david jewell poet

words. photos. images. whatnot.

Archive for the ‘ Poetry ’ Category

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The wreckers I have

humbled by the furry dogs 

near the Hilton 

all the thank you robots 

in the lobby lines 

somersault by the hats.

Time plays with its umbrella

and feeds us to the bartender, 

doing tricks ~ (Twirling bottles 

In the air)

as if he were a gigolo

trying to impress —

evolutionary lack of caution 

makes me roll the dice 

ever more frenetically 

across the sweet green fur

of the table, 

and then spin the roulette wheel 

ever more frantically ~

betting red and black,  and 

red,  and black,  and even zero 

from time to time…. 

like its nothing.  



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Points McGillicutty was a whiskey drinkin’ fool is what most of ’em would say.

Not that Points cared none or listened to any of that tomfoolery bushwhackin’ nonsense.

No wonder he drank the whiskey is what I always tells ’em, what would you do,

comin’ in from the golf course and struck dead by lightnin’ bolts then brought

back to life again by different lightnin’ bolts –– hell –– no wonder ol’ Points is a 

whiskey drinkin’ fool is what I tells ’em, and they shakes they head and shuffles off,

probly to they own whiskey hidden in the closets in they basements cuz I bet you

a c-note most of ’em is hippocritz that way ~ shows to go ya ~ lightnin’ juice ~

hell yeah ~ everybody need a taste sometimes ~ ain’t no excuse but it’s truth.  


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world. or worlds. or world. or worlds.

bafflement couch. sunshine calling. me.

everything. everything calling me. at once.

when I want to do ten things at the same time,

I stand in the middle of the room, and don’t

know. just don’t know. I am made of water.

I am made of air. with a little bit of fire.

a fire that sets me on fire in the wind.

the ground. is. somewhere. I don’t know.

old man w/ headfull of dreamz … (1:04 min. recording)

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d12old man head full of dreams


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. . . the thing of it is . . . the thing-a-ma-jig was missing,

and the Chevy went all tremolo like a brand new hobo

bumming-a-dime from Marilyn Monroe.  You know,

we were up there in Kokomo . . . stranded at Denny’s,

ordering infinite coffee, losing all track of time,

and getting second rounds of “Moons Over My Hammy”

when Junior remembered the chewing gum trick,

because he saw it in that movie,  you know,  and hallelujah!

I hate to ponder it,  but if that hadn’t worked we’d a probably

gone crazy . . . or worse!



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Screen shot 2016-07-31 at 12.54.17 PM

new years poem

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Occluded vision into the future
rowdy time
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?



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first particles. then fire. then life.

after many star explosions.

after planet slowly cools.

after oceans settle in.


with fire inside.

and spirit inside.

and soul inside.

looking back where it came from.

particles. then fire. then life.

a mystery.



& …

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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.





April 2017
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