I Waited I Watched I Wanted | Poem by David Michael Jackson








I waited beside the wind for you,
in front of the storm.
Quietly I waited.
I watched for you in the shadows
that the leaves cast
as they move in the sunlight.
I wanted you to appear in the rain
beside the water
standing on Botticelli’s shell.
I waited,
I watched,
I wanted.
The phone rang.
It was Jane.
She had a great deal
on insurance.
I looked at my hand,
cupped in my lap
to catch the tears.

David Michael Jackson is the publisher of Artvilla.com and Motherbird.com…..Both websites are turning 20 in October.

David remains unpublished in print. “My poems are clouds and will disappear in the moonlight.”

dave@artvilla.com since 1998

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

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

Destroyer Poem

destroyer of creativity
maker of average
it is a grade school friend
you can’t sing
a weeks work flows by in two seconds
into oblivion
life is dark enough
out here in
give up land
out here in try again city
we are all children coloring in our
enjoying the mud
it is not important if the dirt
on our hands is pure
it is only important that our hands are dirty
from work
fuck the likes
fuck the shares
good art can come from
not being
It’s best to throw the rock
from outside the window
It’s better to scream alone in the forest
God cannot hear you in the

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
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
that place
where dreams are

A poem for you
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
from a tiny spring