Wednesday, October 22, 2025

Early Morning Mist

—jo'b

Just after sunrise

hooded apparition

the bed still warm

the field strung with dew

awaiting your return

which always only just begins

not ready yet

for the full face of day

savoring this ache

the closest thing to love

I should have suffered more

when we were lonely

on this earth together

just before sunset.



Sunday, October 19, 2025

Lou Reed Considers the Universe

jo'b



Looking up through a beech tree

at the edge of a field

solitude enough

to consider infinity

and not find it ridiculous,

I mean all of it, everything,

infinitely small, infinitely big,

endless in all directions,

except for you and me,

baby.


Galaxy Messier 51, the Whirlpool, 31 million lightyears away. Stars are formed in its arms. As seen by the Hubble Telescope. (NASA)

Saturday, October 18, 2025

Universal Gravity

NASA


Astral friend, take care.

Attraction draws us closer,

Orbiting our star.




Friday, October 17, 2025

A Pure Thing




A love unspoken              

Like the light of the pointed moon              

Rising late and fine              



 

Thursday, October 16, 2025

The Woods




I went to the woods

With many questions.

Most were not answered.








Wednesday, October 15, 2025

Seven Cords

jo'b

Twang of the long spring

And the screen door's downbeat,

A choir of geese, loud and low

Above the baring crowns,

Mission rocker creaking oak

To hush this weary body down,

Woodshed filled for the dog and me,

So let the fall be done,

Coyotes yipping in the dark,

So let the winter come.




Friday, October 10, 2025

Spherical

jo'b


Nobody in sight, no road and no structure,

no right angles, no plumb and no level,

just a few flowing lines in fading starlight,

just a soft wind over unbroken horizons,

just you and just me in a continuous present,

no future, no past, immortal for a moment,

our brief eternity.




Thursday, October 09, 2025

Heating Season

October Moon    —jo'b

We belonged to the moon

and barely survived it

before they taught us

the iron distances of time.


Another winter comes around,

I wonder how you've changed.

Fiction flares in the dark.

I build fire, after fire, after fire.




Sunday, October 05, 2025

Just After Sunset

East


The Belt of Venus

surrounds us from the east

just above the rising shadow

of the earth

we believe

the beauty of the world

will sustain us

waiting in stillness

amid the reality of time





Friday, October 03, 2025

From a Hillltop

—jo'b

We came to know

All we wanted

Was silence



Monday, September 29, 2025

The Path That Connects Us

— jo'b


You go on ahead

I'll stay behind

Unless you want to climb

Through this broken window

Into the blur of fall.




Saturday, September 27, 2025

Interstellar

jo'b
  

Circling the sun, endlessly spinning

in infinite night, searching for others,

others like us, like us but better,

searching for life more advanced,

wiser and kinder, rational and peaceful—

such is our hope.


So much empty space,

cold and dark between fires—

yet surely, surely,

from what we know of infinity,

others surely exist, those are the odds—

 but lifetimes, lifetimes to reach.


May we be what we seek,

endlessly spinning, searching

for others like us, if only

just down the road, wiser

and kinder, circling the sun—

alone together, for now.





Friday, September 26, 2025

Making It Count

— jo'b



  How briefly

  we flare

  on this old earth,


  How quickly

  our tracks

  fade behind us.






Thursday, September 25, 2025

In Late September

— jo'b

In late September

when everything already

is more than enough

I go to the woods

vivid after rain

sweeter for the cool

pursed lips of the wind

deeper for the kindnesses

of people I love

richer for the fallen years

that spice the tiled ground

these few shining acres

this immense quiet

this brief recurring ecstasy.






 

Tuesday, September 23, 2025

Skyward

jo'b

                    Flat on the ground

                    under the billow and drift,

                    losing my grip on the earth,

                    consciousness rising as heat,

                    scattered galactic,

                    knowing for an instant

                    the freedom and release

                    of going atomic,

                    levitational peace,

                    recombinant.



Sunday, September 14, 2025

Afield, IRL*


jo'b


                        It's simple really.

                        I walk the field.

                        I write my lines.

                        Orion leaps from the woods

                        And over the world.

                        I bolt the door.




* — Social media parlance for "In Real Life," as opposed to digital life.
Inspired by a quote from J.D. Salinger's "A Boy in France."

