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

Welder Poems | Songs | Verse about Welding

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Fee diddly dee, a welder’s life for me
A box of rods
A welding screen
A pair of gloves to keep me clean
Fee diddly dee, I’m appy as can be.

2nd verse
Fee diddly dee, a welder’s life for me
A spotty hat
A blue cravat
Look at the gap, I’m not welding that!
Fee diddly dee, I’m home at half past three!

Another:

Tell me, tell me learned elder,
How may I become a welder?

Let me be an honest toiler,
Let me only weld a boiler.

My imagination boggles
At the glory of the goggles,

Welding mild and welding stainless,
Welding welding, ever painless,

Firmly held in jigs and fixtures,
Nobly fluxed with cunning mixtures…….from Welding poems

Welder in Murfeesborohttps://www.murfreesborowelding.com/

Steel Sculpture

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Napier-22

Napier-222

Napier-2222

Daniel Napier Steel Sculptures

Daniel Napier is an U.S. Air Force Veteran of the Gulf war who resides and works with steel in Nashville, Tennessee. We will be presenting the steel and metal art by Daniel as it appears. We seek gallery representation and art contacts for Artvilla artists. To contact Daniel or any artist at Artvilla, contact editors@artvilla.com or contact the artist directly.

First published at Artvilla.

Visit Daniel’s site here

Rich Man Don’t Pay Poem

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Rich man and the company don’t pay
but they get to have a say
and the snake oil man
is in the FDA
and the car man
is in the EPA
and there’s a party for you and me
in the national parks
with the D O E
Forget the roads and the bridges too
We’ve got too much work to do.
Planes and tanks they don’t come cheap
Your freedom is there for us to keep
Pay the bill at the hospital
and don’t complain how business is run
You must give your flag your all
and you can keep your gun

…..david michael jackson

Plumbing Poem | Woes and Septic Poems

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water poem

There I was
under the house again
crawling in water
toward a tiny stream,
a small waterfall
between a crawlspace and a wet hell,
because the commode is a water devil.
Feed me water, it says,
or take a ride to a gas station, friend!

I approach the leak,
crawling in a leak creek,
avoiding the call to the plumber,
between a crawlspace and a wet hell,
dragging my wet tools minus the one I need,
minus the one tool the plumber know that he needs,
or she, should she also be
crawling between a crawlspace and a wet hell
with the tool that
I don’t have.

I approach the leak,
which only drips at me now,
I approach with my vast knowledge gained from
minutes of watching videos, with my
shark bites, my compression fittings,
my torch, my solder, my flux,
minus that tool I missed in the video.

“Blast ye Gods of human plumbing distress I cry!”
as I turn wet and humbled,
as I drag myself
toward that small rectangular hole
at the end of a long dark wet
crawl, hoping nothing is moving ahead of me.
“Who needs a plumber!”
I call as I emerge
flat on my back exhausted in the sunshine,
and hear the words,
“I need to go to the bathroom.”

________________________________________________

First published as Plumber Poem by David Michael Jackson 2019
________________________________________________

Plumber Clarksville https://macplumbing.com/

Paul Klee Poems | Poem to Klee

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Once Emerged from the Gray of Night, 1918 by Paul Klee from PaulKlee.net

Poems by Paul Klee

Poem to Klee by David Michael Jackson

A poem for thee
my dear Mr. Klee
a poem for the music,
a poem for the art,
a poem for the poems,
Klee.
The sunset comes in poems of color
in notes of light
for they are the same
these colors,
these words,
these notes.
They are all the music from the church on Sunday
flowing from an old wooden building
where ladies wear ribbons
and the preacher’s words put old men to sleep as the children shuffle.
We are all in the grass, crawling toward the farmhouse.
We are the women speaking of Michelangelo.
We are the music that makes you slow down to see which garage it came from.
We are the child playing in the dirt,
my poet Klee,
my musician Klee,
my artist Klee,
and me.

by David Michael Jackson…..12/01/2019

Paul Klee Documentaries

On Overcoming Fear | Poem by David Michael Jackson

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On overcoming fear
under avenues
beneath dirt roads,
gravel roads,
tended by eternal chain gangs,
bursting into consciousness like,
a hazy memory of toil and sweat
put into words
and cast like a cane pole
catching the trees
and left there
hanging in the past,
a carpenter’s plumb
pointing to the earth.
On overcoming fear
for the future
growing like a weed
beneath the plumb
as it sways
in the wind
I do not know what I mean
I do not know what I mean
I fear what I mean may not be here,
may be poorly said,
the meanderings of a fool.
I must overcome the fear of being a fool right here
right now
and go ahead and be that fool
right here
right now
It’s so much more noble than the fear.
Striking out beats not going up to bat.

Judgement Day Poem

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Judgement day poem by David Michael Jackson

This way please.
The light had been so bright
when he entered the room.
He could smell a hint of sulphur
and a faint smell of lavender.
The receptionist was typing
on an old typewriter,
and an ancient dot matrix printer
made a sound like gravel
falling on concrete
as paper spewed out.
She paused and pulled the sheet
from the machine,
laid it in front of me,
“Sign here.”
The form had headings,
sins admitted,
sins denied,
lies,
arguments won,
arguments lost,
arguments lost on purpose,
smiles,
frowns,
thankyous,
forgives,
praises.

I signed.

The pen made a scratching
sound on the paper.
The printer spit out duplicates.
She tore the top one off,
handed it to me,
“Door Number Two.”

Judgement day poem…..October 2019….David Michael Jackson

Hairbrush Poem

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Where is the hairbrush
where are the keys
where is my heart
my soul
my yearning for a soul
Where is the hairbrush
keeper of lost hairs
clinging to the bristles
with my dna
the proof that I was here
now
in this moment
with only you to read me
meandering on about my hairbrush
meandering on about life
as an observer
an imperfect camera.
The tree falls in the forest
without a sound
The hairbrush does not exist now
It will exist for a moment
when I find it.
It is in the other room
which doesn’t exist now
but will spring to life
when I enter
looking for the
hairbrush.

………Originally published at Artvilla

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