Balloon Poem by David Michael Jackson

balloon poem

I’m pushed into the side of a giant balloon.
I can see into the balloon.
There is a screen and some hands,
typing.
Behind me is reality,
but the balloon moves fast.
If I turn, the balloon turns.
I can run into
the other room.
It’s there,
inside the balloon.
I can see these hands typing.
They are my hands
pushing into the balloon.
There are others.
They are pressed into the side.
I can see the impression
of their faces, speaking.
If I hold my ear to the side of the balloon,
I can hear them.
They say to get real.

God is an Artist, You See | Poem by David Michael Jackson

god is an artist
Phish
Oil on Canvas by Haleigh Morphis

 

God is an artist, you see

 

God is an artist, you see,

or rather you don’t see.

She draws people but He

cannot draw so well and

all of Her people

end up looking different and

He knows other Gods who can draw better and

their people all look alike and

She’s frustrated but He keeps trying

and She’s hoping

That He’ll get it right

someday.

Paul Klee Poems | Poem to Klee


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

Judgement Day Poem


 

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

Famous Among the Barn and Shed

Portrait-of-Jackson-unfinished
Portrait-of-Jackson-unfinished…Kyle Baker

Hello is anybody there are you listening at all what the hell’s wrong with you people, so the world is going crazy, it really is, it’s going crazy it can be and there’s nothing that you can do to stop it, I guess.

When I was born it wasn’t easier, even as the baby. The umbilical cord was still attached to me when I looked around I noticed that somebody was slapping me, and he turned out to be the doctor and he was holding me upside down. I was buck naked with everybody in that room looking at me, upside down and all.

It was certainly an ignominious beginning. It was November. They brought me home, put me in front of a coal stove, opened it up with the metal handle and threw some coal in it, smoke spit out and you could hear the coal in there cracking. That stuff was liable to crack and pop and knock a little piece of burning coal across the room. That stove would be red hot in the middle of the room, a wooden room, with newspapers glued to the wall. At about 2 AM, there would be no heat.

Well I guess since I’m talking to you, you might as well be listening, because everybody’s life is important, even mine, starting there in that little three room house with that fake brick asphalt siding . It was a little building my daddy got from Fort Campbell Kentucky. Three rooms, no water, no bathroom.

No bathroom was quite common back then. I can remember when going to school, there would be a role of outhouses all painted white and clean outside, go inside and there’d be the smell of lime. It wasn’t all that unsanitary at all, when it was done right. But the outhouse behind the little shack, or around most of the farmhouses, was a different story. You had to watch yourself in there. There is no telling what sort of critter could be in there with you, or looking up at you, so to speak. It was a cold run to the outhouse in the winter.

Well they brought me home that little three room house with the wooden porch and outhouse. I spent my young years playing in the dirt beneath the maple tree. Toys were scarce, you had to make your own. A horse was a tobacco stick with some twine. My leg I would sling high as I dismounted my horse and I would tie him to the post of the porch.

Those were my Dylan Thomas days as I was famous among the barn and shed.

 

David Michael Jackson

Bowing Poem

bowing poem

and the people
with faces
come and go
speaking of great men.
Who bowed to whom
in whose room
and when?

….david michael jackson

When We Win Poem

Dove of Peace- Pablo Picasso

When
every child is armed
with an automatic weapon
in
Afghanistan,
in America,
is that when we win?
What do we win?
A cry for peace is just a cry
a dove is just a dove
I cry for peace

Probation Man Blues by David Michael Jackson

Nothing has changed
A new take on the song
doesn’t change anything.
It’s the quiet of my
voice
singing
just above the wind
…………………David Michael Jackson

 

 

Oh Mr. Probation man
I’ll tell you what it’s all about.
Them overdraft people
they done cleaned me out.
an’ I can’t pay to give you
no pee at all
in the Probation Company
bathroom stall.

I know my bill
is now overdue
and lock me up is what you
said you would do.
Oh Mr Probation Man
Don’t take me back to jail.
My babies need food.
I can’t make the bail

When the Company Prison
they let me go
they said I still had
my debt with you.
I got them beggin’
beggin’ the probation man blues.
Oh they say that crime,
crime don’t pay
but it seems to do
pretty well by you.

Stone by stone we’ve built
this house of pain
Oh please don’t take me
to jail again
Oh I don’t know
I don’t know what I’ll do.
I got them probation man
Them probation man blues.