What is your dream?
You have to follow that.
That is what is important,
it’s not education,
it’s not job,
it’s the dream.
It’s something to fall asleep with
every night of your life.
A life which matters
only through love and dreams.
My dream is this.
Today I did this toward my dream.
Now I can sleep
a poet’s sleep
David Jackson
Devil in the Red Suit Collecting the Rent by John Horvath Jr
COLLECTING THE RENT
Devil himself along the red clay unpaved road
comes in a red suit bright as the sun of March
up onto the porch to ask directions; so many lost souls
in some parts obscure the reasons for being
in the first place there–accidents of birth, some say;
others claim that fate or destiny will work that way
Work is what it is. Lost souls damned to the mornings
of waking to it and condemned to the long hot middays
of it returning at night to curse the momentum of days
of it sleep resting from it day-to-day unchanged works
on the soul ’til Sunday frenzy of loafing on a frontporch.
Then the devil himself in his damned red suit asks after
so-and-so or his son, the woman or her daughter never,
or almost never, for some reason. He comes asking
directions and they never know where nor heard tell
of him except he might be up the road a piece might well
have died in his sleep a year ago alone in his shack; hell,
aint it a mite late to come for collecting when a man’s bone
that ought to be in the ground by now fretting the worms
just goes to dust in his bed, the meaning of dead-tired.
But come to think on it, not that fellow you want but Jack.
I do think ’tis Jack. Jack you want. Fellow with all yellow
hair comes round the field to count bushel-at-a-dollar;
Old dollar-bushel Jack, he’s who you oughts go after.
They laugh up their sleeves as the sun goes down on the fellow
along the red clay unpaved road walking then they go to their
beds with their dark faces wrinkled in dark thought: who’s next.
They wake surprised to bright red sun of the morning next
to the women who will send that devil in the red suit
along the road back to their shack. Lord, I aint next.
But will be soon. And each knows it: Work’s what it is.
Cruelty to Animals Poem
Have we excluded these animals
from our cruelty laws,
the cow
the pig
the chicken?
When did we excluded these animals
from our laws?
Is it okay to be cruel to these animals if
it’s
business?
Is it okay to be cruel to these animals
since we
eat them?
This poem cries for chickens
crowded together like
products,
on a line.
This poem cries for cows
crowded together like
merchandise.
This poem cries for pigs
crowded together in
concentration camps.
This poem cries for man
an aside…..when the “aliens” did the same thing to humans, we called it a “horror movie”. When we treat our fellow creatures horribly by making them live elbow to elbow their whole lives until they bite each other’s tails, then we lose. When did we lose our humanity? Was it when we became “business people.” or just urban enough to only see a chicken in the grocery store?
david michael jackson May 10, 2012 editors@artvilla.com
Mothers Day Poem
Mothers Day Poem
For my mother Maria Jackson Taggart 1926-2011
oh Mother oh mother oh mother
this day this day this day
this day is your day.
You gave every day to me.
You held my little hand.
You wiped my little nose and butt.
You took up for me.
You said,
Don’t ask for my pity
You said,
Don’t use that word,
don’t ever use that word.
You said,
Those people are okay.
You said
You can be anything
you want to be.
You said
That’s my child and
you better back off
You said
“I love you”
again and again and again
until I knew it.
Oh mother oh mother oh mother
This day
and all my days
are yours.
Read about the happy mother’s day tradition at Gypsy
More David Michael Jackson Poetry
david michael jackson May 9, 2012 editors@artvilla.com
Spring Is by Edy Lou Benjamin
Spring Is
brilliant & tender
intelligent & humble
heavenly music brought to earth
by mozarts & such
davids & elfkins
a young man
declaring his love for an old woman
an old woman
wid ol’ woman smile
remembering
Spring
Owl Poem for Kids
Owl Poem with Warthogs
Wee Willie was a warthog
he warted and hogged the whole day
and at night Wee Willie turned into
a great horned owl and
flew and flew
all night long.
The owl’s name was Ollie the Owl
and Ollie perched in the highest tree
and waited for the sunrise.
Warthogs and owls
don’t know that I know
their little
secret.
I am a man in the day and when I sleep I
fly with Ollie
Oh Wee Willie
Oh Wee Willie
Do you sleep when Ollie
flies?
Oh Ollie Oh Ollie
I’ll meet you when
the sun falls behind the
mouse’s
house.
david michael jackson April 21, 2012 editors@artvilla.com
If the kids liked the Owl poem they may like my rabbit poem
Cinco De Mayo Y La Puebla Poem
Cinco de Mayo de La Puebla Poem
Amigos
Gracias por la batalla de Puebla
Thank you for our freedom
Strike up the band
Break out the smiles and banners
and dance dance dance
let the skirts fly high
let the men stomp the ground and shout
Bravo
Cinco de Mayo
Bravo Cinco De Mayo
Gracias amigos
Gracias
Por nuestra libertad.
david michael jackson May 5, 2012
This Day
This Day
This day this day this day
the sun the sun will shine
this day this day this day
my love will be mine
oh write for me a sonnet
oh write for me a book
oh slip the bonds of caring
into the cranny nook
oh let me be the one
the one who does not weave
the thread of discontent
with the words I leave
