David Jackson

Dead Man’s Hand Poem by David Michael Jackson

by

Ultimate Game of Cards
by David Michael Jackson
The wind in the willows
whispers,
waits not for this poet whose
words are frozen,
and yet as restless
as the limbs which sway
carelessly like
youth which is
lost,
squandered in the ultimate
game of cards.
Aces and eights,
the dead man’s hand.
We are all holding aces and eights
and the wind in the willows
cannot help us.
I deal
a joker here
a queen there.
I am a lonely duece who
cannot sleep so I listen to the wind
in vain waiting for the
whisper.

***

The Bird and The Prayer Poem

by

To state the obvious
to send a prayer
“protect her”
to think of it floating
upwards

to think I’m not
a mouse in a hole

that bird looks so like
the bird of my youth

is it the same bird

a mouse in a cave
pretending divinity

I can see the bird
flying with
my
prayer.

david michael jackson June 5, 2012 editors@artvilla.com

Alley Poem by Andy Derryberry

by

the alley
my heels click on the cobbles
as i wander down this dark alley
what’s behind leers
what’s ahead seems to menace

there are doorways
with hawkers selling their wares
do this, believe that
selling not the truth but conformity

but instead of safety
i put more doors behind
creating more leers
and walk forward into what

what is up ahead in the dark
it doesn’t help to squint
each door hidden til too late
and the last door possibly oblivion

my heels click on the cobbles
as i wander down this dark alley
what’s behind leers
what’s ahead menaces
***