffering, Survival, Women's Poems, Yearning

What is love,

But an unanswered question?

I do love the way

You listened to that note—

It hung in our mutual air

A moment we shared.

As if a matter of life

And death

Because it was that matter

Which consumed us.

And then gone.

I do love the way

You go

Missing.

——

I know love comes broken,

But it took breaking

To teach me.

——

Perhaps, my first love was longing.

And in that desperate hope

Came everything.

—-

And then there was love.

—

And then there was loneliness.

—

And then there was complete despair.

—

And then there was you.

—

Still breaking me.

Because such intensity can only consume.

Thirst and drink, but the glass is always leaking.

Reach and reach, but the hands seem empty.

—

And then there were your arms.

—

And then there was loneliness.

—

My time is winding down to tell you

About being human.

Such a world!

Born into a desperate flesh

And nascent blood.

Will we learn too late

How precious it was to suffer?

—

I would like to introduce myself:

Even as I mourn myself.

Reprieve

27 Sunday Jul 2025

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Children, Dreams, Gratitude, Healing, Hope, Life, Love, Marriage, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Souls, Strength, Survival, Tuscan, Unity

a peaceful night

a Tuscan dream

of deep red wine

and beautiful cuisine

we danced below

the mellow moon

its light, approval,

of our outside room—

the love, the happiness

of family ties, in that moment

altered

from our saddened lives

Closure

26 Saturday Jul 2025

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Closure, Divorce, Family, Loss, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Women's Poems

he runs away in shame

crimson faced coward

once lover, husband

father, now stranger

denying you closure

as we debate, contemplate

is there any such thing

as an answer

that heals wounds

makes it okay

I say no, and you

believe me and wait

for the pain to fade

What is Poetry (To Me)

26 Saturday Jul 2025

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Authenticity, Death, Forgiveness, Loss, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Soul, Survival, Truth, What is a Poem, Yearning

I prefer poetry

of imperfection

like my life

and its glorious

misdirection

less roses are red

violets are blue

more, what moves you

to cry, to laugh,

to lose sleep,

or fall to your knees

for mercy

Your Death

25 Friday Jul 2025

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Death, Death Poems, Dying, Father, Loneliness, Poem, Poems, Poetry

Your death

came with certainty,

many years,

missed deadlines,

then, suddenly—

no more vagaries,

maybe this

or that

could save you,

or extend your life

even one day—no,

you were gone

in a way that,

three years later,

is still fully

disappeared.

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Recent Posts

  • A Letter to the Readers
  • Snow Squall After Sun
  • Let Us Dance
  • Fallen Angels
  • Least of All

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