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

Selected Poems By David Michael Jackson

Selected Poems by David Michael Jackson

aaa poetryFeatures

David Michael Jackson

These poems and songs have been seen by many many thousands of people since 1997. Since then I have posted so many poems, songs and paintings that my fingers may have callouses. I have scattered them all over creation and this is an effort to finally have a page about me. People tend to find me with an individual painting, song or poem. My website, Artvilla.com is about those three subjects because they are my three loves.
I just hope my  poems and love songs bring joy and understanding to others.

Contact dave@artvilla.com

david michael jackson

Art by David Michael Jackson Modern Art Paintings and Images

 

 

 

 

girl asleep-02

 


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

A Ramble a Day Keeps The Wolves at Bay

A Ramble a Day Keeps the Wolves Away

A spring and you’ve made it
A spring and a song
and no lady in the rain
enough
he said
where are you
where have you been
You’ve gone quantum on me
You’re only there when I look for you
in the metaphor
or the wind
and the rocks.
Is it time to be a rock again
Is it time for an infinity
unreachable in it’s tiny corner
like a point getting smaller than
I
am a bone already
and that’s all that’s left of me
THIS
these dry dry bones left here for you to find
in my own little Pompeii of brittle words

David Michael Jackson

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