David Michael Jackson Poems

what, then
fame or peace?
Which is it?
When the music flows like the sunrise settles
upon the horizon, like the
wind itself
settles upon the
contours of the
windows into
the soul
itself, or
into the poem
of hope itself,
yes, the embodiment of hope within the music,
within the music, the embodiment of the
music, the
soul, the visual,
the
art,
at least
tries,
at least
settles into the trickle
of a small stream
somewhere
making
almost silent
peace.

by David Michael Jackson
***

MOMENTARY FLICKER

the inner soul has to be in there saying
both what’s the point
and there has to be a point
we are in a situation which
seems to
be so temporary
so momentary
our lives seem so like the flicker of a candle
we stare into a universe where
billions of years
have passed and
will
pass again
how fleeting we are
like fireworks we
are
red and blue and yellow flashes in the night we
are
as meaningless to the ages as
a single stone in the river
and yet
we still sing and paint and write and act
and hold our face to the wind and hope
wow!
***

too late and I already did it
too late for the roses
too late
for the show
oh yes too many words for the
joker
and no pointy hat
no multicolored vest for the
clown with his smile painted on
no free will
except for the
interpretation
and you there
you with your dreams of
multicolored flowers leading
up to
leading into
nothing other than
hope,
you there can take the measure of your dreams
in beauty itself
and hold your head
up
high
***

ESSENTIAL IN SPRING

selfishness is essential in spring
as essential as giving

or love

and necessary for both

it is selfish to sit on the deck and

feel the spring air on my face and

do

nothing

what is it that I am doing

what is it that I want

is it the words which will throw themselves

across the horizon like those northern lights and lead you to

me

you too are fragile and

you too will surely break like the ice above the doorway when spring

hits you in the face

hits you with a lily in the yard or

ploughed earth

hits you just when you thought you were dead like the barren winter land

and you find yourself with seeds in your palm

and plans

***

The spring blossoms
promise everything.
They deny the knowledge of fall,
of winter,
they
are innocent in the soft breezes.
Like a child the spring blossoms sway
and await the nest.
I am glad to see my friends.
I am glad to have made it through another
winter of
drab hungry sadness to
meet with the blossoms, to
breathe again the scent,
of spring
in a world which has no sense to
offer, no wealth of reason
except for my friend, the bumblebee.
We have common friends, he and I.
Together we will visit them
gathering fragrance
and food
***