Trapped in Facebook

I was trapped in Facebook for awhile
I’ve escaped
out here I am anon again
and don’t have to
be there when
you read this.
If you don’t like me
I won’t know
or wonder.
I am free and can cast my meanderings to the wind metaphor
and the sand simile
and the proliferation of alliteration
and entropy
and I can make you wonder
wtf I meant by that
and leave
never knowing you thought
I was and am
a meaningless butt head.
Out here I can finally be
a meaningless butt head again
and again
until I end up pixel-ated
and am forced
underground

david michael jackson

What did you do with the Money Poem

What did you do with the money
the money for singing lessons?
I could have drawn that.
Is that your nose?
You think you’re some kinda Hemingway, huh?
Hey everybody over here
We got us a Shakespeare.

You aren’t gonna
sing us another are you?
Why do you do that?

I will not answer you
I will only try to not kill you
and in not killing you
I’ll find a way to finish this poem
dust myself off
have a good cry
and forget

david michael jackson

Two For One Sale

The chair creaks
the roof doesn’t leak
there is a doorway,
I can see umbrellas
paint and guitars
and dreams

The chair creaks and the winter
wanes,
and the trees wait patiently
like this poem,
wait patiently
for the spring breeze to
say that we made it through another
winter,
too warm or too cold,
alone or together,
we made it,
and the ice will be gone
and the water will be there
flowing
for
there is a
two for one sale
in the hydrogen
and oxygen department,
and the world lines up
for spring

david michael jackson

If There Were Reason

If there were reason
then all of the atoms would line up
with all of the flowers.
If there were a rationale
there would still be death
and the need for death
and the chip in the wall,
the one atom out of place,
which always causes everything
to fall and tumble
in a pile of
life and death
and flowers growing
on a hillside
like the random notes
of the brook

david michael jackson

If there are only eight planets poem by David Michael Jackson

If there are
only
eight planets,
are we
an oxygen atom
in a giant
universe;
are we
boiling water
in an old man’s teapot,
convinced that our
universe is
expanding?

So many universes

for tea
and a good scone
on a winter’s day!

Chinese Whispers.Poem.Robin Ouzman Hislop.

i.

The smog is a variable,

a series given a specific history,

               the unrecognisable in the recognisable,

at the bus stop.

ii.

Keep off the tracks, Kiddo,

                upstairs, shrieks of laughter,

dancing in the dark, downstairs

a police car blinks orange lights,

                skids the curb of a road island.

iii.

Scream in the park, opposite,

beyond, overhead, the motorway,

a school gate swings, a bouquet,

              trussed celophane, a crinkled package.

 iv.            

              The way is forward,

life adds up to the count,

a millionaire overnight,

               air, on the air.

v.

A muted meme, a moot point.

vi.

Flat on your back in Casablanca,

the wheel’s still in spin & the smog

an ensemble. A screen that fluctuates

a pattern of shadowy whispers,

vii.                   

                    make believe yesterdays, forwards.

                    Going ape, going bannanas,

                    slow boat,

                    the dynamic tomorrow ahead,

                    or a growl from behind,

                    don’t look now,

                    the unseen sniper sensed from afar,

                    life is a lottery of targets.

***
Robin Fredriksburg

 

Robin Ouzman Hislop was editor of the online monthly journal Poetry Life 
& Times, which he took over from Sara Russell in 2006 and which now 
features at this present site, where he is also Co Editor at 
Artvilla.com. He has been published in various poetry journals and 
online journals including http://www.thehypertexts.com/main.htm . Recent
publications include “Voices without Borders Volume 1”, “Cold Mountain 
Review”, Appalachian University N Carolina, “Post Hoc” installed at Bank
Street Arts Centre and “Uroborus Journal” 2011/12 Sheffield. S Yorks 
and “The Poetic Bond 11 & 111.” His Spanish sonnet translations 
appear together with his own sonnets in an anthology for sonnets The 
Phoenix Rising from the Ashes: Anthology of sonnets of the early third 
millennium = Le Phénix renaissant de ses cendres : Anthologie de sonnets
au début du troisième millénaire.―published by Friesen Press Ontario 
Canada. At present he is engaged working on the translation of 
contemporary Spanish poets with the poet Amparo Arrospide with a view to
publication in the USA in 2015.

 

editor@artvilla.com

robin@artvilla.com

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