David Jackson

ON MY SISTER’S BIRTHDAY Poem by Lyn Lifshin

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ON MY SISTER’S BIRTHDAY POEM by Lyn Lifshin

ON MY SISTER’S BIRTHDAY

I hear Delilah’s dead. Delilah—
I almost wrote “delete” because
everything delighted her. It
can’t be Delilah who beat
advanced stomach cancer,
delighted in everything that
grew my tangerine blossoms.
This woman who brought me
special herb tea for sleep.
She sang polishing the dresser,
arranging my barrettes in
a new pattern each time.
Delilah singing a song of her
home, telling me of the
flowers in Guatemala,
the fruits sweeter than anything
here. I think of her daughter,
the dog she adored, but
mostly her laugh, husky and
bell like at the same time
with a little giggle. “Any
body home” almost a song
I won’t hear ever. Gone.
Over as any touch from
my sister

Dave Brubeck Interview The Dave Brubeck Quartet and Ralph J. Gleason

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Dave Brubeck Interview The Dave Brubeck Quartet and Ralph J. Gleason


The Dave Brubeck Quartet and Ralph J. Gleason, syndicated jazz columnist, perform live at the Jazz Casual TV show, live in 1961.
The Dave Brubeck Quartet is made up of Dave Brubeck, Paul Desmond, Joe Morello and Gene Wright.

I crerated a Dave Brubeck Playlist at Tunebee this week following the news of his passing. In the 1961 interview he discusses his views in 1961 of the future directions he would help to take jazz. We mourn his passing and pause to appreciate his life.
Dave Brubeck Playlist

Dave Brubeck Interview The Dave Brubeck Quartet and Ralph J. Gleason

Half Ball – Poem by Seymour Shubin

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Half-Ball

We played what we used to call half-ball
Which involves cutting a regular pimple ball in half
So you couldn’t hit it too  far on a city street
Or driveway
Just far enough so you could get a hit
Or even a home run
He was a gentle boy, this boy, about two years older
Than the rest of us, maybe three.
Well, he played this one game in the driveway So full of life,
so when  a neighbor came to our door
The next day with word that he’d died
And no one knew why, not even the doctors,
Just went to bed and died, This kid with the same
First name as mine, which made it even worse,
But not as bad as when we’d drive past the cemetery
On our frequent trips
to New York to visit my eldest sister
And her family
And as we drove by I would think of him in there
With all those ghostly old people.
But then a couple of years later
They built a highway
That by- passed the cemetery
I was glad at first
Until I realized how much
More lonely he might be.

Art Poem by David Michael Jackson

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Art Poem

Art Poem

Art Poem

you mean devalue another canvas
he said
A blank canvas is worth something.
If I put paint on it
I can’t take it back
“You put paint on it”, he will say
“I can’t take that back.”
The canvas , you see
has value
if it is blank.
If I put paint on it
you might have to pay someone
to
haul it away.
Why devalue any more canvas
he said
so he painted some crows
and shot himself
in a wheat field
a golden
beautiful
wheat field