December 15, 2016 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

Glen Hunt



Eaton Jackson






sinking to the bottom again

the betting public

gives a cursory glance,

moving back to the Aperitif options on the menu sheet


I love you[s]

heart-shaped inflatable tossed out to the drowning

an unrecognizable head eventually emerges. wet

beaten- to- a- pulp,


through carbuncled eyes, draughts of steaming, lung-ripping breaths

a hard look, seizing up the inaccessible again

the granite thought that separates fingers from

seizing, clasping around

the slender waist of the winner’s gold statuette,


echoes of the shrill bell again

half dead, half alive

to gather back up strewn pieces

fitting them back together again,


aphorism, nursery rhymes

talisman’s inscription

the dark horse fighting the wind

around the corner of the track,


when it becomes a calling,

it becomes a commanding voice

inside your head

that nudges you back into



that pulls you back up on your feet

and you are once again

a dripping droplet of water

gnawing into the granite











You Cried



You cried for Cecil the lion

but no tears for my son

killed also by illegal hunting practices,


A trust fund in the memory of Cecil

but none for my son who is as innocent as, Cecil

just going about his business,


Re-drafted re-written rules

harsher penalties

for hunting in restricted areas, placards still ablaze – justice for Cecil,


A million facebook hits

imprisonment of the hunter or hunters of Cecil

my tear drops, little rivulets into the pool, my plea drops in it – what about my son?


Lunch time’s passing glance

at the headlines of last night’s demonstration on behalf of my dead son

then conversation drops back into bemoaning the cruelty meted out to animals,


then someone turns the conversation to the sports page

someone else took the pull out section

of entertainment and fashion.











Eaton Jackson

My name is Eaton Jackson and I am a Jamaican, aspiring writer, living in the United States for the past four years. I have been writing from my teenage years. Over the years I have been published in various Jamaican publications. I have also been published in a few USA publications (Shot Glass, NewsVerse, Creative Unleashed, River Poets Journal). Despite the sense sometimes of a despairing sense of anonymity, writing on a blank piece of paper remains an instinctive reaction. So, the dream persists – to one day become a successful, published writer.


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