Tuesday, September 09, 2025

Homesteaders

jo'b

Our windows have been broken out                    

For nearly forty years                    


The wind blows through us                    

And the snow slants in                    


Each winter colder than the last                   

We don't need a forecast                   


Yet some of us stay on                   

Anchored by sunsets and ashes                   





Saturday, September 06, 2025

Om


jo'b


  Out of black crowns

  Harmonics rising

  The vibrating moon

  Sanguine and whole


  Struck like a tuning fork

  An old man in shadow

  Tries to get it down

  Waning in indigo.

  






Tuesday, September 02, 2025

When

jo'b



Then walk the beach at sunrise

Wounded soul

Where there is no sea





Sunday, August 31, 2025

Hindus and Buddhists

jo'b


We sat in silence side-by-side

and watched the sea collapsing on the bar,

and felt its strength,  

but dared not say its name,

accepting age and circumstance

and deep respect — too late for us.

Yet the tides that moved us then,

they move us still, on our separate hilltops,

clouds expanding over the valley,

ridge-to-ridge in this inverted world.

And if, as Hindus and Buddhists believe,

if there is a Next, I'll look for you,

and side-by-side we'll sit again

and feel this old earth roll.




Thursday, August 28, 2025

The Way We Are

jo'b

 

The hard angles of reason

Acute in this billowing world

Where our hearts cloud our minds,

Our beautiful flaw.




Tuesday, August 26, 2025

Beyond the News

jo'b

  

Shaking off the apprehensions of the night

I step outside into the breath of morning,

crows croaking in a grounded cloud,

walnuts dropping in the yard,

beyond the news

in cooler mists and shorter days

with all the screens gone dark.

Or so I think.




Sunday, August 24, 2025

My Country:: Version I

jo'b

Cloud and hill

     a place to stand

          head in the sky

               believing in the wind

                    that depth of sound

                    that force of consciousness

               still here

          still uncertain

     still waiting

for the miracle to come.




Saturday, August 23, 2025

My Country: Version II

jo'b

 


Cloud and hill

a place to stand

believing

in the wind

waiting for

the miracle

to end.





Wednesday, August 20, 2025

Revelation No. 9

Brush & Ink Watercolor. Andre Pempvåc


The chickens

stalked about the room

like members of the family.

They stood and looked me in the eye.

They pecked my shoe.

Such is art.



—With a found poem from The Journal of Henry David ThoreauAugust 8, 1845



Monday, August 18, 2025

Differently

jo'b


Differently is how we see

because we see ourselves

given space and time

          to look

                    to feel

                              to think

how it could have been

living in abstraction.


Viewing William Tell (1930) by Salvador Dali, National Museum of Art, Center Pompidou, Paris



Wednesday, August 13, 2025

The Minimalist



The longer I work at this

The smaller it becomes

Until there's nothing left

But love and death.


Go slowly, and be kind.







Monday, August 11, 2025

Ponds in August

j'ob

 

Scrolling through the photographs of twenty Augusts

So many mirages          Wordless, but not silent

Unless to say love          Unless to ask how

                    Something deeper

Unless to say poetry          Ponds in August

Performances          Under the surface





Saturday, August 09, 2025

C'est La Vie

Paris, 2010 - jo'b



It all seems backwards now,

How it was then,

What should've been the beginning,

Instead was the beginning of the end—

No magic for us in The City of Light.


C'est la vie.


Ah, but life is simpler now,

Though maybe sadder than before—

No reason to pretend—

And just as beautiful—

Goldenglow against the cellar door.


Upper Turkeyfoot, 2025 - jo'b
 





Thursday, August 07, 2025

Boomers in Byzantium

jo'b

                 


That is no country for old men,

The young in one another's phones,

The comment-crowded screens,

The AI-addled dreams,

Caught in that sensual music all neglect

Monuments of undeveloped intellect.

 

Man is but a paltry thing,

An old Perfecto on a post, unless

Soul clap its hands and play, and louder play,

Pandora, aged watchers under stars,

—Those dying generations— at their song,

Wizened rock-'n'-rollers


Limping off into the trees

Of drug-dimmed memories, some

Still strong enough to raise.

For cameras everywhere, a fist

In late defiance as they go, or to imagine so,

Of what is past, or passing, or to come.




