Gardener’s Fern Book Poem

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The Gardener’s Fern book
was filled with clutter.
A program from a flower show
at the Mattatuck Museum,
with a special thanks from Judge Gray.

Mom’s ‘hide and seek’ exhibit
was judged,
too sophisticated for the masses,
or so they say.

There was a Father’s Day card
and
A Valentine for Someone Special.

Imagine going through this book
after she was gone?
With all her belongings
calling; falling,
as leaves from a tree.

Nobody Poem

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This is about as dark as I got in 1997. It has been the internet’s nobody cares poem since then and thousands have read it. It’s sad how many have asked for it over the years. I should not make excuses for it…It is to be noted that tha author of this Nobody poem still writes and paints…..write your despair down….publish it….and don’t shoot yourself in a corn field over your art or anything else……david michael jackson

Nobody reads poems, pal
books neither
nobody is going to read this crapola, buddy
why don’t you just open a gas station
or get a good factory job
they pay fourteen an hour at western polycom
nobody looks at art, bozo
why are you wasting your life on that
how much did you spend on all this canvas and paint
you need shoes
can you wear these paintings,
nobody cares
only assholes like you
you stupid bonehead
who gives a damn what T.S. Eliot said
when you boil it down it comes out to a big “beats the shit out of me” anyway
so why even say it, I mean why not just chase some tail, instead.
Ya know?

Now maybe you should read a recent poem by David, his beautiful flower poem

Beyond Meaning Poem by Belinda Subraman

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Beyond Meaning

There’s a seeming realness of grounded thought
and an awkward fit of another human
in our dream.
We can share space and agree
to be tolerate of illusion.
We can agree to share some meaning in our lives.

Meaning is the weight in our heads.
It could be excessive rumination,
the looped reels of life
or the invisible force behind our acting out,
the dream that makes us crazy or calm
or sure of what could never be but is.
Meaning is the assignment of the soul.

We long for the fire of illusion
that does not contradict
our earth bound reality
but rides along on a higher plane,
something that sparks the aura,
tingles the essence and
sends vibrations through the cosmos.

We long for the embodiment of love,
torn between blissful numbness
and the excitement of too much stimulation
and weighted expectations
all for reasons we do not realize
are substitutes for what we can not know.

 

Beyond Meaning poem by Belinda Subraman

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