The Sky is Falling Poem

the sky is falling

…..the sky is falling…..
there are blue
chunks in my yard
pieces of clouds are
on the trees
like gossamer
like cotton sheets
blowing in the wind
and if I look really closely
I can see my mother
with clothes pins in her mouth

and she’s hanging these

clouds and she’s


david michael jackson

And Where Have You Been I Said

And where have you been
chasing rainbows or chasing
and where have you been
as the grass turns green
and she asks
are the flowers
and where have you been
calmer days always led to pastures
not to roads
to streams not to skyscrapers
calmer days were maybe not so calm
and I am not so young
and I am not too old
to pick flowers for her

david michael jackson

Change the Channel This is Too Much Poem

Changed channel,
It was clear the head was missing from the body
as it floated in the first shot of the show.
It was clear the stump was bloody.
Closeup of the bloody stump,
flash to handsome cop,
“I guess he must have lost his head.”,
Lifts shoulders,
close-up of giant dripping multiple stab wounds in back,
Flash to pretty girl cop,
“That’s from an assault knife”.
To lab
lift sheet, show stump.

Changed channel, this is too much!

Flash to pretty Forensic lady

holding hand of corpse,

gnarly gross hand.

pretty forensic lady grabs snips

cuts off  finger.

Changed the channel this is too much!

Report of kids being shot.



Blueberry Muffin Poem by David Michael Jackson


A Blueberry Muffin Poem

Blueberry muffins don’t have to have blueberries
The word blueberry is a marketing term for a product
you see
the blueberries you may remember
were in the muffins baked by your grandmother
a person
today’s blueberry muffins are baked by a corporation
a person,
except this person thinks propylene glycol is
a blueberry


The Real Bears

But now sugary drinks are the number one source of calories in the American diet.
With one third of America overweight and another third obese, it’s a wonder
anyone is still swallowing what the soda companies are selling.

Poem to Dave Brubeck


You wrote poems to me
we had conversations
without ever speaking
You didn’t know me
I knew you
Some fans sit quietly,
leave quietly
but know they have heard you speak
in words called notes
which weave an improvised tale
like this improvised poem
up and down
volume and timbre.
It is the timbre of your life sir
that is the timber of jazz.


Dave Brubeck Interview The Dave Brubeck Quartet and Ralph J. Gleason.


timbre…..n. In acoustics, that characteristic quality of sounds produced from some particular source, as from an instrument or a voice, by which they are distinguished from sounds from other sources, as from other instruments or other voices

poem by David Michael Jackson

Random Videos

[tubepress output=”searchInput”]
[tubepress output=”searchResults” searchResultsOnly=”true” searchProvider=”youtube” resultsPerPage=”20″ orderBy=”title” perPageSort=”random” embeddedHeight=”400″ embeddedWidth=”623″]
Surprise me! Random searches are fun for full movies and concerts. Great for random selections on any search.

Share Tubegle the Video Searh Engine
Share Tubegle the Video Searh Engine

Longest Duration Videos

[tubepress output=”searchInput”]
[tubepress output=”searchResults” searchResultsOnly=”true” searchProvider=”youtube” resultsPerPage=”20″ orderBy=”title” perPageSort=”duration” embeddedHeight=”400″ embeddedWidth=”623″]
Sometimes it’s useful to weed out the clips and get to the longer videos. This is a great search for full movies and concerts.

share Tubegle the Video Search Engine-02
Share Tubegle the Video Search Engine

Highest Rated Videos

[tubepress output=”searchInput”]

[tubepress output=”searchResults” searchResultsOnly=”true” searchProvider=”youtube” resultsPerPage=”20″ orderBy=”title” perPageSort=”rating” embeddedHeight=”400″ embeddedWidth=”623″]

Are they right, wrong or indifferent. Some have discerning tastes and rate things. These are the highest rated videos

share Tubegle the Video Search Engine-02
Share Tubegle the Video Search Engine

Neighborhood Schools and My Bicycle

neighborhood schools

The bicycle knows
names like
neighborhood schools
say neighborhood
mean segregation
The bicycle rides the roads
the bicycle rides smooth roads
in white neighborhoods
rough roads in black

the bicycle sees
neighborhood roads


Want your road paved?

