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Best Poems Written by Carolyn June-Jackson

Below are the all-time best Carolyn June-Jackson poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Just As She Was - a Tribute To Cicely Tyson

Just a wisp of a girl, dainty as a rose
Dark as the color of bitter-sweet cocoa
From her short hair to her perky nose
A black queen from the Big Apple’s ghetto

As a girl, she often sucked her fingers
Obtaining that infamous, toothy overbite
The memory of the dirty slums still lingers
So gracious, sweet, and habitually polite

She got pregnant at the age of seventeen
Yet, she pursued her dream to be an actress
Mama’s church girl, spiritually quarantined
She loved to model; her beauty was breathless

Why did we applaud her? Why do you ask me?
Her dossier was unmatched and acclaimed
Such an urban legend from our community
Much respect and props for her notable name

She began her career on the New York stage
Put her heart and soul into each role she played
Drank from the youth fountain didn’t look her age
In these glorious years, her career never decayed

“A Woman Called Moses”; don’t forget “Sounder!”
“The River Niger,” we won’t ever forget “Roots!”
A club for growing black actors, she was the founder
Presidential Medal of Freedom, she bore much fruit

“The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pitman” was fearless
Having a guest role in many Tyler Perry movies
With her prodigious acting, only she could harness
Held her nose when asked to play ratchet or a floozy

She scorched the earth for other black actresses
Angela Bassets and Viola Davis, to name a few
Never bad press or scandal as anyone’s mistress
When she passed away, still giving interviews

Her biography hit the streets, fresh off the press
Traveled to promote her school of Performing Arts
Still worked and spoke while impeccably dressed
My Lord did she not have a run, never a false start

You can’t tell it! So let me tell it; made “Just as I Am!”
Had a chance to tell HER story many she out-lived
Elegant, royal; she was worth the title of madam
Although so petite, Cicely's career was so massive

Details | Carolyn June-Jackson Poem

Tears For Papa

I relive the nightmare of seeing my papa hanged
At six, I didn’t know I could cry so hard and so much
They dragged him to a tree while the crickets sang
It deprived me of any chance to feel his final touch

Growing up when the Jim Crow South was at its worst
I don’t care how hot it got, working in the scorching heat
They would offer me no water, let a black girl die of thirst
In my dreams, I saw papa swing from a Spanish Moss tree

It seemed I picked rough cotton or tobacco my entire life
I never went inside a schoolroom, much less learned to read
Mama gave me away at thirteen to be an older man’s wife
Birthing sixteen children. It’s for sure I knew how to breed

I lived too long and have seen too much. No tears left to cry
If you asked about my papa, I couldn’t bring myself to speak
On the news, I saw my great-grandson left on the streets to die
Now, those tears I saved for papa pitch slowly down my cheeks

Details | Carolyn June-Jackson Poem

The Well

I dip from my well whenever I am lonely
I pull from this well every time I feel lost
It is my secured secret hiding place only
Excavating this hole came with a high cost

It was hand-dug; covered with an old wood plank
The water is now putrid and too moldy to drink
It was my grandpapa’s well; I have him to thank
I pour in a bottle of bleach to help cover the stink

I don’t pull it to drink it; it’s not for consumption
I use it on my green garden; especially the plants
I like knowing that it is still in prime operation
It kills the crawling pests; including the fire ants

My well is a treasure trove of long-gone memories
Ten generations relied on the spring water it gave
I will not fill it in; It has seen tragedies and victories
It was dug with human labor by long-ago slaves

My well knows my voice; yet, will not make a sound
I look down its stony neck for creative inspiration
To me, it is more than just a dark hole in the ground
It stands on hard-fought land for future generations

Details | Carolyn June-Jackson Poem

Floating Ashes

As I gazed out over the slow-flowing creek
Suppressing the agony of losing my child
Tears never fail to spill down my cheeks
As I have repeated this ritual for awhile

Making these pilgrimages to this waterway
While I stood on this same slick muddy bank
I enjoy observing the bluegill and catfish play
Paying their respect. For that, I owe them thanks

A little army swims back and forth in formation
Alerting the water inhabitants as they often do
Like synchronized swimmers without expression
Only swim close when they think I have food

I scattered my only child's ashes in these waters
It's been a year since releasing his charred remains
All that's left of his handsome image is this powder
It isn't easy to fathom or for my mind to contain

For a year, I kept him in an elaborately made urn
Held in a prominent place, I could visit each day
Why he ended up in that urn is no one's concern
But I loved talking to him as he sat on display

His final wish was to spend eternity on the waves
He has loved swimming since he was a small boy
Honoring his wish, yet, I desired a common grave
But his floating ashes do conjure peace and joy

Details | Carolyn June-Jackson Poem

Why a Queen Butterfly Cries

Imagine a butterfly’s life as it silently flutters in flight
Arrayed with a colorful spectrum that can camouflage
Your eyes behold her splendor until she flees from sight
Watch her fly solo or in a multi-pigmented entourage

Wings so delicate and fragile; you dare not touch them
The sunlight mirroring her clarity becomes transparent
She’s brilliant as a stain-glass window or a royal diadem
Only a few kaleidoscopic creatures are her equivalent

A conversion formed in secret, incredible to behold
From a larva to a butterfly takes miraculous stages
Unable to ascend until her majestic wings unfold
Taking refuge against the wind and rain that rages

Oh, see the queen as she stretches her wingspan
For a brief time, she became aware of her life expectancy
Not just a pretty face from God’s psychedelic spray can
She wastes no time mating due to her short longevity

