David Michael Jackson

Sit in a Cubicle Poem by David Michael Jackson

by

VE VURK ‘TIL VE DROP
can we civilize the salamander
make him
sit in a cubicle
for eight hours
exactly
The animals don’t stand for any of that crap
my dog knows what is important
it is important to sniff at that bush
I
on the other hand
have trouble with
the importance of things
and other people
like me who
don’t allow themselves time to sniff
the air for
anything really
important
really
other people like me
don’t have time for that bush
unless
it is landscaped into our orderly little lives like
the trees in our yard which are
planted just so
and
made to look just so
like
that
was
important
but
my dog knows what is important
and I,
we
unfortunately
have
forgotten

– David Jackson

***

To the Bed Pan Person Poem by David Michael Jackson

by

Nursing home
Clean white
dry sheets
every day now.
There are the memories of another place
another time
wet sheets every day
bladder infection
kidney failure.
No don’t think about it, he says.
The bed pan persons
are doing the job
as important as the doctors
as the nurses
totally
un
heralded
There is a place for you
in my tears
We need
heaven
for you

Innocence Poem by David Michael Jackson

by

here you shall find me
must find me
we must meet
having met, we must
meet again in the shadows of
truth
beauty shines through the window and
dances with the dust in the air
the cat sits by the window
watching the birds
I sit by the window with your memory
watching for you
in the birds
in the trees
we must meet across the river
in the shade of that tree
that tree we cling to
so the raging waters of the flood
may not drown us in our own
innocence
***

Sipping by David Michael Jackson

by

Here is an mp3 of Sipping Click here

Sipping
By David Michael Jackson

I only have apples for you

winesap apples

hanging red and green

from twisted trees

and lying on the ground

brown and rotten

soft and mushy,

not very good,

but they will do

for a break from the field,

for a break

from the work

and the

hot

hot

sun

My brown eyes

her green eyes

her red dress

my brown eyes

her red shoes

the spring trees

the blue sky

my brown eyes

her green eyes

her green

green

eyes

I am.

I have heen read by ones and twos.

I have been seen by tens

or even hundreds.

You can see me

on the street.

I am.

You can hear my voice

In

the silence,

or

in the

crowd

at

ballgame.

I am everyone

I am no one

I am the man on the street.

Tell everyone I was here.

Right here.

Now.

On this spot of soil

in this something,

this

recognition of something,

tell everyone.

I have eaten the last grape.

I hold the vine in my hands

and I throw it into the yard.

I wonder of the purpose

of the vine

(as you would,

as anyone

would)

to feed me

to reproduce

to seek the light.

When I have eaten my last grapes

I will, perhaps, understand.

Perhaps.

But the vine doesn”t care anymore

It just lies there

in the green green grass

The trees are whispering to me.

They tell me the rain will come,

that spring will bring new leaves,

that birds will nest

in my branches.

They tell me not to concern myself

with the fire

nor the blight.

They tell me to stand strongly

and to lift my arms

to the light.

My tongue touches

the roof of my mouth.

My lips are stuck together

and pop apart.

I can feel the air

rushing

through my chest.

I hold this page in my hand

and

I read

these words.

Now sunrise brings a cup of coffee

to welcome the day

Our lives are measured with these days

which are poured into cups

and mixed with sorrow and joy,

We say things like

“I”ll always remember.”

“I”ll always love you”

and we are blown like

dry leaves in a whirlwind,

rising for a moment,

then settling,

to make room

for other leaves

to be blown

to rise,

to settle.

The trees live and die.

Each blade of grass

leans to the summer light

and breaks in the winter wind.

The birds live and die.

The seasons turn

like a merry go round

and

we ride the pretty horses

and

we hear the pretty music

and

we play in the warm sun

as the merry go round

goes around

and around

and around

There is a chill in the day.

Already the birds gather.

Already the insects are frantic.

Already the leaves turn

to browns and yellows.

Savour the day.

Sip it

like a glass of

fine wine.

Breathe deeply

and glory in the song

of the cricket.

Cup the day in your palm like

spring water

and drink.

My little wife

thinks I”m odd and lazy

as she flutters,

constantly working.

She is a little worker bee,

she flutters gracefully,

picking this up,

straightening that.

She is gathering nectar

and I am in the hive,

sipping.

Copyright © 1998 by David Michael Jackson, All rights reserved
***

Children of War Poem by David Michael Jackson

by

Children of War Poem

We’ll give them all to the
war, these children of
our hearts, we’ll let them march
away, we’ll wait for their return,
we’ll wait beside the spring, we’ll
wait beside the spring
hoping for the best
wishing for the best
praying for the
rest.
Oh will you rest beside me
as the water gently flows.
Oh will you walk beside me
when the water gently flows

I’ll carry you into
the forest
We’ll make it our home
I’ll run among the branches
until I find you
waiting for me
like
an
angel.
Yes
We’ll give them all to the
war, these children of
our hearts, we’ll let them march away,
we’ll wait for their return, we’ll
wait beside the spring.