Jackson, John

John Jackson

Paper Airplane

A love,
once crisp and fresh,
follows the passing of time.
Flights of fancy
become flights of fantasy,
as the sharply folded pleats
slowly come undone.
Plummeting earthward,
crumpled on the ground.
Irreparable,
and ironically
recyclable

Tempe, Arizona, 1963

a scent of sunshine
baked into sheets on a line
certain smells take me back

a little boy, eager, struggles to keep up
her gentle admonitions oft repeated
"don't let them touch the ground, honey"

methodically we folded
longways, longways
toward and back, toward again

every week, just her and I
while the girls were in school
all her troubles subsided

and for that little while
my world seemed right
longways, toward, and back

rem

        disjointed vignettes
        in early morning slumber
        the passionate nothingness
        so nonsensical and disturbed
        colors the coming day
        within a subliminal world
        of no dark, and no light
        just every shade of gray

Haiku

stoned in solitude
memory evaporates
before it happens

Horses

I'm thinking of Horses
from memory
I can hear them talking
quietly
against the early light of dawn
silhouetted
milling and moving together
effortlessly
their body and spirit
carry me

Blossoms

            nature yet lives
            in a small town
            the apricot tree blooms
            like so much popcorn
            this bittersweet spring
            it's fragrance a memory
            of warm sunday cobbler

Micropoetry

dark familiar pain
this mental flagellation
the light, elusive

            soft, subtle movement
            tiny cones make healing sounds
            joyously, she dances

                                    contrails from
                                    my flights of fancy
                                    dissipate and disappear
                                    another dream
                                    unborn