Resident Poets

Artist Poem For Séraphine Louis

by

Séraphine Louis

Séraphine Louis Naive art

They called it Naive art, these paintings by the cleaning lady. It is quite a story

Oh Séraphine

All artists should know you

for you painted for you

after scrubbing the dirty clothes

after being the help, the servant

after your hands were rough

you painted for you

and for your lady Madonna

and because your God

told you to

and

it drove you mad,

and you never knew anything but the work

followed by the paint on your hands, for

the artist’s hands are

always beautiful

when the painting is

finished.

You got there

you made it

you can’t hear me

can you?

So artist out there

paint when no one wants it,

paint with no one but you to see

paint when no one cares

paint when you know for sure

that the art will rot

in some forgotten attic.

Thank you

Séraphine Louis

for the art

lesson.

 

The movie

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

Pecan Pie Poem by Andy Derryberry

by

Pecan pie

A confection of seduction

Born in innocence

Lovingly made

By sweet grandmothers

Of plain and harmless constituents

Without dangerous or illegal sources

But, oh, the longing

The desire for the pleasure

That awaits

It gains voice

And calls

“I am sweet

And pleasant

No harm, no wrong

Indulge

Its OK

Even better

Its right”

“Would you like a pie, young man?”

I swoon

Sure it”s a good cause

The seller a sweet little lady

But I buy because I must

And I disguise my need

My desire

For pecan pie,

A confection of seduction

By Andy Derryberry
***

Make sense poem

by

Make sense this time
said the budding flower
get a life said the tree
make something of yourself said the pot
then they all died
except for the pot
who was made of death
and held the water carefully
as the bee landed on the lip
and said,
See my short life,
visiting the tree
and the flower
and the pot,
I have no time for poems
and I am more useful than you
for no one writes odes
to the poet who writes odes to me,
the bee

david michael jackson

Depression Poem by David Michael Jackson

by

DEPRESSION POEM

His elbow rests on his knee and his chin is in

the palm of his hand

he fights off the urge for another drink or

another smoke or

another anything else that might

pretend to ease

that craving that

sense of waiting

he wipes his forehead with his palm and wishes the answers were there

but they are not there or

anywhere else

Hemingway took the cowards way out

leaving me here to state it plainly

life has no answers for you, pal

answers are not what we are here

for

***

Wheelchair Poem

by

It’s gotten easier.
My back is still giving me a problem
but I’ve learned to cope.
I’ve worked it out.
Getting her into the wheel chair is the easy part,
then I just back her up to this door
well first I have to block the door open
with this concrete block.
Then I bring her to the edge of the doorway
I gotta be careful as I lower her over the ledge
almost lost her once.
Once I get her out here
I can pull the chair over this concrete
and down those steps to that concrete ledge,
I have to pull the wheelchair backwards
up that hill in the back yard.
I drive the car up the hill
in the side yard and park it
back there with the door open.
Once I pull the chair backwards up that hill I can
pick her up and
put her in the car.
You want some coffee?

david michael jackson