1/22/2017 0 Comments Three Poems by Eaton JacksonShedding Skin wriggling out of used up skin a different chameleon replaces the one the cross-words had solved as lizard on a limb, new spelling for new words that seek to find the same meaning emphasis added pinching pressure on the last syllable to effect that the cliché isn’t a cliché, deep into the exposed vulnerability speaking again a voice that loves hearing its own inflections on behalf of the beautiful discontented segments on the graph, skin change again trails of sand mounds miniature castles cross word puzzle needing more fields to correctly spell your name, sorting through another stack of what is supposed to be you but in effect not you but a blending in with the peeled colors more stacks of not-you. Secrets Uncovered Each other’s closed palms mistakenly dropped open spilling hoard up, compressed secrets scooping up hard to scoop up like the harbor’s oil slick the faster wipe spread a much wider discoloration the grotesque to re-fit a pandora box’s bursting with an ill-fitted geometrical lid to sit back down on these unmentionable things to pull back in a loose tongue to cover up Machiavellian schemes to push back criminal fingers in side pockets because, as with a crowbar something pulling something wrenching at it prying and prying until the outer shell cracks naked unrestrained visceral now searching for something to hide behind but no fig leaf no euphemism no polite smile an exposed nerve pulsing. Open Mic open- mic will go on hearing you your thoughts diluted undiluted your deeds your intent what you never intended what is serious what is jest, open- mic has no decision in your right in your wrong open-mic is a sponge lying idly there hearing everything your breathing, the shaping of your thoughts your deleted thoughts your re-written thoughts in the middle of an empty, expectant stage open-mic open mic stands inanimate center-stage chrome, metallic perforated concealed ears listening, the silence like a fishing net to catch stuff falling between the cup and the lip and open-mic has somehow managed not to entangled itself in its own lead cord that disappears somewhere behind the hole countersunk in the counter. Image - Pavel Voloshin https://www.flickr.com/people/indie-man/ https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/ Bio: Eaton Jackson is an aspiring Jamaican writer, with a lifelong ambition of fitting the right words in the blank spaces. In so doing, he would like that a picture of one common humanity, peace, respect, honor and love become an achievable community. Because language should not be a barrier to feelings, and like the indigenous reggae music of his native homeland, whose lyric might not be readily understood, but whose infectious beat is – he would like his words to convey a similar understanding. His works have appeared in Tuck magazine, The NewsVerse News, River Poets Journal.
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