Thank You Mary Jane

Thank you Mary Jane
I’m so glad you and
your sisters
Maria and Juanita
came by.
Certainly
Mario and Juan
are happy
to see buds
like you
and
Maria and Juanita
who were so lovely
in their
green flowers.

The Blog Needs a Poem

The blog needs a poem.
Where’s Jackson?
Get those words,
stack them over here.
You there!
Arrange these words
so that they mean something.

The college is coming.

Here, tack them on the wall.
Rhyme something, fool
but don’t let them catch you
being
sentimental.
The flowers wait:

The blog needs a poem,
read those words.
Do they say peace?
The flowers wait:
Get Jackson in here.
Jackson, I need a catchy ending.
Make it say
peace.
Get those images of the bodies in line
in that ditch.
Pile them up with those words

A Rock that Moves

You just happen to be
a rock that moves,
You are a rock,
Tigger
that became a cat
for awhile,
Sugar Plum,
and you are owned by
this mouse in a cave,
Pookey Bear
and there will be
no trace of you;
you will be vapor,
water vapor,
and I can say you will
flow to the sea.
Oh how trite,
the sea
the trite
meaningless
sea
it cannot
or will not
purr

it’s all absurd

it’s all absurd
most of my choices were absurd also…..
choice of profession….
school….
job….
life,
mostly wrong choices
or right choices…..

it’s all absurd…

the religious cracks are crazy.
The scientists are crazy…

no wisdom is even possible….

existence isn’t even existential?

It’s made up
of the same crazy
wacko
absurd choices.

A dinosaur tripped over a rock
and decided
to kick the rock
and here we are.

To Be Poem

To Be Poem

To Be,
having not been for
so very long.
How long?
How long?
As long as the universe
and as wide
as her eyes
in this
silly
sad world;
and she looks
at the same moon
as I
and she moves her toes in the dirt
connected to the dirt under me.

Moon I say.

Moon,

so orange and blue.

You are a pathetic rock

without her eyes

to see you.

Meaningless Scribbles from a Tiny Universe by David Michael Jackson

It is because
the wind had nothing to say
and the spaces between the words were quiet
for too long
and he wondered if an old man
could have anything to say
that the world wasn’t dew on roses
that life isn’t the edge of the razor
or the razor itself
that the universe could never be empty
so it blew itself up
trying

and the leaves fell off the trees
and the babies all cried
and the snow stopped
and was quiet
and the words flowed again without
finding themselves
or meaning much
but they tried anyway and
threw themselves onto the page
and said
“We’ll be futile scribbles in a meaningless world in a tiny infinite universe.”

To Keep the Wolves Away Poem

It’s good to be back
back in the fold,
in the fold, the sheep listen for the wolf
and stay in the flock
hoping to stay safe
as we all are,
as is the wolf
in the night
creeping along
like me
like the bee said the tree
like the dog said the log
as we log the time
forever waiting for tomorrow
when yesterday went by so fast
and we remember so little
because we are such imperfect cameras,
such imperfect scribes.
It is good to be back, bold
and in the fold hoping
to fit into the flock
and keep the wolves
away.

A Play of Words

A play of words

a simple play with God

with man

with you and I

swirling in the universe

like ripples in the stream

of thought

of words

waiting for

sunshine

in the darkness