Four letter word

Fear

Is another

Four letter word

Beginning with F.

Just like

The other,

It can

Leave you

Shaking

In a mass

Of tangled limbs

And sweaty

Breathlessness.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

September 28, 2011

Unfinished fragment

She’s only

Been on the outside

With us

For seven short months,

Yet

Our lives

Have been changed

Enough

To no longer

Remember

An Us

Without a Her.

She’s grown to a size

Much larger than her

Length or weight

And has filled

Us

And our world

With her.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

November 8, 2010

Still

I can still

Feel

The cool air

Against my cheeks,

As if

I was still sitting outside,

Still smoking

My last cigar,

Still drinking

My glass of wine,

Still

Breathing

In

And still dreaming

Of the words

To describe

All of the unsettled.

Timothy Vance Jackson

November 21, 2009

Rest

Feeling the need

To unplug

From it all

And disappear

For just a bit-

Long enough

To find myself

Again.

The daily fights

And power struggles,

Have left me

Drained

And lifeless,

Wondering

Why.

I need a rest

And to quiet

The voices

Of disagreement

And discontent.

It’s time

To drink in

The happiness

That I have

Had to let go of

In order

To hold my sword

And my shield.

My arms are tired

And the battle is

Too long

To hold

My attention

Any longer.

Timothy Vance Jackson

August 22, 2009

Breathing

The wind is blowing

Through the glass chimes

That were purchased

When my daughter was still an infant

And the glass angel

Caught her eye

And then her fingers

In the local shop.

Allegedly,

We’ll see rain tonight,

In southern California.

The air is damp

With rare humidity

As the chimes clink

And the curtains blow

In and out

Against the window-

As if the apartment

Is breathing

Deep,

Heavy breaths.

Timothy Vance Jackson

August 21. 2009

Been busy…

Been very busy with my travel, so have not had the chance to capture any of the thoughts in my head lately. I did write one poem on the plane though- yes, with fountain pen in my leatherbound writing journal, if you must know.

Tonight when I get back here to the hotel, I will try to get it written down and will also try to write something new. We’ll see how the brain holds up between now and then.

Tim

The apartment down the street.

Outside,

Walking frantically

Down the sidewalk,

A young woman

Cries out

For a lost dog.

“Hudson!”

“HUDSON!“

Tears stream

Down her cheeks

In the dark

As she sobs

For her dog.

Perhaps

Slipped from a leash

Or bolted

Through an open door.

Gone.

Into the hot night.

Out

Onto the streets.

Sniffing freely

With wild-eyed

Carelessness.

Perhaps

He’s always

Wanted

To be

Free

Of her voice,

Of her cries,

Of her care.

Maybe he’s never been

Allowed

To run free

And is now

Drunk

With this moment

Of escape.

She paces

Back and forth,

Up and down

Along the street

Between the apartments

And down the one alley,

“Hudson. Hudson! Hudson, please come home!”

Her cries

Can be heard

From a street away.

But Hudson

Is deaf

To her pleas

As his nostrils

Are filled

With scents

Of friends

He’s yet to meet

And places

He’s yet to go.

Under the streetlight,

On the opposite

Corner

From me,

She sobs

With a flashlight in hand-

The light dancing

On the ground

As her chest heaves

With each crying

Breath.

Somewhere,

Perhaps

In the canyon

Filled with skunks,

Hudson is looking at her too

And thinking

To himself

About going back

To her.

Maybe later

After

The briers

Are in his fur

And stuck to his ears.

Maybe

When the thorns have pierced

His paws

And he is tired

And hungry

And thirsty

For familiarity.

Maybe then

Hudson

Will show up

On the doorstep

Of the apartment

Down the street.

Timothy Vance Jackson

08/16/08