David Jackson

UNTITLED

I reach inside and I twist

my heart out of my chest and I

hold it in my hands.

It is beating for you

rumba rumba baby baby

rumba rumba

can you hear my heart

I can feel it beating for those children of war

who did nothing

to earn

a look at the blood in the street

who did nothing

to learn

of the sound of gunfire in the night.

rumba rumba baby baby

rumba rumba

for the soldiers who said I’ll go

and went

and found not what they were seeking

only the

gunfire in the street

and the children

***

To Heal

I want to say that
I am sorry
but
it is not enough to be sorry
it is not enough to cry
it is not enough to get even
or even to try to turn the other cheek.
The refugees gather at the border
“Their lives matter too”
It is enough to become quiet
in the silence of the crowd
it is enough to honor with silence
the dead and the living
it is enough to love again
and to feed the hungry ones
in silence
we cannot heal wih revenge
we must heal this wound
in our hearts
we bleed in silence
our tears fall into the rubble
but the fires still burn
***

from David Michael Jackson

“My dad died of Leukemia in 1960. I was 12 years old.
Because of a news report I wrote this poem”

THE NEWS

they say that a pill

could cure my dad

40 years

too

late

and I cry

tears

of

joy

true

joy

rejoice!

***

Spelling Correction

to come back
and write a poem

again

to make a come back

and write again

or

paint

that’s the question

waiting

for an answer

waiting

for the sunrise or

waiting

for the

sunset

***

SELF

So I said to myself
Self

Where is this leading

this living

this being

where is this leading I asked in a moment

of weakness

in a moment of pure futility

maybe the only pure thing I’ve

ever

known

as pure and as cold as the

mountain stream this futility

and I have made me a home in it

a warm home with a

fire

where I can burn my moments

and watch the smoke rise up from them

to heaven.

***