david jewell poet

words. photos. images. whatnot.

Archive for the ‘ Poetry ’ Category

writing exercise. one word prompt. (light).

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light. mosaic. pattern. neuron firing pattern. map. of thought.

repetitious nomenclature. semantics. hermeneutics. other words,

I have no idea of their meaning, except I worked in a bookstore . . .


neurons fire. and fire. sometimes the same path all day.

some find new trails. ideas. what have you. the point is. light.

chemical. electrical. synapse gap. spike potential. firing neuron.


signal moves on. down the line. then your arm moves. then you turn

your head. you see her. your chemicals change. destiny. fate. eternal

recurrence. blind chance. inevitable odds and/or biological imperative.


i don’t care.

i just meant the light. everywhere. the light from the stars. stars that blew up.

the particles circled around and found each other. got back together. again.

got dense. then denser. burst into flames. again. making more light.


those stars blew up too.  that’s where the iron in our bodies comes from.

we are made of particles that got together. so they could ignite. into stars. giving light.

unimaginable heat. over millions of years. the sun. our sun. barely gets a chance


to know us. then we leave. flash in. flash out. flash bulb. neurons flashing.

guns blazing. ok. it’s amazing. amazing enough. we don’t have enough light.

to really read the situation. it’s dim. sometimes dark.


the sun says, hello.  then we’re gone.  and the sun says good-bye.

the sun says,  come home.   or. the sun says,  well, little cherub,

what else you got up your sleeve?



20 baby bunny poems for Clementine.

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canine tooth

pierced fur

bunny didn’t

know. wolf:

no thought––

pure instinct––

baby bunny,



retro-bunny whiplash

little ears revolving––

lettuce lettuce lettuce––

let us pray.

bunny with white tail,

like a little cloud,

bouncing above

the loopy dream.


baby bunny


paisley air

sassafrass . . .

psychedelic roses

everything is

brand new emerald

spring world.


baby bunny feels so lucky

he has four rabbit’s feet,

even bunny feet

make him feel special.

hippiity-hop. hippity-hop.

down to the casino,

betting it all on red, number 27,



baby bunny toothache––

frozen dinner or split pea soup,

rationalizations everywhere––

the complex matrix of


burns calories like

litmus paper in a bonfire . . .

it’s more than dinner . . .

it’s … illusion.


baby bunny jazzer

in a band downtown

goes in the back door from

the alley––doesn’t make

a sound until he gets on stage

and the blue light hits his ears.

then he blows his horn, man,

like a crazy-sad-sorrowful-blue,

and puts everyone back inside themselves

where they live.


baby bunny’s sister wanted to get her ears pierced.

mama bunny was against it,

it was a new thing in the bunny world . . .

all the young bunnies were doing it!

but the rabbits were not pleased,

––they make noise, said momma bunny,

all you need it to make it easier for wolf.

––momma, don’t be paranoid, said sister bunny,

I don’t want to live in fear all my life!


momma rabbit said, sister baby, you’re a bunny,

thre is a lot to be afraid of . . .

everywhere, every field, every shadow.

baby sister bunny laughed and laughed,

and then she got her ears pierced.

she hippity-hopped back home,

making quite a racket.

momma bunny sighed, and shook her head.


bunny in a strait-jacket.

bunny on thorazine.

bunny with complicated

psychological problems––

things aren’t always

as they seem––little bunny

just follow your dreams––

“be the love you are looking for”.


the grass is so tall to the baby bunny,

like green skyscrapers.


baby bunny identity crises––

hearing how many rabbits there are and

how quickly they multiply,

it occurs to him––

if so many bunnies are being born . . .

why don’t you see them everywhere?

what does it mean?!

maybe this place really is dangerous!


baby bunny in a suitcase.

baby bunny running away to the circus.

running away from the green fields.

running away from momma bunny

and poppa bunny.

on an adventure.

a brave bunny, who must explore.

but what kind of place is the circus

for a little baby bunny?


the lions and tigers pace, restless––

thunder roars, hungry––

they look impatient.  the elephants

are walking skyscrapers––or, really

more like whole city blocks––and

the horses are mercurial and lovely,

but huge––unpredictable––

they are everywhere at once––

be careful baby bunny!!!


baby bunny wanted a tattoo,

he knew it would make his parents furious––

but, what was the big deal?

all the circus stars had them,

except the trapeze artists––

and some of them had tattoos too––

where you couldn’t see them so easy––

it was like a rite of passage.


appearing in the universe in three dimensions

after 14 billion years of appointments

and scheduled meetings and perparations

of every kind––materials all gathered

from supernova explosions etc. etc.––

not like you can go to the store––all the

various evolutions––and here he was finally––

baby bunny––for a limited time engagement.


bunny in a freak show

painted lime green with glow-in-the-dark ink

and food coloring––

it did keep the tigers from looking at him and

sniffing at him in that hungry way.

but it made him feel so dumb, especially

when the tent went dark and he was

the main attraction––a hopping green dot

in empty blackness. sometimes they played

the sound of Pac-Man during the show,

which seriously annoyed him to no end.


one night at the circus after bunny had finished

his hopping green dot in empty space routine––

(the kids went wild for it, and the parents

were always pleasantly amused)––

well, one night, as baby bunny

was leaving his dressing room with

just of few splotches of dayglo

green ink on his floppy ears,

he was met by a girl baby bunny

who had been waiting outside

to get his autograph.


baby bunny was amazed

to have a girl baby bunny fan––

she said she’d seen every show he’d done

while they were in her town––but they’d

only be there another day––so

she wanted to invite him over for dinner––

with her whole family, of course, and

baby bunny said, ––yes! yes yes yes!


baby bunny got on his baby Harley and

headed out with the rest of the circus,

leaving a red rose on the front porch

of the girl baby bunny who had been

his first fan––and his first date––

and his first love––and maybe,

when he came back through town

next year, he’d get to see her, and

their children, and their grandchildren,

and their great-grandchildren–– . . .


maybe baby bunny

wasn’t such a baby


not quite a rabbit––

but no longer a bunny.

did he want to stay with the circus forever?

the questions of life never stopped

expanding inside his mind.


july 2015


the quote in #9 is a phrase I saw written in concrete

on the sidewalk, one block from my apartment,

I don’t know anything else about it . . .


