Posting poems in the night for
you who read me,
somewhere in this world.
Oh I have done it for so long now.
I may have published
the first poem on the net.
It went
Hello World.
“Hello Ball”,
said Art Carney.
I roll the ball toward
some overwhelming question
without an answer
and tell you that
beauty is truth.
Then a few judge
whether I
said it
well enough.
when all I wanted, really,
all you wanted
was to hear the words
rain drops fall off the leaf.
It Looks like another poem
is waiting among the roses
or the thorns
or maybe the sidewalks,
hoping for sidewalks
instead of muddy paths,
muddy paths and
muddy lives.
Hoping for better
is better than
nothing.
Hoping for better
child
is always
better than wasting away
thinking life is
so unfair,
which it is,
which it is.
Humble hands must work
Humble hearts must try.
Humility is beauty, and
Beauty is truth.
| Friend and folk singer Jodey Bateman in New Mexico translates Pablo Neruda and sings many folk songs in three languages. His knowledge of folk music is such that Jodey’s work is worth saving and presenting.Here he sings his folk rendition of Little Milton’s classic song. http://www.motherbird.com/folkmusic/We’re_Gonna_Make_it.mp3The Song is originally a soul song We’re gonna Make it By Little Milton Here is Little Milton’s Biography |
Here are Little Milton’s lyrics:
We may not have a cent to pay the rent
But we’re gonna make it, I know we will
We may have to eat beans every day
But we’re gonna make it, I know we will
And if a job is hard to find
And we have to stand in the welfare line
I’ve got your love and you know you got mine
So we’re gonna make it, I know we will
We may not have a home to call our own
But we’re gonna make it, I know we will
We may have to fight hardships alone
But we’re gonna make it, I know we will
‘Cause togetherness brings peace of mind
We can’t stay down all the time
I’ve got your love and you know you got mine
So we’re gonna make it, I know we will
Our car may be old, our two rooms cold
But we’re gonna make it, I know we will
We may not can spare a single crumb
But we’re gonna make it, I know we will
And if I have to carry ’round a sign
Sayin’ “Help the deaf, the dumb, and the blind”
I got your love and you know you got mine
So we’re gonna make it, I know we will
Give notice in heaven, Leadbelly, this is a classic too.
Little Milton sing his song:
Rarely did we ever come back
to say thank you,
almost never.
We were busy.
Oh they made speeches to you,
mostly other teachers or administrators.
They told you of the difference you made.
The difference you made?
Miss Mabel,
Mrs. Shumaker,
Mr. McDaniel.
The difference you say?
You noticed me.
You told me I was special.
You sat me in the highest chair,
quietly without fanfare
without anyone ever knowing,
except for me
too many years later.
You picked me up and
set me on my feet.
And so I say to some teacher who may
wander into this poem,
some other child’s teacher.
I cannot say thank you to
Miss Mabel,
Mrs. Shumaker,
Mr. McDaniel,
so I will thank you.
You may not see
but flowers are blooming
at your feet.
Thank You Teacher.
Thank You Teacher Poem Copyright 2012 David Michael Jackson
The Jacksons just posted some cool covered bridge pictures
A night at Rocketown
Laura Longon is great with a concert All That and a Bag of Chips
Here is a short story from Passenger Creek, How Johnson Got Out of the War
Here is our friend and much published writer Seymour Shubin with The Bet
Every site needs a Love Directory so here is Love Songs and Poems
Okay another song/poem Darling Do You Love Me
Here is an excerpt of a poem by Janet Kuypers with a reading by Oz Hardwick. The poem is Escaping Every Cage
Here is book review of Witness to Myself
Elisha Porat returns with Waiting For His Return
Oh my goodness my Granny said Oh My goodness what have you done with Jake and Haystack and Elisha Porat and David Michael Jackson and Janet Kuypers. Have ya’ll gone completely crazy around here. You used to be such a quiet little place!
Who is Modern Music Nashville? They are a thin flow of water from a tiny spring somewhere.
Yeah we’re country boys but we also love Chicago poetry folks. These play button are contageous. Read and hear our own Janet Kuypers Made any Difference?
Ya know? Sometimes it’s The Trouble with Loving You but We’ll Make it Through Hard Times
Lately I have been publishing lyrics from my songs as poems. Lyrics tend to repeat phrases people ask for in search engines. Some poems go viral. Some mp3 recordings tend to go a little viral too. Here is a new rhyming poem derived from our most viral downloaded recording, Baby I Really Love and Need You. by Jake and Haystack
Here is A Poet’s Solstice by David Mitchell
Here is David Mitchell with Often in the Fog
Oh yes a Whiskey Poem
There are love poems and then there is Love Runs the World
Seymour Shubin brings us his first story at Artvilla, The Viewing
Phil Coyote returns with Greed or Need
It’s just me with Show Me
Hey somebody really cool showed up. We welcome Seymour Shubin with Joel. I think we have something here. Looking for more poems from Mr. Shubin, yesseree by cracky.
Enough with this droopy sloopy gooey sadness. No one is there anyway. I publish to the void and the bots. Don’t tap on the glass. There is no one out there. Only aliens reading this a million years from now in a distant galaxy. Lyric is good to go Too Late For Sleeping Melody is pretty too. It’s a song about love, my alien friends . An emotion we humans had before we blew ourselves up. Off to the studio.
A poem called Earthen Jar.
12,000 files later I re-announce the first poem published on this site in 1996.. This poem owes a poetic debt to poets T S Eliot,”Do I dare to eat a peach” and to William Carlos Williams’ poem about the old lady eating the plums. He said :
They taste good to her
They taste good to her
Ah Summer Breeze always brings lovely wisdom I do not have. Here is Crazy Old Lady
Grass
PILE the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.
Shovel them under and let me work
I am the grass; I cover all.
And pile them high at Gettysburg
And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.
Shovel them under and let me work.
Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor:
What place is this?
Where are we now?
I am the grass.
Let me work.