James J Jackson
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Camping – A Poem For Palestine
History is not written by the winners, it is written by thieves, murderers, and liars. History is not written by the winners, it is written by overpaid screenwriters and hack celebrities. History is not written, it is lived. Children of Socrates have stood up! They hear the mothers crying, the babies dying, and the fathers…
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Just Another Day…
ALARM! Shock! Deep groan. Silence. Grunt. Get up. Water. Flame. Whistle. Pour. Crack. Sizzle. Eat. Keys. Purring. Honks. Screech. Yell. Deep breath. Repeat. Park. Clock in. Clock out. Eat. Clock in again. Clock out again. Keys. Purring. Honks. Screech. Yell. Deep breath. Repeat. Park. Slam. Flop. Snore. ALARM…
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Peace out!
I’m changing directions, but keeping this site up. I’m writing under a new name, but apparently I can’t change the URL on this website without deleting important links. Later yall!
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First Draft Hero (poem)
First draft hero! No class zero. Oh, did you not know that poetry is a business now? Everything is. Hustle away… Hustle away… The 1980s didn’t end they just turned into reality tv. First draft hero changes the font half way through. Those listening to this poem can’t hear it. But I changed the font…
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February 27, 2022
I just ate four hamburgers and drank a beer, but war were declared. I’ve been drunk for 5 days, but war were declared. I’d go to sleep wanting to cry, but war were declared. I like to rewatch Futurama when I’m sad, but war were declared.
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Dec 24, 2021
Merry Christmas. Santa, I don’t want presents this year. For Christmas this year, I want to write books. I’m tired of begging on Patreon. I’m tired of the “starving artist” cliches. I’m sick of the grind, I’m sick of the hours, I’m sick of celebrities talking to me about power. I want to write books.…
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Dec 3, 2021 – poem
Haze and fog. I belong here. These words make no sense. I belong here. Who cares? This poem sucks. Who cares? I belong here. Old songs are all that play on my list. Who cares? I belong here. My pages are wet. That’s not a double entendre. Who cares? I belong here.
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New poem published in Ariel Chart!!!
Hey all, I’m happy to announce that Ariel Chart International Literary Journal has published one of my poems. Here is the link! Thanks for reading!https://www.arielchart.com/2021/11/why-poetry-is-living-dead.html?m=1
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2012, a poem
part 2 of a 10 part series of poems
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2011, a poem (part 1 of 10)
This is the first installment in a series of ten poems summarizing the previous decade. 2011 Let me take youback to a timewhen flip phonesweren’t passe,when Obamawas still considereda “progressive”,when Party Rockanthems and electricdaisies bukaketo Lisa Ann on Twitterinstead of beggingfor big mommy milkerson TikTok.Back to a timewhen “we got ’em!”and despite what thesketch comedy…
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I’m 29 G*ddamit (poem)
When I was a teen I never thought I would make it to 30. I drank myself blind. I’ve had more smoke inside of me than a fucking chimney. I’ve dabbled in suicide. I was in a carwreck that crippled me, but even that couldn’t kill me. I’ve gotten death threats, but no one has…
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The Planet Is On Fire (poem)
The planet is on fire, but the Kardashians are still relevant. The planet is burning but here is another think piece about why Bernie “isn’t really a socialist.” The planet is burning but remember how great the (insert decade you were born)’s were? – The planet is on fire but let’s talk about why you…
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On not giving a sh*t (poem)
I don’t give a shit what people think of me. That’s not a very poetic way to put it. But it’s the truth. I don’t care that you judge me. I don’t care that you have opinions of me, or hot takes or criticisms. I don’t care that you gossip about me or tease me…
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I’m Weary, but I Can’t Rest
I’m weary, but I can’t rest. I can’t sleep on an empty belly. I can’t relax when I haven’t earned it. I can’t slow down, until the world stops burning down. I can’t breath, until everyone can breath, and not just breath but breath deeply and free. I’m weary, so weary, but I can’t rest.
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You Don’t Have to Be a Wine-o to Write Poetry, but it helps
Poetry and wine are synonymous. That’s why the Greeks and the Romans had one god for both. I do not believe in gods, and I don’t believe in masters or kings, or astrology. But I do believe in poetry. So you better believe that I damn sure believe in wine.
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Barbacue
I sit here beer in hand as the charcoal’s pillow of smoke dances in the wind, sometimes hitting me in the eye, but I don’t mind the sting. _ The smoke twirling in the summer breeze and the smokey tears fogging my vision remind me of my teenage years when I angstfully babbled on and…
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When Trump Was President I Thought I Could Become The Next Lenin (poem)
There was time in my life when I thought I could be the next Lenin. A statesmen, a writer, and a leader? What’s not to like? Who was to say I couldn’t be a triple threat like him? But I’m too unprofessional to be a professional revolutionary. And Lenin didn’t have to put up with…
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Poetry is a Waste of Time, a poem (believe it or not)
Poetry has become the cliche of all cliches. For most “poets” writing has become an act of masturbation, a way to kill some time. Anyone who dares to ramble about stupid shit like love or hope get’s thrown into the lion’s den. Anyone who appreciates the beauty of a river’s flow or the symphonies of…
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The Teacher As Poet, a Poem (obviously)
The Teacher As Poet Content’s production, Ease of mind and constant rush, Narcotic ease, And still the voices don’t stop. Stagnation is a creative mind’s enemy, as is cowardice. We are our words, our letters and symbols. Intentions mean nothing when they fail, Yet success is still a subjective term. I am responsible for the…
James Jay Jackson, Jr. 