UNTITLED
he speaks it plainly
like simple cotton cloth
like grain
simple grain in the field
he says it purely
not bundled
not cooked
raw
he says it plainly
like the wind
and not the metaphor of the wind but
the
wind itself
making noise in the
trees
art music poetry
Hot Day Poem by David Michael Jackson
These Moments
by David Michael Jackson
These moments lead to other slow,
oh so slow, moments leading to endless
eternities.
If the universe exploded once,
it will explode again leaving us with
that question,
floating over the horizon like
simple dew drops,
waiting for the hot summer sun to leave them
seemingly
gone,
seemingly vanished into the noontime
of a hot day with a hoe in my hand in
the field,
the hot field of a farmer’s son.
New Atlantis old sailor Promise Land for all poem by James Nicosia
New Atlantis
What sea is this–
That of winds it is completely void?
A sea–so calm, it beats in rhythms of new fear.
This sea– a field of weeds–
More than the earth can hold.
That far gift to sailors
Which gods present,
This night is not true–
For our compass, dear father,
Has gone askew.
Dear God, in mind I fear,
My pride set sail and left my soul ashore.
Yet keep steady helm–
Just an old sailor–
Tired and worn.
These bodies of bones and shriveled skin
Lay watch all day for light or land or home.
These men I’ve led from other prisons
Of steel and stone.
‘Tis October and the air does not stir–
Just one site of land
Only desperate eyes of hope assure.
Yet, suddenly,
“Hark”! a voice from high watch–
Hailed from the Nina
To the Pinta
To the Santa Maria–
A light, they claim.
Dear God, it is–
It’s freedom’s flame!
So What sea is this, dear Lord–
That brings a Promise Land for all.
James V Nicosia
***