david jewell poet

words. photos. images. whatnot.

Archive for the ‘ Photos ’ Category


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katherine casey experiments… 1st set… 12-15-13

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flowers knocking on the door
dragging me out to the street
down to the corner to the
coffee shop and then stopping.

what? I asked them. what?
I was still in my pajamas.
I didn’t even have shoes on,
just socks, (that were all soggy
because it rained the night before).

what is this all about? I asked.
the flowers just stared at me,
silent, emitting a pleasant fragrance.
I didn’t even know what kind
of flowers they were… I’d think
they were daffodils, then look away,
then look back and they’d be
roses, or tulips, or orchids…
on and on.

they were flowers. mainly. flowers.
and they had knocked on my door
and dragged me down the street to
the coffee shop and then stopped.

I figured there must be a reason for them
to go to all this trouble. I stood there,
in my pajamas and my soggy socks and
ever-changing bouquet of flowers,
scratching my head. Finally, I lit
a cigarette. and the flowers kept staring
at me. and then, five minutes later,
I walked back home and put them in
a venetian vase.


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shadow party

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I invited my Shadow over for tea––
it showed up about five minutes late, and said it preferred the whiskey.
I opened my closet and let the skeletons out––they were happy to have the tea––
although some of them preferred the whiskey, and quite a few of them
wanted to smoke.

Eventually, all that got sorted out, and everyone was relaxing.
One of the skeletons said, “O.k., that’s it. We’re not going back inside that closet.”
I said, “Fine, I understand. You don’t have to.”
My Shadow was laughing about something.
I said, “What’s so funny?”
It said, “Nothing. Don’t mind me,” and grinned mysteriously, (and annoyingly),
while it finished its second glass of whiskey, and poured itself another.
I glanced at him, but decided not to pry.

I said, “O.k. You probably wonder why I invited you all out to the living room.
It is a living room, after all, and I’d like you to get more comfortable in it.
More comfortable with the concept of living, in general.”

The skeletons were whispering and giggling, pretending to cross their legs and
sit up straight, and act all proper. My Shadow had talked one of them into a game of
backgammon, and kept doubling the cube and rolling Elevens.
No one seemed to be listening, or even very interested in what I had to say.

I decided to pour myself a glass of whiskey, and, yes, to light a cigarette.
From the looks of things, it was going to be a long night.

(to be continued, perhaps). . . .


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oceans fell from a sky on fire.
oceans are made of liquid sunlight.

oceans are nurtured by all the blood
washed away by the rain, filtered
through the earth, into rivers that
flow into the sea.
all the blood of every battlefield and
accident and surgery and harpooned
whale and shark feast.

oceans run through our veins.
all life on earth came from the sea.
is it any wonder I long for the ocean.
is it any wonder that surfers get in
touch with the tao.

I want to be a wave.
I am a wave.
Everything is a wave, a vibration,
a frequency.

we are all oceans.
the universe is an ocean.
we are awash in mystery.
we are carried out to sea.
endlessly. endlessly.

barton springs morning

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graveyard. boothill. paradise. coifed. glasses.

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I been to boothill but I ain’t there now.
take off your glasses and look at the roses.
the blushing pink cheeks of spring.
here it comes again and then it goes away.

some say the grave is like an airport to paradise.
others roll the dice and try to find paradise walking
like, above the ground. roll them dice.
roll them bones. it goes around and around.

that sun tanned well coifed meter maid.
who knows where she goes on her days off.
takes off those shades and lets her hair down.
angel of deliverance. angel of mercy.
who’s to say they ain’t one and the same.