—a riff on W. B. Yeats' Sailing to Byzantium, with profound apologies to the great poet

Tuesday, August 05, 2025

Haiku to Self

August in UT - jo'b
 - 


 No use to pretend                   

Your sighing gives you away                   

You weren't meant to fly                   



Friday, August 01, 2025

Vaguely Unsettled

Kill Devil Hills, NC - jo'b


Out of harmony

with yourself,

you can't shake it,

who you are

and what you want,

bruising yourself

for what's hovering

just out of reach,

dark and yearning,

aesthetically adrift,

flooded with words

and no place to stand.


You won't fake it,

give in to the urge

to drive toward the sea

until you run out of road,

climbing a dune

to lean on the wind,

salt mist in your lungs,

a continent at your back,

and open before you

the unbroken curve

of the tides, to launch

in the screams of gulls.



Wednesday, July 30, 2025

Back from the City

jo'b


Back from the city

Riding 'til the fireflies rise

Closer to heaven





Tuesday, July 29, 2025

Out of the Fire


jo'b












 Then I watched her go

 Centripetal adagio

 Nested in the dew         




Sunday, July 27, 2025

Room

click to expand - jo'b

The dignity            

of open space.      


The value              

of the long view.   





Saturday, July 26, 2025

Graves Beside the Trail

Detail of a photo illustration by Ashley Z.Boon



Swallows banked and dove

over the abandoned field

steeped in briars and asters

tall as the family stones

children and spouses

slowly eroding.


The stones shared an age

in evening's pall—

nineteen twice.

We stopped to watch

as if we wouldn't forget.

Uno vida. Uno vida.


Near the Salisbury Viaduct on The Great Allegheny Passage - jo'b











Wednesday, July 23, 2025

In the Void

jo'b

no human sound

night crawls out of the woods


you did what you could

you tell yourself

expanding with the dark





Sunday, July 20, 2025

Undertow

Duck, NC, 10/14/14 - jo'b


Did you feel it 

in your heart  

the warming tides 

that pull us out 

the swells 

that lift us up 

unable to touch bottom 

and how much longer 

can we swim 

parallel to shore ? 





Friday, July 18, 2025

Desire

jo'b

Some nights                    

are longer                    


Some hearts                    

never rest                    







Thursday, July 17, 2025

Thunderheads

View from the center - jo'b

  
The day was my mandala.

I began at the perimeter

and worked my way in,

first light like a ghost

in the woods to the east,

last light like coals

behind Laurel Ridge.


At the center I sat on the hill,

the dog snuffling deep in the field

where goldenrod shook,

swallows diving and looping above us.

Awe billowed into the sky.

Limned as the towering clouds,

I sat with a life at my back.


I wasn't alone.










Wednesday, July 16, 2025

Feels Like Rain

jo'b


Watching shadows

in the wind,

writing down

the whispers in the trees,

seeing what's not there.


Are you thinking of me, too,

the way we were,

even if the future

lies behind us now ?

Thunder shakes the ground.





Friday, July 11, 2025

Catalpa

 

jo'b
          

I am blurred at the edges

Both of us

Deep in the shadows

Reading each other's minds

In the animal heat of July.


The old catalpa stands guard

Everything else a mirage

Except what's imagined.






Tuesday, July 08, 2025

Why So Fast?

jo'b


   

Why so fast, I ask myself,

Leaning back on slower time,

Arms extended, lungs filled,

Floating on summer while I can,

And the day gains a certain eternity.




Sunday, July 06, 2025

The Choices We Made
















The long, backward reach

Of memory, our phantoms

Revisit us now.










Friday, July 04, 2025

Goldfinches, Fawns, Neighbors from Afar

jo'b


 














Never done

With looking,

Standing around,

As the poet said,

With your arms open,

Everything

Comes closer.

Make your own list.




After Mary Oliver's Where Does the Temple Begin, Where Does It End?

Thursday, July 03, 2025

The Isolated Now

jo'b


Not yet too late,

considering the vanishments,

when the west opened at sunset,

as it often does,

and we were reminded —

the isolated now

is what we have —

how we treat each other,

and dogs, and birds, and grass,

whirling through enormous night,

the quality of that,

and gone.





Monday, June 30, 2025

Zazen After Sunset



          Dark enough,

And a young moon fresh in the glimmerdim.

          Late enough,

And the fireflies, risen from the grass, constellate the trees.

          Still enough,

And you, too, risen from yourself, untranslatable.

          Free enough,

And no longer fastened to a dying animal,

                    As in the south silent lightning pulsed,

                    And caught the heart off guard,

                     And blew it open.


                   
          

—ultimate lines from Seamus Heaney's Postscript