david jewell poet

words. photos. images. whatnot.

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Rain, they say.

I’m planning my fedora.

I’m making an appointment

with my trench coat.

And I’ll wear my grubby boots.


Rain, so rare

in the Texas state.

Like a gift of tears,

like a breath of oxygen.

I’ll count the raindrops

as they hit the roof

and name them

one by one,,,

say hello and good-bye.

I’ll give each one an message

to give to the ocean,

if they make it that far. . .

it will keep me quite busy,

thousands of raindrops

each with their mouth open

laughing as they fall.


The birds will drink

some of them, and the gutters

will drink some,,,

but the lucky ones

will go into the trees,

far from the roads.

Or, right into the river,

right into the river

when they fall.




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rambunctuous ruffians and scallywags wallowed in the pub fog of cigar and cigarette and beer-fume until early hours when the sun coughed awake and sent them withering home.


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for the muse alesiacher



my head is full of

lava and candles.

I’m the sweet monkey

in the parade at dawn.


I formulate sentences

with nothing to say.

I strike out in

all directions at once.


I’m the ruby resting

on the neck of the Princess.


I’m a box of nothing

in an empty boat.


I’m a shattered chandelier that fell from the ceiling

as you walked up the stairs.


I am everything that is reaching for you

from across the room.


I’m the cat that shows up from

nowhere and disappears.


I am a conundrum inside an enigma

driving a race car on a moebius strip.


The next grapefruit I eat will hopefully be a



I can’t spell my shoe size


and am forever barefoot

shuffling across the silver floor

of truth.





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drifting sideways

like a butterfly in the wind

like a sailboat in a hurricane

I want to begin.


I look for a compass

and imagine a map.


And wonder if it matters

because I could sure use a nap.


diari unui mgeni.

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entry 1.


I see other hoodwinks.

I hear other distances.

palm open wide. . .

martian landscape above.


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No matter how long I watch her, or hear her smoky voice,

or listen to her hot words, while her lips caress the language,

or how closely I watch her dance, and swing her hair around––

she is like a beautiful mystery, forever unfolding,

like watching the ocean~~wave after wave, from infinity to

infinity, luscious, dripping, ripe like swollen fruit.



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upside down in reality’s playpen.
swinging on the monkey bars of everyday dreams.
flowing with the notion of the motion of the ocean––
rocking steady and sweet in the heartbeat
of cosmic love.



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siri something

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Just drinking my head on straight this season and then I’m just trying to keep it together and going straight line quick turnaround quit walking backwards you know I just want you to do big circles you’re going really big circles from the spirals where I’m ever evolving out was a little bit you know then maybe going straight line once in a while because I got to keep my feet moving forward and like I wanted to a lot of things so much energy in a day and I get worn out really fast and then also watching TV and everything goes haywire I just don’t really like watching the TV anymore just leave it outside