David Michael Jackson

The Dancers, The “Narcotics Poem” by Seymour Shubin

by

johnny cash

 

THE DANCERS

I was a cop.
so to speak, for that night,
and followed the real ones
into the lonely places,
the dives and the homes,
and saw the children crying,
and the poor mothers crying
and later on the way home
heard a cop saying,
“It should be fun tonight,
seeing them dance
in their cells,”
and heard me
whispering to myself
“No more of this,
Dear God, no more
no more.”

Seymour Shubin is a famous writer of crime and the psychology of crime. In a short and stunning way he has put an emotional edge on a serious issue.

The incarceration of Americans in the War on Drugs has reached epidemic proportions in the Black and Hispanic communities, but the impact is on the white community too.

All of the hot debates such as the right to bear arms, jobs, social security must seem meaningless to a large percentage of our population because of felony records for non violent “crimes”. The very records which should identify violent people are being handed out like playing cards and have had a definite Jim Crow effect.

Here is an excellent article by Michelle Alexander Michelle Alexander on The New Jim Crow and the school-to-prison pipeline

We support Michelle Alexander’s efforts and thank Seymour Shubin so much for this poem which so well shows the sorrow which must be there in the police as well. Bravo! Bravo!

This subject is what my humble song is about:
Joe Clark by David Michael Jackson

The Dancers © 2014 by Seymour Shubin

Image: Johnny Cash….We are using this image because we believe Johnny would be with us 100 percent.

david michael jackson May 9, 2014

Not Armageddon by David Michael Jackson

by
trickster
Not armageddon
not armageddon 36″ x 48″ 2014

armageddon in the back yard?

no

a barbeque?

no

“Something for the them to throw away”
He flails like it means something
like anything matters
like fire itself wasn’t limited
like there was something left to say
after
after
after she’s gone
after he’s gone
and the paintings in a dusty attic
then found and left in a musty basement
are the same as those in the finest museum
in the
end
He throws the knife across the room.

 

 

Artist Statement.

 

Keep me or throw me away…it ain’t up to me and pleasing anybody but myself with art isn’t in me…I like to be in your face daring you to say it’s not art or not good art………maybe I’ll cut it up , glue it on the wall and use a belt sander next then burn it on the courthouse lawn. That would be an “installation”. Maybe I’ll just paint them, not sign them and leave them somewhere like in the parking lot at Home Depot, maybe beside those guys with signs pointing you to a restaurant. A string on a nail is art. A rectangle is art. A blank canvas is art. An empty room is art.We gotta put paint back on the damn canvas.