Resident Poets

Dead Man’s Hand Poem by David Michael Jackson

by

Ultimate Game of Cards
by David Michael Jackson
The wind in the willows
whispers,
waits not for this poet whose
words are frozen,
and yet as restless
as the limbs which sway
carelessly like
youth which is
lost,
squandered in the ultimate
game of cards.
Aces and eights,
the dead man’s hand.
We are all holding aces and eights
and the wind in the willows
cannot help us.
I deal
a joker here
a queen there.
I am a lonely duece who
cannot sleep so I listen to the wind
in vain waiting for the
whisper.

***

The Bird and The Prayer Poem

by

To state the obvious
to send a prayer
“protect her”
to think of it floating
upwards

to think I’m not
a mouse in a hole

that bird looks so like
the bird of my youth

is it the same bird

a mouse in a cave
pretending divinity

I can see the bird
flying with
my
prayer.

david michael jackson June 5, 2012 editors@artvilla.com

Alley Poem by Andy Derryberry

by

the alley
my heels click on the cobbles
as i wander down this dark alley
what’s behind leers
what’s ahead seems to menace

there are doorways
with hawkers selling their wares
do this, believe that
selling not the truth but conformity

but instead of safety
i put more doors behind
creating more leers
and walk forward into what

what is up ahead in the dark
it doesn’t help to squint
each door hidden til too late
and the last door possibly oblivion

my heels click on the cobbles
as i wander down this dark alley
what’s behind leers
what’s ahead menaces
***

To Ernest, Sylvia and Vincent

by

To Ernest Sylvia and Vincent

 

You make me write this poem,

you with art in your hands.

Was it because no one cared Vincent?

Was it because they cared Ernest?

Was it your stated goal Sylvia?

Was it the pain of life,

or the meaningless shuffle to chaos,

the eons that can overcome your work?

 

Ah it was that fish

that fish that turned to bones.

 

Your greatest

is no greater than the single flower

blooming and fading.

 

I must kick your bones.

My worth is  tiny beside your greatness

as your greatness is tiny beside the eons.

I must kick your bones.

 

Life will kill you soon enough.

 

When I see the momentary flower

I am carried by it

to bliss.

 

When I see your flower

I cry.

 

david michael jackson     June 1, 2012   editors@artvilla.com

 

 

 

Corn Cake Lady Poem by Dandelion de la Rue

by

The Corn Cake Lady

 

The predawn sidewalk

gray and cold

just me, just me

and a thin brown dog

sniffing at a

pile of motley treasure.

I stumble by

hoping he has

struck it rich.

 

But up ahead,

some warmth waves deck the

grim gray sky.

The corn cake lady

street grill sizzling

flipping corn cakes

filled with thick

and gooey cheese,

so hot, so greasy,

so strong.

 

The sidewalk’s warmer now,

and happier,

as I move on,

Eating half

And leaving half

for the thin brown dog.

 

dandelion de la Rue May 30,  2012