Haiku for the Will of the People

Viewing the Bayeux Tapestry     

(NYT photo)     

 

Stand together then                         

Against the feudal stitchwork                         

Of our own rash time                         

Not Letting Go

On her rooftop in New York

                                        She came home again

                                        as she sometimes does

                                        in a dream

                                        I tucked her in again

                                        as I sometimes did

                                        home from the office

                                        in the middle of the night

                                        She held onto my collar again

                                        as she sometimes did

                                        looking into my eyes

                                        smiling quietly

                                        not letting go

 

                                        Who's to say what is real

                                        and what is heartache

                                        and which is which

                                        or one and the same?

—for KJO'B (12/13/1970 - 4/28/2008)

Heirs of the Wind

jo'b     

It's helpful to remember

we live in the Age of Insects

and not the Age of Man.

What do you think

a swallowtail thinks?

Third Marriage

jo'b     

 

                                           I reached the cabin in time

                                           to hear the music of a thought,

                                           great grandma's rocker

                                           creaking on the porch boards.

                                            Before twilight faded away

                                            I escaped my own mind.

                                            Ravens croaked in the dusk.

                                            Night flooded the woods.

                                             This time I stayed

                                             because I knew the way back.

                                             The trees made room for the stars.

Tanka at the Equinox

jo'b   

Walking in the field

In the stillness after rain

Jeans soaked to the knees

We found comfort in silence

And peace hung in the balance.

Retrospective

jo'b   

We'll call it autumn                                  

Sudden and sentimental                                  

Giving in to it                                  

 

                                 

Evening in the Thicket

jo'b  

                         Late in the thicket of the soul,

                         where it was slow-going,

                         overgrown with the brambles and vines

                         of common catastrophe,

                         he accepted at last

                         the hard-earned conclusion

                         that he lacked the courage

                         to embrace what he thought

                         he'd always wanted—

                         unconditional love,

                         that uncommon thing—

                         powerful,

                         wounding,

                         and misplaced.

 

I Just Close My Eyes

jo'b  

 

Haven't stood in the sea since before COVID,

but I visit often, I can be there anytime I want

when a southerly wind is sighing in the oaks,

I just close my eyes and listen, I just close my eyes

and hear the rush and wash of the surf at my feet,

I just close my eyes and feel the cold ocean

and the sand between my toes, I just close my eyes

and see the band of Venus over the edge of the earth,

I just close my eyes and feel the salt spray on my cheek

and the sunset on my back, I just close my eyes,

and I sense the warmth and the breath

of the absent souls

that make my heart ache for the sea.

Because It's Still Summer

jo'b     

It's not too late.

Light from the low sun

like a sheet of honey over the fields.

A swarm of dragonflies

hunting over the yard,

after mowing, in the silence,

the rattle and glint of wings.

The feast continues.

We touch each other

to prove we are still here.

Tell me it's not too late.

—with two lines by Ocean Vuong

Solidago Days

jo'b   

Dew-strung and crowned with dawn

no one could find us

in the goldenrod field

as we had wished,

listening to the bees

chanting as they worked,

our pantlegs tucked into our socks

sprayed with Permethrin

against the stark truths of the world.