I’ll Be Thinking of You


The sun comes up into a quiet sky
and the birds seem to float on by
When the sunlight hits the morning dew
I’ll be thinking of you.

When the wind catches the trees just right
and they sway gently in the soft sunlight.
When the shadows fall grey and blue
I’ll be thinking of you.

When the sun hits the top of the sky
and the day seems to rush on by,
Whenever I see a sky of blue
I’ll be thinking of you.

When the day fades into a setting sun
and the twilight sky has just begun,
when the moonlight seems yellow and blue,
I’ll be thinking of you.

With the sunset comes the nightime sky
and the wispy clouds float on by,
when the stars shine bright and true
I’ll be dreaming of you.

2011 Music by David Michael Jackson and Andy Derryberry in Murfreesboro, Tennessee
Artvilla.com

Girl-with-Cat-and-Dog-Painting….David Michael Jackson

Passenger Creek Poem by David Michael Jackson

Sugar Camp Hollow
by David Jackson

We were raised in Sugar Camp Hollow
on Passenger Creek
where them reb soldiers camped it is
said
and the confederate gold is buried there
or so the story goes

and I knew you there
and you and I both knew
to leave those grounds
where the small creek meets Passenger.
We both knew to leave
those grounds
before dark.
You and I
shared the secrets of Sugar Camp Hollow,
them rebs,
that gold.

The neighbor Simpson
told the tale,
his skinny fingers
waving, pointing to that
spot where the springs
flow to create that
small
creek
that place
where dreams are
formed.

A poem for you
tonight
Sugar Camp Hollow,
Passenger Creek,
them rebs,
that gold,

and I pause beside this spring
of remembrance;

this moment is
a thin stream of water
flowing
from a tiny spring
somewhere
***

The Whittlers Poem by Jackson

He leans forward,

there was a time, sonny

when I saw old men whittling
at the courthouse
sitting there on benches these men
were in overalls and wore
wool hats stained
from the sweat of
days spent in the heat,
in the field,
old grey wool hats
stained with work.
They whittled, these old men
and spat tobacco juice
on the courthouse steps
and sometimes they grabbed
their stubble’d chin
and waved a skinny finger
as they made a point about
“them this”
and “them that”
but mostly it was the weather
and the outlook for the weather
and how they could work no more
and they whittled at the courthouse
and could be seen on Saturday,

our day in town.

I can sometimes see those
old farmers
spitting tobacco juice,

whittling,

and one of them looks
not quite at me but
above,

“Is that your boy?”

 

 

by david michael jackson

The Girl with Chestnut Hair Poem

You ask about love,
there was a girl with chestnut hair,
but that is song.

You ask about love,
we wandered in the sunshine
and barely noticed it was there.

Ah but those are memories
and I wander in my poem.

Animals are people and
memories are love,

Animals are people and
memories are love.

There was a cat.
There was a bird.
There is a cat.
There is a bird.

There was a poem,
it wafted in the breeze,
left a slight scent in the air,
like the girl with chestnut hair,
then was gone.

I Turned the Wheel, a Poem by David Michael Jackson

I Turned the wheel

I guess I never knew how
and maybe I didn’t do so well
at pleasing you
or being good when
I should have been good
for you
I guess I never knew how
and maybe I didn’t do so well

but I tried
I tried
I tried

I turned the wheel
I turned the wheel

I held the door when I could
I held your hand to remember

yes I tried
I tried
I tried

and when the wind runs in the trees
the trees say I love you
and when the rivers run to the sea
we’ll be there
we’ll be there

I guess I never knew how
and maybe I didn’t do so well
at showing you how I feel.

I turned the wheel
I turned the wheel

I held the door when I could
I held your hand to remember.

The ocean waves end at the shore
with the sounds of our love
and when the wind runs in the trees
the trees say I love you
and when the rivers run to the sea
we’ll be there
we’ll be there
we’ll be there

End of Summer Ant Poem

I am an ant pushing a stick
at the end of summer.
I carry a parcel of leaf
to deliver wherever
the scent takes me.
I have no leader
and still move mountains.
My cousin, the butterfly,has no brains but can fly to Peru.
Can you?
I am an ant pushing a stick and
all of your philosophy
can’t move that stick
or find an explanation
for me.
We are both tied to the end of summer,
lashed to the season’s,
of this one mooned earth.
like flowers we open to the light
and close our eyes at night
and we look to the sky,
the late summer sky,
and return to pushing our stick.

david michael jackson

Joe Clark Folk Song by David Michael Jackson

I’m not all that political. I have no record. I could not have lived my life as a mechanical engineer with one. The records we are creating with our outrageous number of people in corporate run prisons in the U.S. is racist . It is the sharecropping shanty shack of our times.. It is excluding large segments of our population.
When we create so many casual “felons”, mostly black and hispanic, we lose the ability to tell who is indeed dangerous and too many of our citizens end up living outside of our system.

I wrote this song and have assigned a Creative Commons license.

Free Download Joe Clark

Joe Clark

Oh I can’t get a job cause
I sold that weed
to that cop in
ninety three
On the piece of paper they always ask me
have you had a felony
I was fighting my war on poverty
when the war on drugs got me
now there’s no work at all for me
no Social Security

Oh they threw my tail in the company jail
and threw away the key
so I told her to find her someone else
and forget about me

So I work at outside in hot and in cold
and we live in this trailer park
and when people ask me who I am
I say I’m….I’m Joe Clark

So I’ll build you a fence
and work in your yard
if ever there was a worker
that was Joe Clark
so if you’ll give me a chance
I won’t be a slob
I’m Joe Clark
and I need a job

Oh they threw my tail in the company jail
and they threw away the key
so I told her to find her someone else
and forget about me

by david michael jackson

The Dream Poem and…

He Looked Around

He looked around
as if in a dream
knowing insignificance
and feeling it.
The water still runs
and the sky is still blue but
all of the people in all of the cars in all of the cities
are in his dream,
driving,
waiting in line,
dreaming, looking out, walking, running, being.

He throws these words on this page.
These words are dreaming words
on a dreaming page.

On the street in the rain.
The water falls and rushes noisily.

The poet floats like a forgotten leaf
toward the drain.