David Michael Jackson Poems

TELL ME WHY

the branches grow here

and the seeds fall to the earth and

the wind blows across the land

and the rain just falls everywhere

and makes the seeds

grow

so tell me why the branches grow

and why the seeds fall

so tell me why the wind blows across the land

and why the rain falls everywhere

and why the seeds grow

ha I say

I, foolish one, knave, a gnome in the kings land

ha I say to the riddles my mind makes for me

to the why’s without what for’s

ha I say

this night of wind and moonlight

***
David Michael Jackson

Why Should I

There are two points in every life

that is in the artist life

the point where the painting and words and music

and the person

are asking why

with a fire unlike any fire

and a point

where the artist or writer or musician

and person

is asking

why should I?

why should I?

I beat my primordial head

on this stone in this cave

why am I not hunting the elk

instead of scratching with this

blunt burnt stick

until my hands  are worn

and I beat on this stone with these hands

and this stick.

“Oh you have drawn the elk

we saw him this morning

but wasn’t his leg longer

and his horn had more points.”

what I saw

what I saw

what I saw

I do not understand

I cannot understand

Why should I?

 

david michael jackson

Maybe if you just express those moments they won’t stand in the way of the bigger why. Maybe. We’ll  see.

 Sirens Poem

I grow old I grow old

I shall wear my trousers rolled*

Wear them rolled

walk upon the beach and that mermaid you hear

is your wife

calling across the ocean

darling

darling

darling

why did you leave me

did I embarrass you in front of

your friends as you

spoke of the Greek gods?

 

These are the sirens we all hear my

friend but you

knew why they called and

maybe

there never were sirens,

only life

only guilt

and life itself

calling

calling

calling

come sailor unleash yourself from the boat

do not fear the wind, the waves

come

come

come to us

 

can you not see us,

our long thin arms waving in the wind,

our hair blowing behind us

come to us

 

 

by david michael jackson

 

*Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock, T. S. Eliot