I am worn weathered wood.
I have seen the storms,
felt the hot sun,
endured the wind until
I am cracked.
My colours have faded into
burnt siennas from red under
the sun’s rays.
I have seen the owl at night and
the hawk in the day for
I am a window in this wood,
this weathered wood.
I am a window or
I am nothing.
I am a window.
Sneek up, take a peek
into my panes.
She will be there, sitting
at the table
having her tea
or holding her cat
quietly
***
AND TO LAST
and to last
through
the moment
to last through
the
moment
and to notice the
moment
the flower
the
rose
purpose
you ask of purpose
ask not
ask the rose
***
a vision
today i had a vision that
when i’m on my death bed
when the light shines bright
and i begin to float away
the last thing that i will hear
againt a background of oprah
or dr phil
will be a discussion of dietary fiber
and regular bowel movements
***
he
doesn’t live that life so he
gets up every morning and joins the crowd
Which shore?
He said petals from an appletree
yes petals from an appletree
and leaves falling silently
Which shore?
He said petals from an apple tree
and
summer music
and the summer breeze
and he washes up on the hundredth poem or the thousandth poem or
footsteps on a stair,
washes up on the shores of reason and reaches
washes up with the wordbarrel
empty.
***
David Michael Jackson 2005
Love Lost: The Loss of True Love Poem
Silence does not befit me
The loss of true love
does not the tongue
encourage.
The irises are in bloom
and I have
lost another love.
Sad roses and doves in
the rain
call to explain.
I am an old pine dwarf
clinging to the the rocks of
a minor mountain.
Crying in the wilderness.
Love Lost, The Loss of True Love copyright 2008
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