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you are love

you are loved

mistakes are not mistakes

victories are not victories

nothing stops changing.

feels like

something new

wants to begin





just feel it.

desire to



cut away.

stop holding


stop holding back.

let go.

allow. all.

joy and




let live.


let die.






or there.


or that.


your life.

even if

it means





going out

in a


or canoe




why not

use the wings you got.

don’t start

something new

just do

what you

really want

instead of

numbing it out

or hiding from it

just live


let yourself



don’t be

afraid to

die. or––


just do


your heart


telling you

whether it




not is

not your


tasting every morsel

every inch of you.


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the moon is a lighter… cool light on summer night
but enough heat to torch the tip of a cigarette
hanging off the lip and then
blowing smoke rings
like galaxies 
spinning through the live oak branches.
the riff is everywhere and the flow is always.
the sound is so many radio stations sometimes
you can find one sometimes it is all static white noise.
sometimes you want to sit down inside the white noise and disappear,
(when I say you I am just talking to myself),
and sometimes you find a station with some notes that give birth
to the writhing of your spine in ecstasy and bliss and epiphany
that you know won’t last forever… but since it is timeless,
it does last forever… and you know for sure, that, at least,
you will never lose.
and the cigarette burns like a greedy locomotive always shooting
down the tracks heading west into nothingness and oblivion and
hopefully, the deep blue sea, where stars are born, disguised
as whales, leaping from the frothy deep, and 

crow stopped…

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Crow stopped at nothing
it seemed as good a place as any and a better place than most
nothing had a certain quality
a kind of texture
compared to most things
it was somewhat consistent
not a lot happened there
that was the point
and it was easy
to find a place to park
some people said
nothing comes from nothing
and crow
in his usual fashion
found this to be true
and also not true
nothing good comes from nothing they say
but nothing bad comes from nothing too
and nothing bad is something good indeed
after all
the opposite of pain…
is it pleasure
or is it absence of pain
because the opposite of love
is not hate
it is indifference
but nothing
is so far beyond indifference
that it looks
more like


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are continuations really, but in a new direction . . .

some people think the uninverse began with a big bang

(maybe it did)…. and if that is true, everything, everything that happens

is a continuation and expansion of that original gesture…

but maybe it started some other way…

maybe it had no beginning.

we ponder when such and such began, when it might end.

when did world war 2 begin, when did it end?

probably seemed like it would last forever,

and now, where is it? gone.

i want to make a new beginning.

i want to end something.

i want to turn left .  or i want to turn right .  or

i think this is new. brand new. a brand new start.

stumbling. mumbling. i began this. and i’m coming to the end.

language is useful, even if it isn’t accurate, even if it isn’t close,

it is a general idea…. it is a sort of highway everyone can walk on.

the word, beginning, if you take it all apart, is meaningless,

but to assert or claim it is meaningless is just a lot of noise and hot air.

it’s both. it doesn’t really matter.  if i tell you i am beginning something,

you know what i mean.  even if i don’t have a clue.


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Ghost is always hiding and then I feel a chill.

Ghost is always riding a horse through the center of my brain.

So many hungry ghosts,

with a longing for what they cannot have.

There is something about letting go they don’t hear,

like so many of us, they might be afraid

to move on.


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blue planet

if i try to tell you i have given up, it only proves i haven’t.

if i had really given up i wouldn’t be writing you, i wouldn’t

say anything, i would be gone.


if i tell you i am leaving it is only proof i haven’t left.

it is obviously an attempt to get a response, an attempt to

get you to tell me you want me to stay. but i hear nothing,

and i still don’t leave, and that is when i begin to feel frightened,


vulnerable, no longer in control of my own thoughts or

feelings or actions, and that is when i begin to unravel

like a cloud on a sunny day.



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paint is a vibration . colors are like music . only silent.

form and rhythm in texture and color. solitary. mostly.

music. and theater. and dance. people who play with other people.

writing. painting. some kinds of photo. people who travel the inner caverns

alone . through shadow deserts and forests of emerald and ruby light.

all art is disarming. all art sends the creator and experiencer somewhere else…

to experince art is in itself an act of creativity. of recognition. or inquiry.


my face

let me dance in the night around the fire with the tribe and go into frenzy.


my thoughts

red as a bordello and send me out with whiskey and opium to find crooked dreams.


a river

and see if you can keep it.


a planet

and then go live on it and invite all your friends

and start a new humanity of utopian dreams of love and forgiveness

like we all feel we are really



the art. the wall. the canvas. the house.

the energy has to flow. the images will shine. there is no mistake.

color. brush. paper. time.

after ten hours

you will be facing a total mystery of yourself.



paint a golden frenzy like the dawn of time

paint a low vibration of diving into the salty brine

singing with the fishes diving down so far so deep

then leaping-up-out-of-it to the furthest starry reach.

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list of

hidden hurricanes

in frozen unreachable mountains

on the other side of the sea       you think you will never reach

and then suddenly you are there.

the winds are full of voices

but the only one you can listen to is way deep down inside you ––it is yelling,

but by the time it finds your conscious mind

it is barely a whisper.

the gratitude angels are the only ones who can fly in these hurricanes

and–– float through the air graceful and calm

like winged ships sailing on a gentle sea.




October 2015
« Jul