David Jackson

"Jackson" aka “David Michael Jackson" is an engineer, an artist, a poet and musician. I'm him. Some internet guy. I am an internet publisher of Artvilla.com and Motherbird.com ...... His art can be rescued at Original art for sale by artist...... Contact me about art poetry and music and YOU.....This site is not about me......It's about the fine work my dear departed friend, Summer Breeze did for poetry and peace, which I'm trying to continue, for as long as some semblance of freedom and peace exist..... namaste

I met a seer Poem

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I met a seer | Poem by Stephen Crane

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I met a seer.

He held in his hands
The book of wisdom.

“Sir,” I addressed him,
“Let me read.
“
“Child — ” he began.

“Sir,” I said,
“Think not that I am a child,
For already I know much
Of that which you hold.

Aye, much.
“

He smiled.

Then he opened the book
And held it before me.
—
Strange that I should have grown so suddenly blind.

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Stephen Crane – Poet | Academy of American Poets

Stephen Crane – Wikipedia

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I Love The Naked Ages Long Ago Poem

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I Love The Naked Ages Long Ago | Poem by Charles Baudelaire

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I love the naked ages long ago
When statues were gilded by Apollo,
When men and women of agility
Could play without lies and anxiety,
And the sky lovingly caressed their spines,
As it exercised its noble machine.

Fertile Cybele, mother of nature, then,
Would not place on her daughters a burden,
But, she-wolf sharing her heart with the people,
Would feed creation from her brown nipples.

Men, elegant and strong, would have the right
To be proud to have beauty named their king;
Virgin fruit free of blemish and cracking,
Whose flesh smooth and firm would summon a bite!
The Poet today, when he would convey
This native grandeur, would not be swept away
By man free and woman natural,
But would feel darkness envelop his soul
Before this black tableau full of loathing.

O malformed monsters crying for clothing!
O ludicrous heads! Torsos needing disguise!
O poor writhing bodies of every wrong size,
Children that the god of the Useful swaths
In the language of bronze and brass!
And women, alas! You shadow your heredity,
You gnaw nourishment from debauchery,
A virgin holds maternal lechery
And all the horrors of fecundity!

We have, it is true, corrupt nations,
Beauty unknown to the radiant ancients:
Faces that gnaw through the heart’s cankers,
And talk with the cool beauty of languor;
But these inventions of our backward muses
Are never hindered in their morbid uses
Of the old for profound homage to youth,
?To the young saint, the sweet air, the simple truth,
To the eye as limpid as the water current,
To spread out over all, insouciant
Like the blue sky, the birds and the flowers,
Its perfumes, its songs and its sweet fervors.

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Charles Baudelaire – Poet | Academy of American Poets

Charles Baudelaire – Wikipedia

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I looked here Poem

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I looked here | Poem by Stephen Crane

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I looked here;
I looked there;
Nowhere could I see my love.

And — this time —
She was in my heart.

Truly, then, I have no complaint,
For though she be fair and fairer,
She is none so fair as she
In my heart.

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Stephen Crane – Poet | Academy of American Poets

Stephen Crane – Wikipedia

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CONTEMPLATION Poem

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CONTEMPLATION | Poem by Charles Baudelaire

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THOU, O my Grief, be wise and tranquil still,
The eve is thine which even now drops down,
To carry peace or care to human will,
And in a misty veil enfolds the town.

While the vile mortals of the multitude,
By pleasure, cruel tormentor, goaded on,
Gather remorseful blossoms in light mood–
Grief, place thy hand in mine, let us be gone

Far from them.
Lo, see how the vanished years,
In robes outworn lean over heaven’s rim;
And from the water, smiling through her tears,

Remorse arises, and the sun grows dim;
And in the east, her long shroud trailing light,
List, O my grief, the gentle steps of Night.

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Charles Baudelaire – Poet | Academy of American Poets

Charles Baudelaire – Wikipedia

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Change Upon Change Poem

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Change Upon Change | Poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

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Five months ago the stream did flow,
The lilies bloomed within the sedge,
And we were lingering to and fro,
Where none will track thee in this snow,
Along the stream, beside the hedge.

Ah, Sweet, be free to love and go!
For if I do not hear thy foot,
The frozen river is as mute,
The flowers have dried down to the root:
And why, since these be changed since May,
Shouldst thou change less than they.

And slow, slow as the winter snow
The tears have drifted to mine eyes;
And my poor cheeks, five months ago
Set blushing at thy praises so,
Put paleness on for a disguise.

Ah, Sweet, be free to praise and go!
For if my face is turned too pale,
It was thine oath that first did fail, —
It was thy love proved false and frail, —
And why, since these be changed enow,
Should I change less than thou.

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Elizabeth Barrett Browning – Poet | Academy of American Poets

Elizabeth Barrett Browning – Wikipedia

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Black riders came from the sea Poem

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Black riders came from the sea | Poem by Stephen Crane

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Black riders came from the sea.

There was clang and clang of spear and shield,
And clash and clash of hoof and heel,
Wild shouts and the wave of hair
In the rush upon the wind:
Thus the ride of sin.

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Stephen Crane – Poet | Academy of American Poets

Stephen Crane – Wikipedia

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A Time to Talk Poem

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A Time to Talk | Poem by Robert Frost

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When a friend calls to me from the road
And slows his horse to a meaning walk,
I don’t stand still and look around
On all the hills I haven’t hoed,
And shout from where I am, ‘What is it?’
No, not as there is a time talk.

I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground,
Blade-end up and five feet tall,
And plod: I go up to the stone wall
For a friendly visit.

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Robert Frost – Poet | Academy of American Poets

Robert Frost – Wikipedia

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One Scheduled Poem

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This world where
hippies and blacks
are locked up
was planned
fifty years ago
………..to make votes not count.

All the children are quiet

None will say
they ate the medicine
because they like
hippies and blacks ,
locked up,
so they are quiet
as their children die
from real drug dealers who
smile as
the hippies and blacks
the hippies and blacks
are locked up
while they count the money
and smoke big cigars
at the club
and win the elections

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