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Lynnae Jackson Poem
Never Trust Statisticians...
They say that lightning never hits the same spot twice
Ha! I’d laugh at that if I could.
I lived my life, an exception to the rule
Never falling into stereotypes.
Yet I lived happy with my exceptionality.
Now I cry “Alas that I had to be so different!”
As I made my way home through a crashing thunderstorm,
Lightning hit the ground in front of me
And threw me off my feet.
“Whew!” I thought in vast relief, and rolled back on my knees.
Happy-go-lucky then, I began a whistling tune.
Feeling safe and secure in statistics,
I went on my merry way.
Alas, alack! I took one step and ZAP!
The lightning bolt hit twice.
Copyright © Lynnae Jackson | Year Posted 2006
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Lynnae Jackson Poem
Hidden on a crisp white paper
Tracing itself in the lines of a sketch
Swirling through an artist’s paint
Rustling through the wind-stirred leaves
Weaving through an angel’s hair
Dancing in rainbow hues across the sky.
It chatters cheerily with the pebbles of a creek bed,
Or whispers gently across a sea of grass.
Other times, it roars violently in volcanic wrath
And hisses and pops like wet logs on a fire
It winks at me out of a loved one’s eyes
And tickles my ear in the lark’s song.
It swirls through my fingers with water of a bubbling stream
Tantalizingly, it teases my nose, like fresh-baked apple pie.
I find it in my father’s arms, when I can hear the steady beat of his heart,
Or discover it in the tangle of my siblings as we collapse in fits of wild laughter
It hid in my mother’s loving voice, while she sang me to sleep
And I see it in the curl of a baby’s tiny hands as she slumbers in my arms.
At night, it cocoons me when I snuggle under the covers
Concealed deep in the conclaves of my soul
Sequestered in the chambers of my heart,
Nestled snugly in my memories,
Coiled reassuringly in my mind
That is where my poetry hides.
Copyright © Lynnae Jackson | Year Posted 2006
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Details |
Lynnae Jackson Poem
Everyone comes in different colors, the world is set in stone
And those who see it differently, we disregard and leave alone
We accuse them of being colorblind, mistaking brown for green
What if we are the colorblind ones, and they can truly see?
Imagine that we could see as they do:
The sky looks orange, the pumpkins blue
People look like negatives, turned inside out and tinted wrong.
But in a world of twisted color, we find harmonic song
Shades of gray run together, purple takes on blue
Variations of one color become a single hue.
Perhaps to make the world a better place to be,
We only need to be more colorblind, and then we’ll truly see.
Copyright © Lynnae Jackson | Year Posted 2006
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