Tag Archives: Mark Jackley

Me and Bobby McGee

By Mark Jackley

The deejay interrupted 
Tears of a Clown to say
Janis was dead, my sweet Lord,
it’s too late baby, though
I’m going out of order, 
Tapestry came later,
after Janis swooned for Bobby, 
windshield wipers slapping time.
Freedom’s just another word 
for nothing left to use,
ask the poet scarred 
by acne and Port Arthur,
found at the Hollywood Motor Hotel 
blue-lipped, clutching a cig. 
She really did try to make it, 
my Lord, I want to see you,
I really want to be with you, 
oh god, please fucking listen—
if there’s a smile on my face, 
it’s only trying to fool the public.


Mark Jackley’s poems have appeared in Fifth Wednesday, Sugar House Review, The Cape Rock, Talking River, Cagibi, and other journals. His book Many Suns Will Rise is forthcoming from The Main Street Rag Press. He lives in Purcellville, Virginia.

TO A WOODPECKER

By Mark Jackley

Once again, you knock
on the door 
of my inattention.
I open it,
those daffodils
are flowers, 
not stars.
A nuthatch 
squeaks, a pulley 
in my brain
anthro-
pomorphosizes
helplessly,
long after the fall.


Mark Jackley‘s poems have appeared in Fifth Wednesday, Sugar House Review, The Cape Rock, Talking River, Cagibi, and other journals. His book Many Suns Will Rise is forthcoming from The Main Street Rag Press. He lives in Purcellville, Virginia.

PHENOMENA, A PLAYLIST

By Mark Jackley

  1. Gospel of the cat’s wet fur
  2. Soft rain on the trailer
  3. Frying pan at midnight sputtering of cold graves
  4. Sword of light from a cracked door
  5. Wet basketball in my hands
  6. Gardner in straw hat dreaming over the steering wheel
  7. Mailbox like a hunchback trying to thumb a ride
  8. How of the air but heavy we cut the air, ripples
  9. Book clutched like a weapon
  10. Warm laundry, humdrum zen
  11. Braille of wet pine needles on bare feet
  12. Mourners softly drifting
  13. Pills like Christmas lights
  14. Waking like Adam and Eve, nothing between us but time
  15. Crow, little black king
  16. One darkness and one me
  17. Stranger on the train dropping blueberries in my palm

Mark Jackley’s poems have appeared in Fifth Wednesday, Sugar House Review, The Cape Rock, Talking River, Cagibi, and other journals. His book Many Suns Will Rise is forthcoming from The Main Street Rag Press. He lives in Purcellville, Virginia.

At the Food Bank

By Mark Jackley

What this queue stretching for blocks needs is Carlton Fisk
to hop in place, chop his arms, put some English on our fate,
rerrange a few molecules, skew the spin of the earth— 
imagine, no more hunger, if only for today, 
even if tomorrow our luck pops out, the end. 
Oh captain, give us the sign to get up off our asses, 
to stand and cheer for the whole fucking team, train the heat of our love
to realign the stars as our hopes go sailing, higher,
spinning down the line, over Boylston Street.


Mark Jackley’s poems have appeared in Fifth Wednesday, Sugar House Review, The Cape Rock, Talking River, Cagibi, and other journals. His book Many Suns Will Rise is forthcoming from The Main Street Rag Press. He lives in Purcellville, Virginia.