David Michael Jackson Poems

A TINY BIT OF GRASS
I saw this bird today.
It was just a brief instant
I was in a parking lot headed to
a job.
He was at the edge of the lot in a tiny bit of grass we had left him.
There was this instant that I knew
for certain,
for absolute certain,
that this bird was important.
So important that I would remember the motion of his body as he
paused for an instant to
look at me.
So important that I would remember
how he moved,
as important as a red wheelbarrow,
or a player on a stage,
he raised his wings
and made that poking motion at the ground and
he was important,
not just another bird,
noticed by just another person
because there is no such thing as
just another bird
or just another person.
There is only one bird
only one
person.

and yet I pause in this twilight moment to ponder

was this the same bird
let loose above the streets of paris
in ’45

or the same bird who called to chopin
there is only one bird,
one person

and we paused, that bird and I

we paused to
notice each other and then, like good soldiers
we continued on to
our
jobs

bird poem- David Michael Jackson  2005  editors@artvilla.com

You may also like my shoes poem

***

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

SONGBIRD

And where shall we go, then
when all of the options are taken, when
all of the dreams are used up in the morning
of our discontent
And where shall we go then
when we refuse to hope
(for we have to refuse
the eternal hope) to
condemn ourselves to
the hell of
no hope.
Shall we turn then,
turn the turnstill
and get on the bus
to hell,
we shall lie down then
in the morning
of our discontent
and sleep the sleep again
which brings the new dreams
for
I cannot tell you
No
I will not tell you
of the death of hope
I will not tell you
of the birth of despair
though my hands may shrivel
and the sores may ravage me, I
will try to stand when I cannot stand
I will try to sing when I have no voice
I cannot laugh when there is only sorrow in front of me
and
I cannot cry tears of joy when all is gone
I can only hold this pen and write these words for
you
I can do no more
no words can replace the song of just one
songbird in the morning of our discontent
So
I say to you
be that songbird

Songbird – David Michael Jackson 2009
This songbird poem is reprinted from David Michael Jackson at Motherbird.com

SELF

So I said to myself
Self

Where is this leading

this living

this being

where is this leading I asked in a moment

of weakness

in a moment of pure futility

maybe the only pure thing I’ve

ever

known

as pure and as cold as the

mountain stream this futility

and I have made me a home in it

a warm home with a

fire

where I can burn my moments

and watch the smoke rise up from them

to heaven.

– david michael jackson 2009

Fireflies

fireflies
we are
you and I
a sparkle over there
here
now there
how can we hope for more when
the stars
are
fireflies
too
these mighty suns
burning in the eternal night
a night which will be there
when stars are
gone
as gone as the children
of war
these children deserved more
than those majestic
meaningless
stars
the children of war deserve more
than some unknown poet
can give them
I am the same as them
You are the same as them
greater than mere stars,
galaxies
what galaxy can equal one
child

fireflies poem david michael jackson 1999