David Michael Jackson Poems

Corona Poem | Everything’s Fine

by

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The day had started with
spraying Clorox on the mailbox
and virus infected mail
and the trip to the ATM to get dirty money
obtained by touching a screen
touched by many hands.

I wiped the disease ridden cart
and pushed it into Walmart.
It preferred to circle the store
by turning to the left.

As the cart led me around Walmart
to the left,
to the left,
let’s go to the left,
I selected infested products
put on shelves by humans
and I passed by other humans,
breathing, breathing,
touching,
touching things.
I soon had a contaminated cart
full of contaminated items
and I was ready to use
another contaminated touch screen
and bring these diseased items

into my house.

Everything’s fine.

I’ll Be Thinking of You

by


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
Artvilla.com

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

Passenger Creek Poem by David Michael Jackson

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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

by

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

The Girl with Chestnut Hair Poem

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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.