Long Jackson Poems
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The woman was crossing at
the Manhattan corner of
Jackson Street and Madison Avenue
when she died.
Her son sued the bus driver
and the City of New York
for running her over;
negligence and
wrongful death.
.
No one saw the woman
until her body was found
on the roadway
thirty five feet from the crossing.
Here's how the experts saw it.
.
The woman was first
knocked to the ground by the bus,
then rolled under the bus' dark body
until she was killed by the right
rear wheel.
The experts said she must have
tried to block the tire by raising her
arm over her face.
.
The court found in favor of the plaintiff,
granting seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars
as the value for
a few microseconds of
"fearing impending death."
The Broken Fountain Pen Disaster
Underfoot the dropped was-so-lost pen breaks snapping its midnight ink artery to spurt explosively out like some imprisoned force nearly dead but up again sucking in saving air and spread on
dispersing into freedom in a fly across the floor the long streaks of such random black arcs streaking falling staining the canvas on which our living room is drawn together between a sofa and yellow wing- chair on the gray carpet there will be an awful task to clean this now became a Jackson Pollock’s winking quickly cast so rapidly set.
After the stroke we gape as the room itself clutches a stiller life mood blank in an erased atmosphere forgetting any will to find a contour of drawn new breath or speech only yet
whispers feel of loss in a similar kind of dreaded time as when the casket sits in the room for a wake under mounds of white roses while hinting of prayers and phrases of grief
by Rilke
until finally someone declares the tragedy Into the past turning to suggest the use of gold leaf rather than ink on the outlines of the next drawing of the hour as it may proceed.
**********. **********. **********. **********
(C) sally Young Eslinger 11/2020
Thanks be to God
This epidemic re: murderous love affair perfervid
with gruesome morbid
fixation allowing, enabling and providing terrifying
trappings, whence Pandora out the lid
anger loosed by gun toting recorded by hid
dee us aide de camp per grim reaper
milling crowd, each bewildered person stunned viz satanic grid
loosed bullets ensnare coterie upping ante bid
daring pernicious fare thee well odiously off loaded
per incendiary fiery maelstrom to mega death count added.
Suicide bombardier slakes thirst aims at billeted soiree
with deadly precision, and spray painting human innards
congregated engaged groupon people), with egregious pay
ment for exaggerated slight mowing down, a slew - nay
soon to be lifeless victims unaware - delivering may
hem to anonymous hunter a cannibal as well
family and survivors, who lay
down their sorrows, which bring revulsion and gray
obsolescence of faith in mankind to fray.
Death be not proud, nor ought airtime be allocated to these
heinous cavalier avengers foe tee eight-hour special (proffers
twitchy finger itching to squeeze
especial easy access to sophisticated high caliber compact
offspring family affair sport doth please
manifesting prize pride killing machine owners
posed as stonewall Jackson frieze
rapaciously with so much ease
lethal gimcrackery cutlasses incite epidemic violence as disease.
Sorrow soulful songs sung by the likes of death cab for cutie or goo
goo dolls in tandem with foo
fighting beastie boys pay homilies whence homage grew
to grateful dead nobody knew
fetishistic martyrs wannabe set sights of sister and mew
sic cull doobie brothers of their simian species with no sorrow to rue.
My mind went for a walk, in the middle of the night,
To a place full of colourful lights.
I was having a beer with Nelson Mandela,
And we talked about our own civil rights.
He put down his drink and quietly said,
“It always seems impossible until it’s done”.
And then he just vanished, replaced by a tin hatted soldier,
Blood covered from World War 1.
He looked numb and dead, behind bleary eyes,
And didn’t really want to talk at all.
I think he wanted to weep, for the people in his mind,
When he let go a short mournful squall.
And then Jackson Pollock walked in, with a smile and a grin,
With a new paint of his crazy Blue Polls.
He shook hands with the soldier and gave him his painting,
Saying this is for all the lost souls.
My mind went for a walk, in the middle of the night,
Where everything seemed so extreme.
Can’t wait for tonight, when again, civil rights can be done,
In another profound, definitively chaotic dream.
This is for Brian Davey's "My cousin chaos" contest.
Poor soldier Andrew Jackson who
Attacked the British after peace
Was signed three weeks before at Ghent.
Unnecessary bravery
Is no less admirable for that.
He waves to patrons eating their
Beignets at the Café Du Monde.
Astride a horse, saluting with
His bicorn hat, and stern of face,
He looks less menacing than if
They cast him brandishing a sword.
But who can blame his victory
(Redundant though his conquest was),
The English might have occupied
The Crescent City, New Orleans.
Between Lake Ponchatrain and Gulf
Of Mexico the land is boggy here.
Once rains would pelt Orleans and make
A flood enough for fetid pools.
Pine coffins bobbed and knocked aloud
Discouraging the patronage
Of all the working girls for weeks.
But that was long before the war.
And British and Americans
Were mostly buried on high ground.
