David Michael Jackson

David Jackson is the publisher of Artilla.com, Motherbird.com and several other websites. David is an engineer, poet, artist, songwriter who has been presenting his material and the material of others on the Internet since 1998. David lives in Murfreesboro Tennessee.

Nonsense POEM by Admin

by

Ah me
the sun knows me
I who was not there when.
did he say when?
oh nonsense writer
sing your nonsense
sing your song of what.
what?
what?
oh nonsense writer
sing your song for whom.
whom?
oh nonsense words be there on this page
this meaningless page which isn’t really
there.
Am I really
really
there?
Did he say there?
Here?
Here?
where?
over here
yes over here
that’s it come on
over here
now that you are here
in this little box
this nonsense box
now that you are here,
Where are
you?

how do you write a free verse poem? by H.E. Hasben

by

write one for me
type fast
don’t look up
take the first line as it comes
do not judge, just
type
hit break at the middle of
the sentence leaving
questions at the end of
each
line,

Then delete the
superfluous
fluttering of your own
ego, leave
a semblance of beauty
or truth behind you
and know when to
end the thing

Come Play With Me Poem by Edy Lou Benjamin

by

Play the song by Artvilla’s mentor Edy Lou Benjamin a.k.a Summer Breeze Guitar by David Michael Jackson

COME PLAY WITH ME
sweetgrass wafting autumn harvest
sighs with love divine, unspoken
candle light observing darkness
holds a world expectantly…

here in dark of dawns prebirth
comes a whooshing whooshing…
angel wings still flutter softly
’round the hearts of mortal man

birthing pains in nut shell open
releasing seeds to fertile Earth
even ice melts in the furnace
of the river rushing forth

time stands still but only shortly
or long if one is standing still
what clings us to a backward motion
releases as we boldly step

into the shoes of our own making
flowers need but once to bloom
in this garden of human faces
is delight of wonder…meant

hoards of angels’ singing voices
praise the passing, evening light
praise the birthing day to be
unclung to old miseries
“here,” — they gently touch my shoulders
first my left and then my right
“wings invisible will fly now
to the love that’s pulling you.”

all love is a pulling, tugging
to what calls a heart to play
see us here all tugging, pulling
one big clam shell open, closing

will you come & play?

Why these windows move mountains Poem by David Michael Jackson

by

I am worn weathered wood.
I have seen the storms,
felt the hot sun,
endured the wind until
I am cracked.
My colours have faded into
burnt siennas from red under
the sun’s rays.
I have seen the owl at night and
the hawk in the day for
I am a window in this wood,
this weathered wood.
I am a window or
I am nothing.
I am a window.
Sneek up, take a peek
into my panes.
She will be there, sitting
at the table
having her tea
or holding her cat
quietly

***