david jewell poet

words. photos. images. whatnot.

blue world inside a blue world floating in space without stars outside only inside the inner blue world of the two blue worlds floating in space without stars. . .

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blueworldblue

new years poem

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.

Occluded vision into the future
rowdy time
mesmerizing
hovering on the horizon
drifting above
the sea sharing rain with
the ocean evaporating back
into the cloud

the circle continues and expands
The past Occluded by
future Memory
the future occluded
by the past yet to be
we are spinning

inside of smoky shadows
we are appearing
out of Amber crystals
we see the stars flimsily
as we repeat unrecorded time
as we expand
through yet another universe

we see time flimsily
we see stars drift flimsily through
the atmosphere
through the cornea
to the neuron
through the shimmy and shake
of the blood-cell-neuro-transmitter

where are we
inside the lightning bolt?
the electrical attraction?
the firing of the neuron we call ourselves?

dj
12-31-15

firelife

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.

first particles. then fire. then life.

after many star explosions.

after planet slowly cools.

after oceans settle in.

life.

with fire inside.

and spirit inside.

and soul inside.

looking back where it came from.

particles. then fire. then life.

a mystery.

dj

12-26-15

& …

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.

. . . or else waiting again, inside the soundwave, to hatch another elephant of sleepless emotion.

it was all a bunch of hoopla and hornswoggle if you ask me, but something was cooking

between these ears, in my so called brain, home of my so called mind,

(my mind that seldom minds me, seldom goes where I tell it to go, often goes where

I tell it not to go, but my mind will stray, away away)––

and so, malarky or no malarky, my neurons were having a party, and it was loud-loud-loud,

until someone called the cops, and I took another sleeping pill, to still the lava flow of the

downloading memory-options, and life-re-writes, and future-visions of where-to-be other than

here-and-now scenarios, taking a powder-room break while thinking even louder, yawning with a

shiver or, uh, mental-quiver of existential what’s-it-to-ya, and why-I-oughtta paradigms. . .

ahem. . .

as I was saying… the elephant of sleepless emotion hatched inside the lava-neurons spilling into the ocean,

around three in the morning…. and the next thing I remember another year went by. bye. buy.

b-bye.

soul-soul

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.

lookin’ for my soul, oh, vagabond-buddha /

oh, hiawatha, wanna be with-ya /

which way, sistah / just call me mistah

starshine-superfly / don’t know why I jive

just stayin’ alive another day / another way

another sylvester-saint in the daisy-chain-

gang / cool-hand-luke no cahoots “what

we have here is failure-to-communicate”

whack––with a cane––ouch––down the hill,

bake me a cake / and put in a pill don’t

leave it in the rain don’t talk me out of

my imaginary pain / my imaginary pleasure

lookin’ for a leisure-suit at goodwill to

freak out my grrlfrien’ then-go-to-the-mall & buy some

bling-bling / wanna make her sing / so many

things get lost in the shuffle.
dj
12-17-15

where and else

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Else loved Where, and they ran away and got married.

They began a kingdom, called Elsewhere, and it was a place where

very many people, in all parts of the world,

wanted to be.  It got pretty crowded.

And then No showed up.

No was shadowy, but handsome, and, well,

he had a certain magnetism. Where became mesmerized.

Poor Else, he suddenly lost Where, when she ran off

with No. Then Elsewhere wasn’t anywhere anymore.

And No and Where went to Nowhere land,

which is just 100 miles south of Neverland,

and they could not be found again.

jrnl photo 1

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jrnl photo 1

(life)

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.

life is fire

whether i am sound asleep

or totally wired

life feels more like going down a river

than driving down a road

with a map.

&

one way or another the river will take me

home,

completely unaware of what is between now

& then.

The main thing about being alive

is,  no one knows.

<><><>

                           alligators lick the shore

                  near the lawn of the outdoor party

         lightning bugs & cicadas & lanterns

  of all colors other small lights

  scattered magical all around

inhibitions drop like clothes

                         in a dressing room

        & have one last look in the mirror––

dj

11-11-15

halloween

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.

hands apples falling/catchtes gravity plump/ripe luscious fruit

pommegranite/plum ripe for plucking oh so lucky/crispy day

dissolving in the sweet/october sun coming undone/another fall

another autumn – another spell not/quite broken – relinquish me and

make it solemn/bereft of tears like a downtown gollum/up by

the cliffs/down by the waves everyone so thirsty as they crawl

from their graves – oh halloween – oh day of the dead – oh life always

unwinding the story/unravelling in my head … when i was an

apple i knew you as the tree, everything i have now is like i am

falling/too ripe to pluck when you set me free.

nothing

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I know nothing––

I have lived in its house for many years.

I have floated in its starless infinite liquid black ink with no compass and

no clue where I might be drifting, or if I am in motion at all.

I know nothing––

its sense of humor at unlikely times,

it’s sudden bursts of brilliance and peace,

its terors and night-sweats and lack of light that is darker then space,

darkness-beyond-darkness that takes you to the highway in the rain,

makes you want to live again,

makes you want to roll the dice with your one last gasp,

your last arbitrary wish, your last lucky penny,

roll the dice as you are falling

even if you may never see them land,

or know if they’ll come up lucky 7, or snake-eyes, or craps,

even if you know you may never know

anything.

dj

11-7-15

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