Art by Agnes Thomas | The Sound of a Distant Train Poem

This is a poem I wrote while sitting at a white castle restaurant here in Tennessee. It was December, and early Saturday morning, when I heard the sound of a train in the distance while reading the life of Vincent van Gogh. It was inspiring.

Sound of a Distant Train Poem by Agnes Thomas
Sound of a Distant Train by Agnes Thomas

Here is original artwork by Agnes:

Girl with Pen and Paper by Agnes Thomas
Girl with Pen and Paper by Agnes Thomas
creek indian by angnes thomas
Here’s another one of my original works of art. I did this one because I’m also Creek Indian, I want to do something that reflected the strength, I saw on my father who is also Creek Indian as well as his mother who was full-blooded Creek Indian. I hope you like it.

Agnes Sarje Cherokee Rose Thomas is a poet and artist from Murfreesboro Tennessee.

Joe Clark Folk Song by David Michael Jackson

I’m not all that political. I have no record. I could not have lived my life as a mechanical engineer with one. The records we are creating with our outrageous number of people in corporate run prisons in the U.S. is racist . It is the sharecropping shanty shack of our times.. It is excluding large segments of our population.
When we create so many casual “felons”, mostly black and hispanic, we lose the ability to tell who is indeed dangerous and too many of our citizens end up living outside of our system.

I wrote this song and have assigned a Creative Commons license.

Joe Clark

Oh I can’t get a job cause
I sold that weed
to that cop in
ninety three
On the piece of paper they always ask me
have you had a felony
I was fighting my war on poverty
when the war on drugs got me
now there’s no work at all for me
no Social Security

Oh they threw my tail in the company jail
and threw away the key
so I told her to find her someone else
and forget about me

So I work at outside in hot and in cold
and we live in this trailer park
and when people ask me who I am
I say I’m….I’m Joe Clark

So I’ll build you a fence
and work in your yard
if ever there was a worker
that was Joe Clark
so if you’ll give me a chance
I won’t be a slob
I’m Joe Clark
and I need a job

Oh they threw my tail in the company jail
and they threw away the key
so I told her to find her someone else
and forget about me

by david michael jackson

Rain at Midnight, a Sestina | Poem by Jenene Ravesloot

Rain at Midnight

A midnight rain, more rain, someone moving down the street,
someone whistling Carmen’s “Habanera,” whistling it off-key
as rain, more rain falls on a half raised windowpane.
Puddles shimmer like butterflies behind the torn screen.
Everything is neon in this light, everything gleams.
I have to kill him while I have the chance.

I have to kill him. I have the chance.
Rain, rain, more rain falls on the oil slick street;
everything is neon in this light. Everything gleams
while he whistles the “Habanera,” whistles it off-key.
Puddles shimmer like butterflies behind the torn screen.
Rain, more rain falls on a half raised windowpane.

Rain falls on a half raised windowpane.
I have to kill him. I still have the chance.
I see him, see that fluttering behind the screen,
see rain on the windowpane; lights blinking on the street.
He whistles Carmen’s “Habanera,” whistles it off-key.
Everything is neon in this light. The gun gleams.

Everything is neon in this light. The gun barrel gleams.
I listen to that whistling at the half raised windowpane,
him whistling the “Habanera.” He whistles it off-key.
I have to kill him. This is my chance.
A midnight rain, more rain, footsteps on the street;
puddles shimmer like butterflies behind the torn screen.

Puddles shimmer behind the torn window screen,
walls flash in this neon light. The gun barrel gleams.
His heavy footsteps move down the street as rain,
more rain falls on the smeared windowpane.
I have to kill him. I know I still have the chance
while he whistles Carmen’s “Habanera,” whistles it off-key.

He whistles the “Habanera,” whistles it off-key.
Puddles shimmer behind the torn screen.
I should kill him while I have the chance,
should kill him while everything sits in neon, gleams.
Rain, rain, rain falls on the raised windowpane;
falls on his footsteps as he moves down the street.

A raised windowpane—I can kill him. This is my chance
as he moves down the street. Everything is neon. The gun gleams.
He whistles off-key. Puddles flutter behind the torn screen.

Jenene Ravesloot

A Sestina

Janet Kuypers’ poetry feature/show 6/20/15 in Chicago’s “Poetic Shades of Chocolate” through ‘10 Shades of Chocolate’ at ‘Let Them Eat Chocolate’

See YouTube video of the 6/20/15 Janet Kuypers show “Poetic Shades of Chocolate” in 10 Shades of Chocolate in 10 Shades of Chocolate in Chicago (filmed with a Canon fs200 video camera), w/ the poems Under his Bed, oxygen to flame the fire, Fuming in the Morning, PDQ in Tin Foil 2015, melted marshmallow 2015, grandmother charged with murder 2015, Before Taking Over the Controls 2015, and Empty Chocolate Counter.


See YouTube video of the 6/20/15 Janet Kuypers show “Poetic Shades of Chocolate” in 10 Shades of Chocolate in 10 Shades of Chocolate in Chicago (filmed with a Canon Power Shot camera), w/ the poems Under his Bed, oxygen to flame the fire, Fuming in the Morning, PDQ in Tin Foil 2015, melted marshmallow 2015, grandmother charged with murder 2015, Before Taking Over the Controls 2015, and Empty Chocolate Counter.


A Not so Social Poem

Don’t let it
put its big thumb
on you and
crush you like a bug.
Beware of likes and
no likes.
Don’t pour your soul
down a page of approval.

If you look,
there are to many paintings,
If you look,
there are too many poems,
If you look,
there are too many songs to sing, or
not sing.

If I look,
I am insignificant.

If I weigh me
I weigh nothing.

It is better to be
famous among the barns. **

Knowing where you stand
ain’t so grand.
Delusions are grander
and produce better work.

**- from Fern Hill by Dylan Thomas

Rebuttal to Burroughs

Thank you Spaniards
for your small pox
and lust for gold.
Thank you for not caring as
European
greed created genocide with your manifest destiny
Thank you Europe for your slave trade.
Thanks for getting us off
to such a good start.
Thank you for becoming us
and then acting like
we ain’t you