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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

Details | Carolyn June-Jackson Poem

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

Why a Queen Butterfly Cries

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

The sunlight reflected her clarity as a shooting star
Wings are so fragile that you dare not touch them
Only a handful of kaleidoscopic creatures match her
She’s brilliant as a stained-glass window or a diadem

The change from larva to butterfly happens as she hurls
A conversion was formed in secret, incredible to behold
She cannot soar until her magnificent new wings unfurl
As she seeks safe shelter from the fierce wind, so bold

Look at how the queen butterfly spreads her wingspan
For a moment, she became aware of her life expectancy
Not just a pretty face from God’s psychedelic spray can
She knows she has to mate with no concern for intimacy

This enchanting transformation gracefully embellishes the earth
An enchanting, delicate species that is admired for its confidence
An enchanted, transformed body yields shortly after giving birth
A gift that brings immense joy carries a rather sorrowful existence

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 a while

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 thanks

An army swims back and forth in formation
Alerting the water inhabitants as they often do
Like synchronized swimmers without expression
The fish will come if they think you have food

It's been a year since I freed his charred remains
All that is left of his countenance is this powder
It’s hard to comprehend or for my mind to contain
As I visit my only child's ashes in these waters

Details | Carolyn June-Jackson Poem

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

America tends to instill racism in the neophytes
It is fed three times a day on a plate of belligerence
Possessing an insatiable and unrestrained appetite
It’s a well-known pedigree, a hybrid of malevolence

Its ravenous sharp teeth tear innocent flesh asunder
Unable to provide I.D. except by tattoos or dentures
At feeding time, nothing satisfies the pangs of hunger
The breeders of this species also refuse to censure

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

Hate feed this glutton; its depravity is out of control
The redder the meat, the more it demands to consume
Emerging from its dark lair, it embarks on a daily patrol
It easily feeds off those in 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

When the Innocent Cries

The world has become jaded by the news we observe
It’s not until we notice something morally monstrous
Neither peacemakers nor warmongers have the nerve
It’s the emotions of the weak that raise our awareness

Our heads turn around when it involves the innocent
The terror and tears on their face make us take notice
Traumatizing their faultless world are the malcontents
Disrupting their pure sanctity with death and sickness

Trying to make sense of what has harassed their reality
Children and the elderly suffer, contrary to popular belief
Too delicate to be collateral damage of the war’s tragedy
Hearing the innocent cry, are you listening to their grief

Details | Carolyn June-Jackson Poem

Old Wood Stove

While in an antique shop, I came across a wood stove
The cast iron, covered in rust, had seen better times
I admired it as it stood within this vast treasure trove
There's no doubt the antique worked well in its prime

You rose early in the morning before the rooster crowed
Gathering what you needed, like dried kindling or sticks
Once the kettle got to boil, creating steam on the window
Patience in preparing a meal because it took a while to fix

Belching on a belly of splintered wood, hot to the touch
Before the EPA, a coal-burning stove smoked up a place
Claiming victims who inhaled its carbon fumes too much
Standing on its bowlegs, taking up valuable floor space

A wood stove was a mainstay, one you couldn't live without
If a fire died on cold days, you might end up in poor health
You dumped the ashes regularly. There wasn't any doubt
A poor-working wood stove would often cause one's death

We gathered around the piece of iron to listen to ghost tales
A cozy, toasty altar when the old decrepit house would creak
Its consistent use has proven, over time, to be tough as nails
Stoking the flames warmed your frame any day of the week