So no unnecessary dead
Were ever disinterred by rains
And washed some parishes away
Without their names on coffin lids
To now or ever be reclaimed.
My main man Michael
Where you’re is where you’re, J
Keep shining like stars
~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~
© Joseph S. Spence, Sr., (Epulaeryu Master) 6/28/09
All Rights Reserved, Milwaukee, Wisconsin, USA
Senior Advisor, to Founder of Motivational Strips
Ambassador De Literature
Noble Star of Literature 2018
Living Legend of the 21st Century
Pentasiv B World Friendship Poetry Featured Poet 2019© Joseph Spence, Sr.,
~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~
Joseph S. Spence, Sr., is the author of "The Awakened One Poetics" (2009), which is
published in seven different languages. He invented the Epulaeryu poetry form, which
focuses on succulent cuisines and drinks. He is published in various forums, including the
World Haiku Association; Poetinis Druskininku, Milwaukee Area College, Phoenix Magazine;
Möbius Poetry, and Taj Mahal Review to name a few. Joseph is a Goodwill Ambassador for
the state of Arkansas, USA, a college faculty, and a military veteran.
~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~
Many immortal words have been spoken in the heat of the moment,
During romantic settings, wars and other distressful foment!
Damsels have said, "I wouldn't be caught dead with that guy!"
Decades later she celebrates their fiftieth with love yet in her eye!
"We caught them napping!" the last words of the arrogant Custer.
Surprise! Surprise! He took on more than he could muster!
From the Titanic's crows nest, "Slow down! There's ice dead ahead!"
Said Captain Smith, "I've schedules to meet!" sailing on instead!
"They couldn't hit an elephant at this distance!", said the general.
They lifted Sedgwick off the ground, already planning his funeral!
Admiral Farragut roared, "Damn the torpedoes! Full speed ahead!"
Easy for him to say, filling his sailors with terrible fear and dread!
"I only regret I have but one life to lose!" said Nathan Hale,
Before he was hustled off to the scaffold sans benefit of bail!
"Lets cross over the river and sit in the shade of the trees."
Said Stonewall Jackson, instantly shot in error, falling to his knees!
Goliath taunted, "Am I a dog that you come at me with sticks?"
David with his sling and stone showed Mr. Goliath a few tricks!
Wives claim husbands have a knack for having the last word:
"I ain't lost! No need to ask for directions!" immortal words often heard!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
I choose to YouTube.
When famous people die,
You get to look back fondly at their lives.
You get to see what they accomplished;
You get to read what people write.
You get images never seen before;
You open whole new doors.
You learn the truth and the lies;
All truth is revealed in due course.
When famous people die,
You find out who really deserves to be in ‘Who’s who.’
You remember their contribution to the world
And you wonder; what could I do?
How could I do something to earn that fame, that respect?
You wonder if your life, when you are taken,
Will have had any kind of effect.
When famous people die,
You become nostalgic for a youth long since gone.
When a famous person dies,
You remember them in poetry or in songs;
Or you remember their songs,
Or the movies they made during their life.
When a famous person dies,
Some of them become more famous,
Than they ever did when they were alive.
Remember fame brings you immortality;
So find yourself a way.
Amy Winehouse, Michael Jackson;
Kurt, Bowie and Prince.
I really liked them all when they were alive…
I have loved their music since.
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Come we're gonna have a party wear a costume bring your cat
The cauldrons ready so don't tardy bring your Hocus Pocus hat
Grab some munchies at the door moaning sounds all that gore
It is Aldo playing Rambo, with scary spiders, hiders , ..more
Watch my red horns battery start they are bought in WallyMart
Go ahead scream or screech but for heaven sakes don't fart !
Moon is grinning ear to ear but don't fear, its eyeball leer
Zombie stomps and gettish romps, Halloween is here to peer
Riser ghosts in scary training with their chit-chit chitty fangs
Bow to Satan and his laughs, he's a bad ass dude with bangs
Come on join the party, we got so much willies and dillies
we're gonna get drunk on red koolaid and smoke ciggies
Grab the coffin shaped candy from the grab bag join the clomp
gonna take it to the limit and do a Michael Jackson swamp ....
Come were gonna gave a party and we're gonna scare a ton
Be the door nails and the hinges, of this Halloween of fun.
October 25, 2018
Ralph is the most creative quintessential wizard in Jackson County.
A born alchemist, he spins gold out of a variety of fur and bounty.
His laboratory is not open to the public, but he is related to us.
He conjures masterpieces out of bits of fabric, feathers and dust.
A master at his craft, he delights us with an open house each May.
We all head to Kansas City where the old folks get to happily stay.
The young ones ride the waves of Ralph’s gulf stream wizardry.
Frankly there is no place on earth our crazy family would rather be.
Ralph’s confectionary sweet meats are known by one and all.
We beg to come back in a few months, maybe slide in during the fall.
Ralph is too busy thinking, and only wants to see us once a year.
Yesterday I saw Ralph’s newest castle, fit for a diamond, dog or deer.