David Jackson

Abstract Kiss Painting

by
abstract-kiss-painting-02
abstract kiss

Abstract kiss painting by David Michael Jackson
This abstract painting is the juxtaposition of two profiles in one. It represents a kiss. It is an Oil painting on canvas. Painted circa 1992. I was doing these icon profiles then. I still do them. This a relatively large painting. I guess it’s an abstract. I’m not even sure what abstract paintings mean anymore. Anyway it’s pretty and it reminds me of kiss from my lady.

The most famous and truly beautiful painting of a kiss is by Klimpt. His use of the gold color rivals Van Gogh.

There was the famous kiss painting on the Berlin Wall

There is The Kiss by Munch who is known for The Scream.

We all remember the famous sculpture by Rodin The Kiss

V-J Day in Times Square, a 1945 photograph by Alfred Eisenstaedt

David Michael Jackson

Wall Poem by Candace Pfau

by

The Other side of the Wall

Starlight guides me through the dark
path of my soul.
A lonely hoot owls song, kisses
my ear and tells me I am not alone.

Deep on the trail of sorrow, I plunge
through the bracken of my life.
Digging deeply for the berries of joy
I buried long ago for a night such as this.

In the dark we wander through life
blind on this side of the wall,
but reaching through another hand
softly brushes our cheek and we
shiver and wait for more.

On the Need to Write and The Reaper Poem by David Michael Jackson

by

I need to remember to
write a poem before
the reaper takes me
takes me,
takes me like he took all the others.
Those
fallen down pieces of
granite were people just like
us,
fallen and unremembered by
everybody,
like my father.
There are many now
who don’t remember my
father but who
may remember me
and may someday read these
scribblings which
a nobody moron
loser like me
at least took the time to
write.
So write,
leave scribblings on the walls
of your cave.
***

Feel of Spandex Poem by Joan Pond

by

The Feel of Spandex

It’s a routine exam.
No need to get undressed,
to check arthritic joints
and all the rest which fails.
It’s getting worse,
he assails with words.
Then, his hand
runs the length of my leg,
tracing meager contours and curves.
I am vexed
and wonder,
is it me
or the feel of spandex
he desires?
***