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 .....

Cold Rain Poem by David Michael Jackson

Out Into The Cold Rain out into the cold rain goes my baby out into the driving wind goes my child out into the cruel world I send my honey for even the bitterest wind is sweet even the driving rain brings the wet street in the morning and that certainty which permeates the consciousness in the wet cold, suffering perseverance which tastes as sweet as the soft forgotten .....

Trust the Breeze Poem by David Michael Jackson

Trusting the Breeze When the breeze settles upon the buildings like the cat settles into the empty box or basket, when the dust settles after floating in the air or appearing in the shaft of light from the window, when suddenly the odor of ozone in the air before the storm settles into the corners of the afternoon, then, and only then, will I turn the page – David Michael Jackson.....

flooded war memories, poem of how an old trusted friend can turn and attack you, by Janet Kuypers

flooded war memories it was st. patricks day, went to another country to see you met up with you at a hotel it was like we were never apart we talked like old friends, old war-time veterans who fought in a war together who shared our life stories while sitting in a trench together waiting for a bomb to strike it was st. patricks day, and everything seemed normal and right even though you lived far away.....

Lost poems Poem by David Michael Jackson

Poems I look at the briefcase with my brother’s poems I look at my manuscript lying on the table, alone. and I think of other manuscripts in closets somewhere. Like faded flowers in a drawer they contain an essence of what was there. Like faded flowers pressed between the finger and the thumb pressed between memory and sensation, memory and hope and if my fellow man were to say “greatn.....