David Jackson By Wayne Jackson 1950-1989
“Bulljack, damn it, you still love her, don’t you?” I lay
there and thought about it for a minute. Mary’s hands brushed through
my hair where it lay in her lap. Very light fingered, barely touched the
scalp, all the way back. Sometimes I think I’m half cat.
“Yeah”, I said out loud, “I”
“ I guess I do.”
Still Love Her Poem Copyright © 1997 by Donald Wayne Jackson,
All rights reserved
My Friend
How perfect is the gaze
Through his marble eyes
And legendary his grin.
When we meet he makes
A feline for me caressing my soul
And raising pause
To consider the clause
Of life binding us close in love.
Licking life is his destiny,
And at times,
Snoring musically, he sleeps soundly
Deep in his own dreams.
Clay Derryberry
August 15, 1998
who knows if the moon’s
a balloon,coming out of a keen city
in the sky–filled with pretty people?
(and if you and i should
get into it,if they
should take me and take you into their balloon,
why then
we’d go up higher with all the pretty people
than houses and steeples and clouds:
go sailing
away and away sailing into a keen
city which nobody’s ever visited,where
always
it’s
Spring and everyone’s
in love and flowers pick themselves
All I ‘See’ Is Carpeting
by Joan Pond
The streets of Kensington gave me trouble,
so I doubled back to the flat.
Driving on the wrong side
I panicked at an intersection,
threatening to cut me in two.
I should have listened to you
and taken the tram.
Sheer hell will break loose,
for dinging your Bentley.
My ass is in a sling,
then over your knee;
while you explain why Yanks
should leave driving to the Brits.
Yet all I
‘see’,
is carpeting.
You there,
you with your folder in your hands,
you
with your toolbox.
You there,
you who think you don’t matter.
You are the butterfly whose wings flutter and
cause winds to blow and rain to fall.
You are the sunshine to someone.
You are the apple falling on Newton’s head my friend.
The wind that flows from you
blows
harder than you could ever
imagine.
You are not
just one domino that knocks over another in a long endless chain.
You are
a voice in the wilderness,
a ripple in the stream,
a wave in the ocean my friend.
You are a single purple flower growing
alone in a forest,
a ray of sunlight.
You are a poem,
A poem that matters to someone,
a factor in someone’s life.
You
matter.