Art and Poetry by David Bohm

By David Bohm

Eating an apple beneath the trees,

Enjoying its sweet juicy crispness.

A wind with an unexpected cold edge bows,

As if to wash away any remnant of the summer’s oppressive heat,

And warning of the freeze that’s on its way.

It carries the sharp, distinct scent of burning leaves, source unseen. 

As the wind chases the leaves along the ground

And moves them to dance on their branches,

Their soft rustling whispers reach my ear, asking me to look up. 

My eye is met with a riotous circus of colors-

Green, yellow, orange, red and brown.

Shimmering and alive on a blue and white background. ‘S sweet juicy cri

Some think that the death of summer has arrived- 

But it’s the season I feel the most alive. 

By David Bohm

Beneath the trees, an apple’s sweet juicy crispness.

A cold edge blows, cutting the remains of summer heat.

It carries the distinct scent of burning leaves, source unseen. 

And chases the leaves along the ground-moves them to dance on branches. 

Their rustling whispers beg attention.

Above , a riotous circus of color: green, yellow, orange, red and brown,

Shimmering on a blue and white background. 

Summer has died, but I feel more alive. 

By David Bohm

As an apple beneath the trees, sweet and juicy.

A crisp, cold edge cuts the remains of summer heat, 

The air carries the scent of burning leaves.

The wind chases them along the ground-they dance on branches, rustle for attention.

Above, a circus of color shimmering on a blue and white background.

Summer has died, but I feel more alive. 

By David Bohm

Your creation is all I know,

Yet you remain unknown and unknowable. 

Everywhere I look, I see your work.

Searching, I only find your ubiquitous absence-

No tag, label, samp, fingerprint, nor trace. 

Could the Supreme Artist not sign His work?

Or is it that the masterpiece and the signature are one and the same?

By David Bohm

Creation is all I know,

Yet you remain unknown.

Everywhere I look, I see your work.

searching , I only find your ubiquitous absence-

No tag, label, stamp, fingerp[rint, nor trace.

Can the Artist not sign his work?

Is the masterpiece and signature one and the same?

By David Bohm

I hold this powerful potential in my hand and wonder.

Such a simple device to convey so much.

The lead laid down from the end of this harmless little barrel 

has been the opening shot of many conflicts.

Some say that its predecessor is mightier than a sword. If so, how mighty is this?

Its relatives: a reed, a feather, chalk, a stick of charcoal, a finger in the dust. 

Once a conflict is over, it serves both sides still; recording actions, agreements, apologies and history – real or distorted, witnessed or assumed. 

It’s a mass-produced wand, working magic in a skilled hand-crafting love spells, weaving illusions, and displaying the contents of one’s heart and mind for the enjoyment of others. 

It’s a wooden key opening doors of imagination 

This inverted rocket, leaving gray graphite contrails in its wake, takes followers on the pilot’s flight. 

Giving tours through space and time.”to the left, you’ll see the past; 

to the right, the future unfolds…”

Through the curves and lines it makes, the swirls and angles, it leads people on a journey-creating worlds and leaving the world behind. 

By David Bohm

Haiku in main yard.

What inspiration is there?

Amazingly much.

Surrounded by fence,

But our minds are not captive-

Our souls are still free. 

Green woods all around. 

It would be nice to walk there-

At most, we may look.

A bug crawls along.

Does it know how slow it is?

Does it wish to fly?

Looking up at clouds,

What would a could think about?

Clouds look down on us.

Rain starts coming down.

Shelter cannot be found.

We will all get wet.

Winds blow free out there.

We cannot get out of here. 

The wind comes to us.

The sun is shining,

Photons destroy the shadows;

Dark gives way to light. 

I just have a spoon;

You have brought too much ice cream.

Serendipity!