Painting the Air

Rain, Steam, and Speed, The Great Western Railway -- J.M.W. Turner, 1844

My valley brims with mist,

mist enough, it seems,

to fill the expanse

between continents.

Home so early?

J.M.W. Turner's housekeeper asked

when the famed English Romantic painter

returned unexpectedly with his easel and brushes

from the banks of The River Thames —

Turner painted the air,

gave tint and tone to the mysteries

of haze and distance –– a mood made visible,

much as a songwriter makes audible

the anguish of yearning

with sustained minor chords

that can set you adrift,

And on this hazy morning in Upper Turkeyfoot,

with you so far and long away,

I know what Turner meant

when he replied, The fog lifted,

and you could see everything,

and there was nothing left to see.

—image from the public domain

Haiku for the Will of the People

Viewing the Bayeux Tapestry     

(Associated Press 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.