Posts Tagged ‘Old Stuff

18
Nov
10

fragment (4/11/10)

Every day,

As I slide the key

Into the ignition

To drive

Away,

My  mind

Stays

Home

With them

And her,

As she sleeps

Finally

During the day-

No longer at night-

Squirming,

Squealing,

Searching for a nipple.

 

(originally recorded as voice memo while driving to work- 4/11/10)

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

17
Aug
08

February 1, 1990

My mind

Is running around

Loose of its roots.

Bouncing off the walls of my head.

Strange how it seems to be all alone,

But I know that something else runs around in there.

Maybe that is why my mind runs so,

If it stops moving

Maybe this other thing

In my head

Will catch it and eat it…

Every soft juicy morsel of my mind

As if it were a well cooked crustacean,

Being devoured by a hungry old man.

Strange how it runs…

17
Aug
08

Pay stub poem- 3/21/90

This poem was written on the back of a paycheck stub ($5.15/hr) because when the poem came to me, I had nothing else to write on. A friend of mine later turned it into a song and used to perform it at open mic performances.

Paystub poem- 3/21/90

Paystub poem- 3/21/90

The bottom of the check stub, below the poem, has two magazines I sent the poem to… both politely declined to print it.

For those who can’t read the terrible handwriting, here’s the poem-

She turned to walk away

And she couldn’t see

The tears in his eyes

Or the pain in his soul.

It was the longest walk

She would ever take,

As she crossed the room

To the door.

He was blind

To the swelling

Hurt in her breaking heart,

So they were both

Ignoring the other’s burden,

Failing to see

Any other side.

He felt his heart beating in his hands

And when he opened them

He found nothing but cool emptiness,

As tears streamed down his face.

She couldn’t see my pain

And I refused hers

Because I was blind

To everything but my own loneliness.

17
Aug
08

July 17, 1989

The first poem in the first dedicated writing journal I created. The title of that first book; Thoughts and Verse- The Beginning of the End.
July 17, 1989

July 17, 1989

You almost can’t tell I was only 19 when I wrote that. Almost.

16
Aug
08

unfinished bits

Several thousand feet

Below

And many miles

Behind,

A woman

Sleeps

Alone in her bed

While I

Yearn

To occupy

That space

In her

Bed

And in her

Life.

As the miles

Stretch out

Behind and below,

The desire

Grows

And the sweet melancholy

Increases.

I will

Dream

Of her

As I sleep

And will

Think

Of her

While awake.

Such delicate

And sweet

Longing

Is a gift

That I cherish

As much

As each

Memory

Of each

Touch.

Such joy

From such sadness

Leaves my heart

Sailing.

****

I know

I’ll be dreaming

Of her

Again.

Her slender

Tiny neck,

Her long

Black hair,

How her eyes

Shine

From behind her glasses

And the way

Her upper lip

Curls

To show her teeth

When she smiles.

Her dark eyes

Sparkle

With amazing depth

And intensity

When we speak-

Her eyes

Locked to mine.

When my

Mind

Drifts into sleep,

I know I will

Dream

Of her

Hands

Holding mine,

Or possibly

Just holding

Her

In my arms

And smelling

Her hair.

I know

She will

Occupy

My thoughts

Each time

My mind

Wanders

Away

From me.

Her spell

Has been cast

And I am

Her willing victim,

Her happy slave,

The one

Who will

Hold her

In their every spare thought.

****

Just as I

Thought,

I dreamed

Of her

Again.

Sweetly,

My thoughts

Were

Of her

And myself

Embracing

And sharing

Life.

Sweetly.

Innocently.

Beautifully.

She has

Taken over

My thoughts,

Both waking

And asleep.

Such sweetness

And gentleness

Can do nothing

But become

Unstoppable.

I have been

Devoured

By her.

Happily.

Timothy Vance Jackson

(While flying from Taiwan to California.)

16
Aug
08

Just outside the window

This one that I wrote a number of years ago. I was fascinated by a dysfunctional streetlight outside my apartment. Many nights I sat on my porch, smoking a cigar and having a Scotch or a glass of red wine/ port just watching the light fade in and out of productivity. I related to it- possibly a bit too much.

Just outside the window

Of our small apartment

Glows our dysfunctional streetlight.

It starts with a dull glow

Of the filament,

Just barely visible,

But not casting any light

That could be used.

Then it snaps

Brightly

With a bright blue-white

Light,

That quickly fades

To a duller golden-yellow

To match the light

On the opposite corner.

Once it has reached

The perfect copy,

Seemingly its perfection,

It shuts off

Leaving

Just the slightest

Glow

Of the filament

To remain visible

In the darkness.

To return again and again.

Its cousin across the street

Stays the same color

From the time the sun

Says farewell

And then returns.

In my moments

Of diminished appreciation

I consider reporting

To the city

That the light is a danger

And should be replaced,

But I’m ultimately

Convinced

That I would miss

My periodic light,

Once replaced

By a constant glow.

I don’t know

If I could forgive myself

For replacing

Constant effort

With constant success.

Our light

Is only bright

For a minute or two

Before cutting off

And starting over

Again,

But it never stops

Trying.

All night

Through the darkness,

It has constant success

For only a moment.

I relate to our light

More than the arrogant

Over achiever across the street.

I have to remind my self

That some success

Is better

Than none,

Even if only

For a moment.

Timothy Vance Jackson

July 7, 2001

16
Aug
08

I Need

This is one that I wrote a few years ago- it’s nothing exceptional, but it sets a tone in this early stage of things.

Going back over these older poems is also cathartic. Moving forward and growing and accepting the emotional character that I am… some might call it progress.

I need

Some sleep

And to curl

Up

Naked

Behind my wife

And feel her

And sleep

Peacefully.

That’s all I want

Right now

Because I can’t

Pay my bills

Tonight

Or find a new job

Tonight.

But,

I can

Go home

And hold

My wife

In my arms.

Timothy Vance Jackson

April 11, 2002




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