The Moon Again

jo'b   

The moon again

making an appearance

here to let us know

sometimes love returns.

Stand and cast a shadow.

The Difference

jo'b   

The birch by the gate,

you've passed it a hundred times in a week,

then someone tells you they care,

and the branch becomes stunningly new.

Those were the days.

Wistful Thinking

In the Zufall Cut                                (jo'b)    

                  You can feel it,

                  a shift

                  deep in the shadows

                  where the wild things reach for the sun,

                  deep in the thickening sky,

                  splendid and silent,

                  deep in the deep heart's core

                  where human compassion lies,

                  or is it only wistful thinking,

                  a common earthborn stasis,

                  deeper at the end of July?

Blooms in the Wasteplaces

jo'b   

And  I stand and watch your taillights

go over the hill for the last time,

Trying to decide if what I feel

is freedom or loss, when it is both.

The chickory has never been more vivid.

Old and Broken-Hearted

jo'b   

Monochrome, my days

Alone among the others,

Lovers lost in grays.

Hearts of Space

jo'b   

Our burning minds

Were the center

Of  the universe

Our double spiral

Our warp in time

Our supernova

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