Art by Cassie Leary

cassie learyDrawing by Cassie Leary
1996, age 4

This image has been with us since 1996. My memory escapes me and I cannot recall anything else. I have several children’s images from that time and will be presenting them as art.
This image expresses all the existential feelings of “I am here but where am I?” that any artist seeks. Should any artist get as good as Cassie Leary age four then they have arrived at their destination.

Here is another

“My Brother and I” by Cassie Leary

Check out the dog!

What is art? It is the soul painted perfectly, it is the impression of beauty itself, it is an abstraction of color and shape, it is paint dripped on a canvas, it is rectangles of certain colors, it is a blank canvas painted a cream color, it is Elephant dung on a Madonna, it is an installation of string on a table, it is all of these. It is what you see above.

If you see good art on the frig, frame it!

david michael jackson  July 2 2012   send more

Tungsten poem by Janet Kuypers


Janet Kuypers

from the “ Periodic Table of Poetry” series

You know, I just adore you so much,
and because you liked my belly ring
and eyebrow rings and lip ring,
I was thinking of getting you a
Tungsten tongue stud for your birthday.
And don’t even ask me “Why Tungsten,”
because it has the same metallic qualities
of gold and even platinum, and hey,
it would sound excellent-cool when
you told your friends it was Tungsten.
And beside, I know how you practice
with your twenty-two and nine mil
down at the gun range, and the lead
shells are expensive when you practice,
and Tungsten shells are actually
more environmentally friendly,
since I know you get into that…
I mean, I really know you, and you
can still be my little eco-freak
and still like shooting stuff, right?
And yeah, I’ve heard some reports
that gun range Tungsten shell casings
sitting on the dirt can seep Tungsten
into the dirt, but hey, I checked,
and Tungsten is not toxic
according to any reports I’ve seen.
Tungsten’s cheaper for bullets than lead,
and then you can say that the stud
through your tongue is made
of the same stuff as the bullets
you shoot from your gun…

What Is This Poem

The if only poem
and the why me poem
always lead to the nobody cares poem
so I’ll just put on my shoes and
play some music,
look out the window at the clouds.

We have discouraged our last poet.

What is this?

Is it a cloud?

Is it a waterfall?

Is it a dream of holding her again?

I started to write this poem,

it was so clever

then memory

crept in

and held me silent

in her arms.


What is there?


A golden sunlit day


waiting for me to




What is stopping me?


If only,

why me,

and nobody cares.




david michael jackson   july 1, 2012    send rain

The Bet

The Bet
by Seymour Shubin

I guarantee you, he said
At the end of his mother’s funeral,
That the dead will meet,
That they will look in full health
To each other,
Just as they were.
Oh yeah, I thought , and where
Do I collect if you are wrong?
But that was then and this is now
And oh how I miss her
And how I want to give
His money back.

Originally Publihed as The Bet Poem

Seymour ShubinSeymour Shubin-02Seymour Shubin Witness To Myself

Memories of Paris Poem

paris poem

memories of paris poem




We fought over an apple on the
train to Paris
and you kicked at me as
we crossed through the gate
onto the cobblestones,
two young Americans in Paris
having a lover’s spat and
making up.
We checked into that hotel
with the tiny balcony
and the red bed with the red curtains.
We were sprouts in a garden
that year.
We never imagined that
it couldn’t last, that time
would grow vines which would crawl up
us like it crawls up everyone
and hold us in factories and
houses and familiar streets.
Every cell in my body is different now and
you are gone,
as gone as Paris of that year.
The train
rolls again across
the French countryside,
rolls into Paris
tracks of memory
and we get the same
room and hitch hike across France again
speaking no French,
young Americans with our
thumbs out.

david michael jackson  June 10, 2012