Jon Wolston's Poetry Archive

Like a teabag imparting
a morning jolt
the love of Christ
impels a colt
to race across a paddock
and back again
as Jesus does
when I’m with him.

I smell you God
after the rain.

I tell you God
when I’m in pain.

I hear your cry
see all you love.

Together we fly
wings of a dove.

in bright orange foil
and topped in green foliage
is right for my g—.

fire hydrants
reappear

halite crackles
underfoot

manhole gaping
eats you up

Gene impersonate
a Muppet in a Lenten
service in the church

of casseroles in
Concord (NH) Sunday
was priceless

and timeless
all rolled into one.

Manuscript on snow:
a brilliant skein of cities
unfurls below.

I hate to ask for money.
It must go back a ways—
to selling mags
in junior high,
or even younger days.

It feels like stealing lettuce,
like Peter Rabbit did.
McGregor’s hoe
hangs over me.
He terrified this kid.