Biography of Simon Jackson
Lived in the UK till I was 7 and half,
been living in China since then until two years ago.
Simon Jackson Poems
The Tragic Masterpeice
The tragic masterpiece lies here Where better things once flourished. Fuelled by bitter envy and Jealousy of old and new fires
Wasted Words From The Mouth Of A Fool
If the sun is up too early, I’d push it way back down And when it runs away too fast: To the moon, I’d lash it down,
Even amongst the hums and whirrs and hisses coming from behind the counter Its so easy In the pretentious mist of this artsy café
Whilst I hover here wondering if i'll be sick The hazy details of the nights debauchery Become clearer with every retch,
When the snow thaws And the icy cracks in the road form rivers It carries away the hopes and dreams Of the children once engrossed
Boot Prints In The Snow
Wandering in winter's gusty grip Nothing is safe from its frigid whip Taming even people on their journeys. Animals wonder if theyll see the spring
This Light That Doth Shine On My Face
This light that doth shine on my face rising from the east and setting in the west regular, like clockwork, as people say. Its joy and radiance can be stolen by none,
The blinding light seeks out amongst the tumbling waves breaking against the barricade of rocks jutting out
Arid and lifeless the world surrounds the prickly cactus standing its ground, watching, waiting preparing amongst the nothing that envelopes the scene.
Creatures At Night
The night comes and the owls come out to hoot. The bustle and the noise is gone and animals slowly creep
For the one who posesses my heart, with unknowing cirumscription: Forever on my mind
Spirit Of The Mountain
Clitter Clatter Clitter Clatter The hooves go warding on.
Here I sit and stare to yonder, wandering into states of wonder and disbelief. Tracing paths of tinkerbells in the sky at night seeking the path laid out in light.
Creatures At Night
The night comes
and the owls come out to hoot.
The bustle and the noise is gone
and animals slowly creep
out from their midnight shelters.
Alive in the night
the foragers and predators arrive
hungry from their daytime sleep,