We like each other.
This is like telling the birds
to not gather in flocks,
the buffalo to not travel in herds,
the wolf to hunt alone.
There is a hurt in it,
a primal pain.
Like an ant separated from the colony, we
search for the trail left by the others.
David Michael Jackson Poems
Corona Poem | Everything’s Fine
The day had started with
spraying Clorox on the mailbox
and virus infected mail
and the trip to the ATM to get dirty money
obtained by touching a screen
touched by many hands.
I wiped the disease ridden cart
and pushed it into Walmart.
It preferred to circle the store
by turning to the left.
As the cart led me around Walmart
to the left,
to the left,
let’s go to the left,
I selected infested products
put on shelves by humans
and I passed by other humans,
breathing, breathing,
touching,
touching things.
I soon had a contaminated cart
full of contaminated items
and I was ready to use
another contaminated touch screen
and bring these diseased items
into my house.
Everything’s fine.
I’ll Be Thinking of You
The sun comes up into a quiet sky
and the birds seem to float on by
When the sunlight hits the morning dew
I’ll be thinking of you.
When the wind catches the trees just right
and they sway gently in the soft sunlight.
When the shadows fall grey and blue
I’ll be thinking of you.
When the sun hits the top of the sky
and the day seems to rush on by,
Whenever I see a sky of blue
I’ll be thinking of you.
When the day fades into a setting sun
and the twilight sky has just begun,
when the moonlight seems yellow and blue,
I’ll be thinking of you.
With the sunset comes the nightime sky
and the wispy clouds float on by,
when the stars shine bright and true
I’ll be dreaming of you.
2011 Music by David Michael Jackson and Andy Derryberry in Murfreesboro, Tennessee
Artvilla.com
Passenger Creek Poem by David Michael Jackson
Sugar Camp Hollow
by David Jackson
We were raised in Sugar Camp Hollow
on Passenger Creek
where them reb soldiers camped it is
said
and the confederate gold is buried there
or so the story goes
and I knew you there
and you and I both knew
to leave those grounds
where the small creek meets Passenger.
We both knew to leave
those grounds
before dark.
You and I
shared the secrets of Sugar Camp Hollow,
them rebs,
that gold.
The neighbor Simpson
told the tale,
his skinny fingers
waving, pointing to that
spot where the springs
flow to create that
small
creek
that place
where dreams are
formed.
A poem for you
tonight
Sugar Camp Hollow,
Passenger Creek,
them rebs,
that gold,
and I pause beside this spring
of remembrance;
this moment is
a thin stream of water
flowing
from a tiny spring
somewhere
***