Sad Day For Regrets Poem

Sad day
what to say but
sad day
it didn’t rain
the news was bad
an aside in an email
a phone call
a someone.

The headline reads “Love Triggers Regret.”

as I sing my sad team song
“Shoulda and Coulda and Woulda, they all get better at the end.”

Oh regret
you can pick at my bones, regret
you and your buddy, guilt;
you can pick them clean, regret,
and mix them with sorrow
and stir them in your
black
black pot

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Meaningless Scribbles from a Tiny Universe by David Michael Jackson

It is because
the wind had nothing to say
and the spaces between the words were quiet
for too long
and he wondered if an old man
could have anything to say
that the world wasn’t dew on roses
that life isn’t the edge of the razor
or the razor itself
that the universe could never be empty
so it blew itself up
trying

and the leaves fell off the trees
and the babies all cried
and the snow stopped
and was quiet
and the words flowed again without
finding themselves
or meaning much
but they tried anyway and
threw themselves onto the page
and said
“We’ll be futile scribbles in a meaningless world in a tiny infinite universe.”

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To Be Poem

To Be,
having not been for
so very long.
How long?
How long?
As long as the universe
and as wide
as her eyes
in this
silly
sad world;
and she looks
at the same moon
as I
and she moves her toes in the dirt
connected to the dirt under me.

Moon I say.

Moon,

so orange and blue.

You are a pathetic rock

without her eyes

to see you.

 

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it’s all absurd

most of my choices were absurd also…..
choice of profession….
school….
job….
life,
mostly wrong choices
or right choices…..

it’s all absurd…

the religious cracks are crazy.
The scientists are crazy…

no wisdom is even possible….

existence isn’t even existential?

It’s made up
of the same crazy
wacko
absurd choices.

A dinosaur tripped over a rock
and decided
to kick the rock
and here we are.

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A Rock that Moves

You just happen to be
a rock that moves,
Tigger.
You are a rock
that became a cat
for awhile,
Sugar Plum,
and you are owned by
this mouse in a cave,
Pookey Bear
and there will be
no trace of you;
you will be vapor,
water vapor,
and I can say you will
flow to the sea.
Oh how trite,
the sea
the trite
meaningless
sea
it cannot
or will not
purr

David Michael Jackson

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The Blog Needs a Poem

The blog needs a poem.
Where’s Jackson?
Get those words,
stack them over here.
You there!
Arrange these words
so that they mean something.

The college is coming.

Here, tack them on the wall.
Rhyme something, fool
but don’t let them catch you
being
sentimental.
The flowers wait:

The blog needs a poem,
read those words.
Do they say peace?
The flowers wait:
Get Jackson in here.
Jackson, I need a catchy ending.
Make it say
peace.
Get those images of the bodies in line
in that ditch.
Pile them up with those words,
Jackson

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Thank You Mary Jane

Thank you Mary Jane
I’m so glad you and
your sisters
Maria and Juanita
came by.
Certainly
Mario and Juan
are happy
to see buds
like you
and
Maria and Juanita
who were so lovely
in their
green flowers.

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The Other Road Poem by Dandelion de la Rue

I watch them
Trotting slowly
On the road less traveled
Four white horses
Looking at Not Me
Seeing me not
In my parallel universe.

But I see them.
I slow
Watching them
Their road
Trying to guess
Their secrets
And why they glow.

I have no glow.
It’s all a blur
Here
on the superhighway
That magic energy
lies only on
the dusty rocky
secret wild horse road.

Horns honk
I must go 55.
I must keep up.
The horses are behind me now
Their road is disappearing
into mist.

But NO!
I must not lose it.
I pull over
hearing shouts of rage
and warning cries.
You can’t stop here,
You fool!

But stop I do
Fearing losing
The misty magic road
I climb the fence
Barbed wire
piercing me
vicious claws
to keep me in.
A siren shrieks
I have parked
In a No parking Zone.
They want to throw
away the key.

I lay at last
in the magic road.
clean dirt.
I breath it in
savoring
delicious dust
making snow angels
in the dirt
and laughing.

I make footprints
and look at them
archaic memories
springing forth of
footprints past.
This road will know
that I was here
until the next wind comes.

The horses come along
around the bend
seeing me now
watching carefully
with thoughtful eyes.

You’re welcome here
Stranger
they think to me
but there are no signs here
no laws
no ambulances
to protect you here.
I want no signs
no laws
no ambulances
I think to them.

I look back, once
barbed wire fence
superhighway
at the dark shapes
racing along it
orderly, a fast and
dull parade with no
clowns on bicycles.

I will not go back
I think to them
for it is living death.
They nod understanding
and trot on.
I will find others
here I know
other refugees from
the superhighway
and we will walk
this glowing
living road
and sometimes we will
glimpse
the superhighway
in the distance
and celebrate
our footprints
and the scars
of our escapes.

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Slide Into the Sea You Blood Red Moon poem by Ken Peters

my constitution is killing me
I know enough to care
about the lead in the water
or in the air
somebody mistook their freedom
for a license
we should just be fair
everybody complains about the water
but just wait until it’s gone
everybody complains about their life
but just wait until it’s gone
they all talk about the violence
doesn’t touch them behind locked doors
they don’t have to be out there
hanging with the poor
so if I never danced for my father
and didn’t dance that much with my wife
I can hear the drumbeat/heartbeat now
I’m dancing for my life
slide into the sea you blood run moon
we’ll do it on the run
slide in to the silent, silent sea
slide in you blood red moon
slide in you blood red sun

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To the Bed Pan Person Poem by David Michael Jackson

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

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