Mirrored

jo'b   

A burning mind

is the center

of a galaxy

Our double spiral

our warp in time

was a blinding light

Birds on a Wire

Click to expand.    (jo'b)   

Like parallel contrails,

blown this way and that by our times,

we may never meet,

But we each have our songs,

like birds on a wire,

birdsong and windsong,

and thoughts are songs, too,

And typed lines are songs,

so sing to me then,

and I'll sing to you.

Message rates may apply.

 

Organic

 

jo'b.  

Hilltop where the fields are not sprayed

where sheep graze and swallows weave

where the wind blows and neighbors wave

where children run and laugh in the winrows

and know a kestral by its hover

where sometimes near sunset

there's not another human sound

but your own heart clenching

and the hum of the universe in your head

and there's peace on earth

peace on earth

and you wish it could last.

Lunarians

jo'b   

And when the old moon

Floated up out of the oaks

We were young again

Town Can Wait

jo'b   

Corn in tassel 

We smell it after rain

A breeze rolls over in the trees

And sends another shower down

We put off our trip to town

Ancestral: As Lost as Before

Plural was never to be

in our syllable of time

our brief melody

violins in a gale

on cliffs overlooking the sea

                         Clannad cover (top), Cliffs of Moher, County Clare, Ireland (bottom)

Smoke

jo'b   

 

We once found our balance

on the cusp of evening

as the light failed

and mist rose from the valley.

Today we wait inside

for the wind to shift,

and we listen

for the whimper.

.

—channeling T.S. Eliot

Teacher

Click to enlarge.         jo'b   

                    She does her work

                    and waits,

                    just outside the frame.

                  

                    She does her work

                    And waits alone.

                    I learn from that.

Sci-Fi

edited from the public domain   

 

 

Get her to the coast,                    

my loyal friend.                   

A ship awaits.                   

                   

The strength of our mixed blood                    

shall thrive, and once again,                    

may kindness reign.                    

Fortune Teller

(from the public domain)   

 

Mostly nobody answers.

I took shelter in my bones.

Days passed. The sound of rain.

Whether she has gone or if she was ever here.

Who among us is the enemy of water?

Reality is mutable and strange. 

A hawk cries overhead. Trees stir.

It isn't up to us.

Mist after Rain

jo'b     

Dripping maples and oaks.

A raven calls.

The soul settles for an hour or two.

The Wind has Died

A.I.     

                              

                              My little boat,

                              Take care.

                              There is no

                              Land in sight.

                                                       — Charles Simic (1938-2023)

No Land in Sight, New York, Knopf, 2022 

Copyright, 2022, Charles Simic

Radio Zen

Summer in its second movement.                               jo'b   

I let it play softly

in my hip pocket,

strings and flutes,

maybe an oboe,

sustained notes,

interstellar melodies,

universal hums,

it keeps me calm

so I can focus

on the temporary joys,

(and aren't they all)

blackbirds rising from the wire

in modest murmuration,

a weave of swallows,

the toad in porchlight

at the kitchen door,

maple leaves turning over,

thunderheads building

and the wind rising—

summer in its second movement,

me in my fourth, softly.

Hemlock Trail

jo'b     

A cloud is on the mountain,

a divinity of mist

in the last few acres

of virgin forest.

I have kept my promise,

but nothing comes.

What is the difference

if not love?

Elemental

jo'b   

 

Lost for a moment

in the depth of a lily

and you to tell

Sunset on a Hilltop

jo'b   

               Warm and cool

               the veins of air we passed through

               down from the hill

               where we had seen the last ridge

               rise to cover the sun

               as we rolled back

               into the shadow of the earth.

               There was nothing else to say.

               It felt like forever,

               heading home,

               long ago.

Heat Stroke

jo'b    

I hung a sheet to block the sun        

A veil across the day        

In my steadying loneliness        

Diaphanous my dreaming now       

       

To savor my defeats       

Swimmers

jo'b   

 

                   I swim

                   in the richness of July

                   against the undertow

                   of time.

Shades

jo'b   

 

                              Thank you for welcoming me,

                              Phantoms of the periphery,

                              Faint souls there to the side

                              Who vanish when I turn to look,

                              You shy ghosts of caring,

                              But not yet, not yet.

The Beautiful Day

jo'b.  

               

               Such a cool, overcast morning,

               I am easily pleased, it doesn't take much,

               A slow-motion sky, soft weather, 

              The weeds of the field in bloom, even

               The invasives, like me, and then

               The bullfrogs grunting in the afternoon,

               Then the doves eulogizing the dusk.

               Such a day, such a day — how sweet it can be,

               Almost enough to make me believe

               The worst won't ever happen.

https://www.bing.com/videos/riverview/relatedvideo?q=u2+beautiful+day&&mid=53F2915EE68D01C848AD53F2915EE68D01C848AD&churl=https%3a%2f%2fwww.youtube.com%2fchannel%2fUCpd21W3qWyzIl8-PXvyDA2g&FORM=VAMGZC

Zazen

jo'b   

                         Sitting in your own yard,

                         Rich in time for now,

                         Wealth is nowhere else to be,

                         And peace is a silent sky.

