He tries to fathom the
supposed great poets,
supposed he says plainly
as his eyes droop,
boring he says as he tries again,
his eyes droop again
with all those who
must be taught
to be understood,
must be the bain of every student
in order to be great.
Oh Syphus!
Screw you and all the gods I do not know,
all the twisted verse I
disdain.
I scream to the winds
If you must explain it to me then
don’t
read it
to
me
***
I am no Pound
just an ounce of pure innocence
at best
we forget the child
and are very lucky if we
are suddenly old enough or
fragile enough
to examine a stone
or laugh as we
run
or explore
again
wander the creek again
finding the perfect skipping stone takes
patience
must be important to
be worth the effort
as the stone is lost
as are we
after a few great _ _ _ skips
***
For Just A Second
Glimpses through the trees,
landscapes captured for a second
from the highways,
these are what is left of your
world when you don’t pull over
and you are left with glimpses
soon covered up with
asphalt and concrete
bricks and mortar
and semi-trailers
Sometimes
– David Michael Jackson
***
IN THESE CLUTTERED TIMES
somehow these places eventually lose
identity too in these
cluttered times
passenger creek still weaves through
sugar camp hollow.
there are still legends and indians for
awhile still
for a short while
but up grant’s chapel road
grant’s chapel being of course long gone
there being left only a cemetery with
one
stone
empty coffin
just up from the biggest oak in any parts
which is at the deserted settlement just off the trail of tears
which is now
gone
the oak being there in some wealthy back yard
the settlement cleaned away except in my memory
It was once to be had by slipping around the pond,
the pond being now gone
and the frogs
yet Passenger Creek still weaves it’s history
through sugar camp hollow,
where it has been said Indian ghosts protect confederate gold
for
a
little
while
yet
– David Jackson
***