poems of peace and love

Dandelion

by

What I’m looking for

 

They always say

they hope I find

what I am

looking for,

and then I laugh

and walk away.

 

I look for nothing

everything

 

I look for those

who soar and wander,

through the hidden doors

and down the paths

that don’t exist

 

I look

for weeds on

pampered lawns

 

I look

for dandelions

unhindered,

even loved.

 

Dandelion de la Rue  May 29, 2012

Follow Your Dream

by

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

Devil in the Red Suit Collecting the Rent by John Horvath Jr

by

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.

– John Horváth Jr

Cruelty to Animals Poem

by

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

by
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

Owl Poem for Kids

by

owl poems

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

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