Mostly I Hope

jo'b   

                         Mostly I hope that the storm eases,

                         that the power stays on,

                         that June turns into July,

                         that rain sweetens the blackberries,

                         that drifting is the only reality,

                         that the spirit transcends the body,

                         that you read this and know it's for you,

                         that you feel less alone.

          

Staying On

American Chestnut, a survivor                      jo'b   

I have traveled far

under the chestnut tree,

or so it seems,

so many have I left behind,

or maybe they left me behind,

staying on as I have,

watching the sky go by,

the seasons flutter past,

the birds leaving and coming back,

(oh, the coming back,)

a few humans rounding the bend

on the lower gravel road,

the children with sunlight in their hair,

running joyful in the oatfield,

growing, setting sail,

eight good dogs wandering off

to lie down under the old apple tree,

too many good women waving farewell,

each night the stars a little dimmer,

a little farther off,

as I add another annual ring,

each day a little firmer in the ground,

still putting down my roots

under the chestnut tree,

traveling far.

Then

jo'b   

Companion of the infinite

We may find peace together then

I cherish my illusions

Everafter

jo'b   

               

               Light gains the value of rareness               

               seen through a darker lens.              

               Where I am now.              

               What I had then.             

         

               All I know to do               

               is to keep on writing.

              

               Owls call in the dusk.               

Love Story

From the public domain   

                    I came for you,

                    all leather and chrome and rumble,

                    and stole you away,

                    twisting the handle for speed,

                    your arms around me, hugging my back,

                    leaning together into the curves,

                    wild with the wind in our mouths,

                    powering over the hills and into the sky,

                    mad to be wreckage forever.

—with lines by James Dickey

To One Who Also Waits

JO'B   

                    Pause in your flight,

                    Turn yourself into the wind,

                    Damselfly on a metronone,

                    Daybreak, nightfall, daybreak, nightfall,

                    Lover of the night,

                    Mark time in the light of the sun,

                    Eyes closed in the rattle of wings,

                    Take flight in the dark,

                    With lanterns strung over the fields,

                    Pulsing,

                    You are not alone.

 

Early and Late

JO'B. 

Doves call in the half-light.               

                    It's not a poem,               

                    the poet said,               

                    Without an ache in it.               

          Nor is it a life.               

Looking Across the Valley

Laurel Hill Creek Valley

 

For a long time i stood in light rain looking across the valley,

listening to the sound of the creek deep in the valley

rushing over stones smoothed by the creek

rushing through the valley for a long time.

The creek flowed on without returning,

this was the one creek of night and day,

and i was unable to resist

looking across the valley for a long time.

Evening folded into itself and night rose behind me,

spreading its cloak over the valley

where for a long time the creek rushed over smooth stones

and even a long time was not long enough.

— after and with lines by W.S.Merwin

Red

Peony  

 

I looked too long

And lost my balance

Of course it was spring

Deep into the peony I fell

And never made it back

My beautiful ruin

To Drink from the Spring

Early 19th Century water source.  (JO'B)

                            To drink from the spring they drank from          

                                           when their walls were logs          

                            to clear the field          

                                           and plow to the edge of the forest          

                            to die in winter          

                            with the snow          

blowing through the broken window          

                           To write in a pure language          

of stone and ash and silt          

                                           to read in candlelight          

                                           to lie down in asters          

                                           to drink shadows          

—with lines after Tomaz Salaman.    

Dark Iris

JO'B    

                          Dark iris of the could-have-been,

                          a love we can't decode

                          and never dared to touch,

                          disturb the rain,

                          upset the order of its cells, 

                          disrupt the spinning universe,

                          never to recover —

                          so much we'll never know,

                          

                          but we pretend.

 

Notes to Self on a Cold Day in May

JO'B. 

Slower, deeper, each breath,

yours and the earth's.

Who do you think you are?

Don't love your life too much,

Mary Oliver wrote,

and vanished into the world.

Aural

JO'B

 

  

   Under the green canopy

   of my 82nd spring,

   Each morning

   more silent

   than the last,

   One dream

   flows into

   the next,

   And then no one,

   and then Tao.

Timelapse

JO'B  

                                                   A certain elegance

                                                   still standing,

                                                   stoic with purpose

                                                   and faith in one's self,

                                                   waiting for the miracle to come

                                                   as the trees overtake us,     

                                                   our graceful surrender,     

                                                   our gorgeous collapse

                                                   enriching the ground     

                                                   where we fall.   

Moonlight Wanderer

JO'B

 

         

I wasn't lonely              

Until you spoke my name              

And now I wonder              

Love in a Time of Covid

JOB

Did you get what you wanted at last,

Convinced all that was fiction at best,

Madness perhaps, a selective contagion,

Virulent to the maimed and the quick?

Blessed be the bi-polar,

Their heaven is upon us.

Do you pretend

You are not molten at the core?