chapbook

deeply a pot of cheap ramen

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

betting is fun I bet were I rich I would lose a lot
more than now losing’s not a competition though
at its core it is an apple beneath a heap of peaches
shower soap I never liked peaches have you ever
sniffed steam emanating from chicken Top Ramen
it is not clean it is not soap I dispose of everything
the flame I inhale plastic I ingest plastic waiting on
the clock to change from 12:23 to 12:24 I pour my meal
into plate-bowl snorting steam never inhale too deeply a
pot of cheap ramen I know I am saving money I know I am
betting a lot on fake economies blowing my breath onto
unpackaged carcinogens Michael once said in our apartment he
hoped to never see me eat this shit again this was years ago
soggy noodle soup coiled springs I hold in my mouth tongue
salt nothing but the salt I then lick off my chin it’s nothing just
pennies of salt I will be hungry again soon so why must I savor
every writhing U at bowl’s bottom like each bite will be my last

(originally published in Count Seeds With Me [Ethel Zine & Micro-Press], Spring, 2022)

Watering a Flower

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

Meditation is mellifluous
melody ignoring the choo-
choo train inside my head,

but I have been growing
better, forth in time.
There are meadows

I will never enter – renter
of everything. Nothing I meet
in this life I keep. Honest. Lover

bearing forever strands
of hair? God, infinity is
so infinite when glimpsed.

Such the rose moon
grows on this
specific sky.

(originally published in Count Seeds With Me, Spring 2022)

The Bucket

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

Ripples of water
extend into days

we are wordless
with each other.

A storm breaks,
a dog whimpers.

We hear the groaning
Earth shifting

over countless hours
into the endless sea.

I’ve had enough
of windows,

where dreams
are a quick glance

over another
unfinished drink

in the middle
of the day.

(originally published in Count Seeds With Me, Spring 2022)

Acre

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

You count seeds with me
and I am tired of countable things.
When I count them, they…

they… stay the same. All
in order like a motor
in my clockwork.

Yet I plant seeds
and you plant trees and
I pick flowers while you

pick flowers and I wonder who
becomes the failure.
I plant the same seeds

but you… you… grow
into something new.
There are petals or there aren’t.

We sprout from the same earth. I need
to water this something-patch-of-dirt.
If I do, I will feel. Something.

(originally published in Subnivean, Winter 2021)

Chapbook Release: ‘The Frayed Edge of Memory’

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

Today’s a bit of a special day for me: my first poetry chapbook, ‘The Frayed Edge of Memory’ (Writing Knights Press) has released and is now available for purchase! It’s 44 pages and only $8 for a physical copy. Really excited for you to read it! Thank you so much for your support.

Two sample poems that are in the book: ‘Gate C55’ and ‘Short Return to Los Angeles’

(Goodreads)