Innocence Poem by David Michael Jackson

here you shall find me
must find me
we must meet
having met, we must
meet again in the shadows of
beauty shines through the window and
dances with the dust in the air
the cat sits by the window
watching the birds
I sit by the window with your memory
watching for you
in the birds
in the trees
we must meet across the river
in the shade of that tree
that tree we cling to
so the raging waters of the flood
may not drown us in our own

Seas of Mauve Sonnet by Richard Vallance

with thanks to Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI and his poem, La mer mauve

When in your eyes I’ve seen seas round of mauve
I find I’ve visualized sunsets there,
yes, sunsets where dusk’s risen in this cove,
where we’ve pampered feet in these seas so fair
we linger hours, the minutes minding not,
the while we sense such shadows as her surf
as soon on us advance, where being caught
by risen tides, grasses blown round on turf
should quake with us, scared half to death by winds!
Where scalars, tides, income with windy night’s,
there’s nothing but a soothing moon rescinds
the sea’s insousciance where she alights!
Where she alights, the moon leaves seas of mauve
in dawn’s eyes as we leave our secret cove.

© Richard Vallance 2004
October 18 2004
Richard Vallance
PINTEREST Boards: Mycenaean Linear B: Progressive Grammar & Vocabulary, and, Knossos & Mycenae, sister civilizations,
Also poetry publisher, 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<>
Friesen Press, Victoria, B.C., Canada. © August 2013. 35 illustrations in B&W. Author & Title Indexes. 257 pp. 315 sonnets & ghazals in English, French, Spanish, German, Chinese & Persian.
Poetry Life & Times

Better Times Poem by Jim Schultz

Thirty Years Ago

Dreamy words of better ways.
Inner feelings stirred.
Some thirty years ago or more
I listened and I heard.
Hopeful thoughts of future days.
Students undeterred.
A growing call to end a war.
Moralities were blurred.

Revolution at the gate.
Riots on TV.
Anticipation in my mind
Of better things to be.
Patiently I’d sit and wait
for coming history,
A dismal future redefined.
My foolish fantasy.

Now they wear the suit and tie.
Corporate life would call.
Ideal words would fade away
and Vietnam would fall.
Revolutionary cries,
sights that I recall.
I wonder if they fell astray
or if they cared at all.

Copyright © 1998 Jim Schultz

Divergence Poem by Joan Pond

by Joan Pond

He reads the tracks of my tires
in the snow.
Deciphering the hieroglyphs;
a simple acrostic of lines.
It”s nice to know I”m defined
by the pattern of my tread.
Inside, he said the writing on his wall
holds a pattern,
as stars in the galaxy.
He will make sense of this Babel,
while I stand by the door
wanting to leave.
How can I deceive him into thinking
I have somewhere else to be?
He had been my universe,
but that was long ago
and our orbits
no longer converge.


Humanity i love you Humanity i hate you poem by ee cummings

Humanity i love you
because you would rather black the boots of
success than inquire whose soul dangles from his
watch-chain which would be embarassing for both
parties and because you
unflinchingly applaud all
songs containing the words country home and
mother when sung at the old howard
Humanity i love you because
when you’re hard up you pawn your
intelligence to buy a drink and when
you’re flush your pride keeps
you from the pawn shop and
because you are continually commiting
nuisances but more
especially in your own house

Humanity i love you because you
are perpetually putting the secret of
life in your pants and forgetting
it’s there and sitting down
on it
and because you are
always making poems in the lap
of death Humanity
i hate you

Sipping by David Michael Jackson

Here is an mp3 of Sipping Click here

By David Michael Jackson

I only have apples for you

winesap apples

hanging red and green

from twisted trees

and lying on the ground

brown and rotten

soft and mushy,

not very good,

but they will do

for a break from the field,

for a break

from the work

and the




My brown eyes

her green eyes

her red dress

my brown eyes

her red shoes

the spring trees

the blue sky

my brown eyes

her green eyes

her green



I am.

I have heen read by ones and twos.

I have been seen by tens

or even hundreds.

You can see me

on the street.

I am.

You can hear my voice


the silence,


in the




I am everyone

I am no one

I am the man on the street.

Tell everyone I was here.

Right here.


On this spot of soil

in this something,


recognition of something,

tell everyone.

I have eaten the last grape.

I hold the vine in my hands

and I throw it into the yard.

I wonder of the purpose

of the vine

(as you would,

as anyone


to feed me

to reproduce

to seek the light.

When I have eaten my last grapes

I will, perhaps, understand.


But the vine doesn”t care anymore

It just lies there

in the green green grass

The trees are whispering to me.

They tell me the rain will come,

that spring will bring new leaves,

that birds will nest

in my branches.

They tell me not to concern myself

with the fire

nor the blight.

They tell me to stand strongly

and to lift my arms

to the light.

My tongue touches

the roof of my mouth.

My lips are stuck together

and pop apart.

I can feel the air


through my chest.

I hold this page in my hand


I read

these words.

Now sunrise brings a cup of coffee

to welcome the day

Our lives are measured with these days

which are poured into cups

and mixed with sorrow and joy,

We say things like

“I”ll always remember.”

“I”ll always love you”

and we are blown like

dry leaves in a whirlwind,

rising for a moment,

then settling,

to make room

for other leaves

to be blown

to rise,

to settle.

The trees live and die.

Each blade of grass

leans to the summer light

and breaks in the winter wind.

The birds live and die.

The seasons turn

like a merry go round


we ride the pretty horses


we hear the pretty music


we play in the warm sun

as the merry go round

goes around

and around

and around

There is a chill in the day.

Already the birds gather.

Already the insects are frantic.

Already the leaves turn

to browns and yellows.

Savour the day.

Sip it

like a glass of

fine wine.

Breathe deeply

and glory in the song

of the cricket.

Cup the day in your palm like

spring water

and drink.

My little wife

thinks I”m odd and lazy

as she flutters,

constantly working.

She is a little worker bee,

she flutters gracefully,

picking this up,

straightening that.

She is gathering nectar

and I am in the hive,


Copyright © 1998 by David Michael Jackson, All rights reserved