This mystical mutation gracefully ornaments the earth
A fragile enchanted species admired from a distance
Her transformed body dies shortly after giving birth 
A gift that brings so much joy has such a sad existence

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Heart 2 Heart

We stood at the altar in love face-to-face
Declared our love, fidelity, and devotion
Forty years of absence could not erase
What we believed God had set into motion

Years later, we get to walk hand-in-hand
Living out our sweet golden years together
We will remain a permanent and indelible brand
The time we lost isn't relevant or able to recover

Like two bookends, we stand back-to-back
If variety is the spice of life, we are seasoned
Pool our earthly assets, so we never know lack
Trust and commitment are the ultimate reasons

We don’t always see things eye-to-eye
Nor agree with each other’s point of view
We never get too angry to say good-bye
Childish or petty conflicts yield no value

Meshed together to remain side-by-side
Only death can separate us from this union
If we keep God as the center; His love abides
Vowing to be each other’s love and companion

January 10, 2022

Details | Carolyn June-Jackson Poem

Feeding Time

There’s a species called hatred that America trained
It’s fed three times a day with malice and violence
Possessing an insatiable appetite that’s unrestrained
It’s not a familiar pedigree but a hybrid malevolent

Its ravenous sharp teeth rip innocent flesh asunder
Unable to make an I.D. except by tattoos or dentures
At feeding time, nothing stops those pangs of hunger
The breeders of this species also refuse to censure

One thing I learned is you can’t tame a wild beast
Don’t get so comfortable you forget what you fed
It devours those who fatten it and becomes its feast
It’s no house pet; it consumes souls; this half-bred

Racists created this glutton; its depravity is out of control
The more meat they toss, the more it needs to consume
Venturing from its deep, dark lair, it goes on patrol
Feeding grounds are stores, churches, and classrooms

Details | Carolyn June-Jackson Poem

My Inner Voice

It startled me awake, screaming raw obscenities
Blaming me for something I did when I was five
Before bed, we reverently spoke prayerful entreaties
In the morning hours, our alliance took a nosedive

It introduced itself while I played with my doll
Temperamental and audacious, taking me aback
We have never had much in common, not that I recall
It has vicious tantrums and the impulse to attack

It calls me by my nickname to get my attention at will
And will argue or threaten me every time I ignore
No matter if I am driving or simply standing still
Becoming more odious; its tone I have learned to abhor

There was a time when I met this guy whom I admired
I put on my best performance to let him know my feelings
I shared my expectations, boundaries, and what I required
On the second date, it revealed itself and left him reeling

The voice can be audaciously loud, drowning out my reality
I am prone to peace, whereas it craves a taste of violence
Like the zodiac Gemini, as twins, we exist in a world of duality
No matter that I know what’s best when under its influence

It came to a climax when I opened a can of fruit for a pie
My son interrupted me as I conversed with myself privately
I angrily threw the ragged-edge top, cutting him over his eye
Then, I bullied him into lying if anyone asked about the injury

My inside voice and I have been in and out of mental institutions
Receiving shock treatment to untangle ourselves from one another
They defined the terms paranoid schizophrenia and depression
But I’m on the verge of self-asphyxiation, causing it to smother

Details | Carolyn June-Jackson Poem

A Time Past

There’s something very special about country life
It took me back to when things were so slow
I would sit under a tree with an apple and a pin knife
Gazing out over the corn and counting each row

The gnats during the day would not let me rest
As I laid out on the weather-beaten porch to nap
They were a nagging nuisance and unwelcomed guests
I killed a dozen every time my small hands clapped

Rose early in the morning to get the chores done
The summers were so hot; you got weak from the heat
If I wanted to go hunting, Papa loaned me his shotgun
He grew lots of fruit trees on the land; a satisfying treat

I brought home a squirrel or rabbit for the woodstove
Grandma Hattie would skin and cook it before sunset
Gathered up some of the best peaches from the grove
She made a cobbler as close to heaven as you could get

Took a shortcut by the mill, a rock’s throw from our barn
If I wanted a cool drink, I went down to the river banks
I sat next to old Ms. Katie as she spun thick nylon yarn
At supper time, we bowed our heads to give God thanks

Papa chewed his snuff as the crickets chirped outside
Harmonizing the most mournful songs the entire night
We hitched up the buckboard wagon for an evening ride
Listening to him tell ghost tales until I peed from fright

It’s been so long ago; the house swallowed up by decay
Remembering those memories from a long time past
Loving, amusing anecdotes that I cherish to this day
Wanted it to stay the same; so, hoped it would last

Details | Carolyn June-Jackson Poem

The Audacity of God

As is in Genesis, God stood on the platform of nothing
Miracle after Miracle, orchestrating a drama transpired
With audacity, He spoke heaven and earth into being
On the seventh day, resting, not because He was tired

With loving hands, God molded the clay to form man
As wings covered the eyes of Cherubim and Seraphim
Angels marveled at the execution of such a spectral plan
For He declared that in His image, He would create him

Adam, disobedient and defiant, fell into spiritual despair
Forty-two generations, a child was born, a mediator
From heaven, the living word, the angels would declare
The mission was fore-ordained by an all-knowing Creator

The inhabitants stood in silence, too meek to intervene
A holy emissary came to abort a catastrophic disaster
Witnessing the Birth of a prodigy, they had not seen
For a season and a reason to abort Satan's reign of terror 

Had the Savior not made his entrance, what of man's soul
The Father pitied the groan of man and decided to redeem
With audacity, He loved the world and wouldn't abort his role
At Christmas, all believers hold Christ's Birth in high esteem