Make enough to avoid taxes

then my bicycle

can ride your road


can I?


My bicycle and I travel the roads in my county. The roads in the rich communities are beautiful and smooth and newly paved as I write this. The richer neighborhoods have twice to three times as many publicly built street lamps and publicly built sidewalks as the poor neighborhoods. Bicycles love smooth roads, the rich have those. I just wonder when I ride these perfect neighborhoods why do they get more of the tax funds than neighborhoods that may pay more taxes? Why do the rich want to pay less and get more. Are they against government and first in line to call about their roads and best at getting the benefits of government?
My bicycle knows about “Neighborhood Roads”.

My bicycle and I know exactly what “Neighborhood Schools” means. I grew up riding a school bus in the south. We passed the “Neighborhood School” for the blacks every day. There was no grass in the yard and the county didn’t even paint the building. I saw neighborhood schools. I was a little child but I knew something was wrong with what I saw out of that window. What I saw was the same thing my bicycle saw.

Bogota Bus Poem by Dandelion De La Rue

Bogota Bus

Solemn saints and
careening through
chaotic streets
of early
morning dimness
getting me
to work on time
only slightly bruised
and only slightly sane.

The man beside me
sleeps, snoring
to the music of the radio
music fast and loud
surreal morning
as we speed by
shuttered shops
and blanket covered
sidewalk shapes.

A man sells
magic bracelets
to protect us from
the evil emanating
from computer screens.
A singer climbs aboard
and sings a love song
blending with the
snores and radio.

I’ve never seen
a robot
on the bus.
They take a taxi
or a private car
fearing damage
to their rivets,
or rust perhaps
from other people’s

I Am Not So Good But I Try

I am not so good
but I try
we all try
we are happy when we move,
when we dance,
when we sing,
when we see birds fly
and bees
when we see
the children of the animals
and the people play,
when we play
we are happy when
we stand in the doorway
and the light from outside
shines in our eyes

we a le a we a le a

let the peace make us happy
let the peace allow the silence
of our thoughts, the
symphony of silent joy

we a le a we a le a

The mermaids sing
the mermaids call
we a le a we a le a

david michael jackson

Mouse in a Hole

I’m a mouse in a hole
pretending divinity

a heaven would need animals
and plants
My heaven would need a mouse.

Carl Sagan said that the trees and plants
are genetically and organically like us,
that they use the same organic compounds

that life began before there was an atmosphere
life created the atmosphere

life began with organic compounds
created by lightning

We have so much

The universe has been here for
fourteen billion years and
that is a grain of sand…
take a hundred billion of those
and that is a grain of sand

We’ll see each other in a few
universe explosions
and it will seem as if
it were a second
we’ll look at the two suns and
three moons like they were
always there
and the mouse and the plants will be in our heaven

david michael jackson

Jack of Hearts Queen of Hearts Jack of Spades Poem by Phil Coyote

by Phil Coyote
The Jack of Hearts
who gave us new starts
had his brain blown away in Dallas’ Dealey Plaza
as the whole world watched
by television.
The Queen of Hearts
who unchained hearts
rode the pure white steed
went downstairs to buy some cigarettes
and went back up to her room
and breathed her last breath
of LA’s smog
so says our Pravda.
The Jack of Spades
who gave electric, life changing serenades
and freed the slaves
mixed pills and wine
and left for all time
in a London ambulance
choked to death.
The Lizard King
who could do anything
and change your mind
when he’d sing
rode the pure white steed
that he never, ever would heed
and found his only friend
the end
in a bathtub
in the City of Lights
The walrus who everyone knew
like a Jesus Jew
who’d help you to do what’s true
was shot by an intelligentsia sleeper
in the Big Apple
another Casualty In America