If thoughts are people then these tiny shadows
are the natural inhabitants of these cul-de-sacs
a planned habitat pressing inward thoughts
the pin thatâs lying idle on the track,
the easy derailment of fashionable idiosyncrasies;
a cowardâs apologies, these derelict, dim-lit alleys,
If thoughts refuse wings,
slipping, sliding back off the serrated edges
grunting heaving the torturous way back up,
if thoughts are people malleable
and the suction of inward thinking makes them into pygmies
lost children on the streets, lost dithering
then thoughts are really people,
If thoughts are manacles, chains, steel bars
then prisoners we are, the very makers of these locks
forgetful that we are also the makers of the keys,
if thoughts are people, then maybe after all
browse the menu choosing to be
interlocked in the dust-bowl, a dog-fight
with life ,with love
with ourselves,
But when thoughts are GIANTS
GUILLIVER rises breaking and snapping
the Lilliputianâs twigs and vinesâ¦
© Eaton Jackson
About the Author
My name is Eaton Jackson. I am a Jamaican, aspiring writer, who have been living in the United States for the past four years. I have been writing from my teenage years, but hitherto I have not been able to consistently published poet. Despite this despairing sense of anonymity, reaching for a blank piece of paper and the pen, is an instinctive reaction – chasing the dream that I swore made no sense dreaming about. I guess only a community of writers can relate to this act of self-flagellation, healing, self-flagellation all over again. So the dream persists â to be regarded as a successful, published writer.
