Gogglelagoshee
I am the house ghost tonight
making the floors cry out
as I try my words out
on my half lit house.
Tonight this restless soul
wanders the halls,
listens at doorways
for God,
or someone like God.
Love waits
in some of the rooms,
pain waits in others
and the ghost asks little
of either,
only a taste to say
I was
here
Creek Painting 48″ x 36″
This creek painting was painted from a photograph of Passenger Creek in 1989. There was a tree in the photo which was not falling but certainly about to fall. It makes me think of the “tree falling in the forest” statement we all know. Maybe it was caught up in that branch. It adds an element of anticipation on the creek. Here is our earlier post of this creek painting
All paintings have a story and even maybe a byline. This one has a byline. I painted it the day my brother died. I’d cut it into a thousand pieces if I could get him back. The last strokes went on when the phone rang. I was painting it for Wayne Jackson.
Creek paintings are plentiful. F
amous creek paintings I cannot seem to reference. Maybe this should be one. Things don’t turn out that way though.
My first effort with this photo was this smaller creek painting . This painting was owned by Wayne and is now in my possession. I had just started painting and he put it on his wall and bought a light for it. This sparked my painting efforts. The creek, in particular passenger creek has always been special for me. The creek represents a small out of the way unnoticed peace and tranquility. A place of small sounds, insects and birds. I grew up on a farm on a creek. My earliest memories are walking the trails beside this little creek, fishing and swimming with my brothers.
These creek paintings were my earliest efforts and maybe my best. They were impressions of peaceful times, of good times as a child. Oil paint has a way of becoming more translucent over the years. These creek paintings were painted in 1989. A few years later I began painting on paper and painted this last painting of the creek. This one is dated 1992. It is the last of the series.
Here i
s a pic of my brother, Wayne Jackson.
Here is a link to his poems. He was, and is, my brother and friend. These paintings and my art are dedicated to him. He encouraged me. That is the greatest gift.
David Michael Jackson
I need to remember to
write a poem before
the reaper takes me
takes me,
takes me like he took all the others.
Those
fallen down pieces of
granite were people just like
us,
fallen and unremembered by
everybody,
like my father.
There are many now
who don’t remember my
father but who
may remember me
and may someday read these
scribblings which
a nobody moron
loser like me
at least took the time to
write.
So write,
leave scribblings on the walls
of your cave.
***
If Only
If I had my way there’d only be laughs and giggles
We’d all be innocent and a little tipsy
Smiling at the slightest thing
Never hurt or angry, nor scared or injured
Soaking in every moment completely without worry
Hardly able to sleep for being so alive
There’d be no sad good-byes no aching absence
Nothing precious lost and only laughter found
Nothing to envy, only things to admire
Nothing to horde, plenty to share
Laughs and giggles
If only I had my way
Rarely did we ever come back
to say thank you,
almost never.
We were busy.
Oh they made speeches to you,
mostly other teachers or administrators.
They told you of the difference you made.
The difference you made?
Miss Mabel,
Mrs. Shumaker,
Mr. McDaniel.
The difference you say?
You noticed me.
You told me I was special.
You sat me in the highest chair,
quietly without fanfare
without anyone ever knowing,
except for me
too many years later.
You picked me up and
set me on my feet.
And so I say to some teacher who may
wander into this poem,
some other child’s teacher.
I cannot say thank you to
Miss Mabel,
Mrs. Shumaker,
Mr. McDaniel,
so I will thank you.
You may not see
but flowers are blooming
at your feet.
Thank You Teacher.
Thank You Teacher Poem Copyright 2012 David Michael Jackson
