David Culver is a citizen of Montgomery, Alabama. He writes poems for missing children and other losses in his life. He is also a musician and can play at least 7 instruments, as you will see by the music inserted into this page.
Have a listen, it is very mellow, medatative and beautiful.
All Poems Copyright DT Culver
Have a listen, it is very mellow, medatative and beautiful.
All Poems Copyright DT Culver
David T Culver Poetry And Music
Charlotte's Web Pages of Poems and Short Stories
WHEN NEAR WILLOWS
-I remember long, and windy autumn nights--
leaves which twirled and fell around me--
the dew of summer, through morning light.
I will always sense your breath next to me,
I'll know you're near, and love me.
And I will you.
For as many summers to come, or few,
I'll consider the roses,and willows too.
But so long these years, have passed me now.
Oh, how dearly close, they've held to me,
and I, to them.
Yet, now and then, I lose my will of strength, and bend--
droop into sadness, that only darkness knows--
into myself, a part, we think is gone.
But death of any heart, is life long.
And where shadows this life, new life may spawn,
in other places we never knew.
When so far this way, I've come to view,
and much against what I believed,
somehow, to find my way to leave,
while in my heart ... I followed you.
©2002 David T Culver
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AUTUMN POEM
—there are sounds...the autumn's breaking
above me, pictures, blue, metallic and crisp,
all show as summer settles to rest
in the far western hills
oh that my life in age reflects
small fires or songs of the heart
christmas settings of other days
photos on a table years apart
why have not the stars fallen
and why in this void, a darkness peers
saddened of odor, casted 'way — forgotten
slowly hints dreams, of you
my dear
©2004 Poem by David T Culver
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MEMORY
In the night, the cool and soothing airs sweep this room.
I dream of morning birds singing --
yellow fields beneath gold suns bringing trails,
that lead away from you.
Twilight, will not take me back to you, but songs that come from inside me, softly, bring back
the moon. It's glow upon my window, lifts the veil of missing from within, and
every now and then,
I think of you.
I look to the stars, as if though, you left them all for me alone, melting at times into my
heart. One falling star makes heart beats start -- flickering candle through a field, brings
light to the dark, and opens my senses to something dear -- something warm and sweet in your
smile, and opens a thousand windows in my long, long life, that until now,
remained closed.
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Your Tired Company
--I am here,
in the sounds of your breath,
and music, that blends each color
of my soul, into one.
Into rooms, where I come alone,
I am your deepest fear,
and your tired company.
Your dreams are free, and
are like mixed melodies to me.
They sweep the dust from my heart away.
And if you wish,
touch the strings...
to find that one thing,
that touches you...
and play.
©2002 David Culver
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The Chimney Peaks
-There are roads that lead from you
away
that wind through colors from the peaks,
then fade
to steps from another summer, made.
Not a lark to sing its greeting song-
our friend we heard in the wind is gone.
Even the trees have lost their graceful
sway,
and time has been so very long,
since last we came...
and walked away.
LESS OF GOODBYE
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---If through glows of night of summer sounds
the cries of a thousand wolves alone,
should arouse my spirit, weak, intertwined,
to find the dusty trails to home,
I'll find you, or all the words you leave,
and with you, took all you believed was true.
I am weary to time that overcomes the pain,
you left me, in a world we knew.
And we left, but shared the same...
the blame, we broke in parts, of two.
Returning
I stood alone, lost in grassy fields, stepping from one to one I went.
And took in, all that I could feel, in recalling the time I'd spent.
I remembered the days, so long left still, when last I'd come to the winding brook,
whose water flows there, and always will, in taking my second look.
So sweet my spirit flows here still, and closely, blue skies close in, around.
And weeping willows in twilight sing, of coming back, to the dances
of summer dreams, but autumn starts, and dies the vented summer breeze,
we felt so much a part... but never will fade, the memories,
and never, the severed hearts.
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tiny spirits
(for a missing child)
—from here, I'll walk with memory,
along the ocean in my dreams—
capture stillness' wading image,
bow'd and timid beside the stream.
reflections cast light into space—
spring's first flower, a small child's face...
from this door, they'll not be left one trace,
of childish wishes, and tales of yore...
and our dreams of age, shall come no more.
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IF I COULD DRAW THE HEAVENS
If I could draw the heavens, or the breathless view of night--
if in those thousand white faces, one returned a glare of light,
if only faintly I could see, I would not feel this much alone
in having lived my life so aimlessly, and mend my shattered
soul for thee, I might.
If in a silver crescent moon, with song upon my lips, a tune
could come, and ease the pain of a world, if some, I'd lay my
banners down and cry, and give back a child her home, I'd try.
Oh if, her harbored pain was mine, then close my eyes, I would--
and die.
If in all the breaths that fear must take in it, is left a will we make--
an inner rope, we often use as faith, then if you fall, you've fallen
free.
And you've shunned the shadow, and pulled the stake!
There is difference between fate, and destiny.
And if this small child becomes my pearl, if but one seed inside her world
I plant, would have my father's eyes glance back, and see,
would in turn, he do the same for me? I'd throw all my arrows into
the wind, close my swollen eyes and then, be this world, my home -- my
friend.
And I'd remember my life __ quite differently.
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