Jim Weber

Zombie Dust

Raise a glass of Zombie Dust 
On a chilly Samhain 
When the wind tears your eyes, 
And laughing children dress up for treats 
With no plans for tricks, 
On the night when sixty years ago 
You would have joined them, 
Eyes full of wonder, bag full of sugar, 
When the joy of acquisition 
And the costume party of childhood 
Dressed you in delight, 
Mocking death and all the other fears 
You had not yet dreamed, let alone tasted, 
Blissfully blind to the mundane terrors that plague 
All watchers of the news 
Where true horrors parade nightly 
In their natural costumes, 
And the witches and goblins 
Fling contempt-filled dung balls at one another, 
Pretending love is not a spectre of itself, 
And the haunting ghosts of Halloween future 
Don't already stalk your limping, aching bones, 
In the guise of ancient parents
Who whisper in their blind delirium,
"It will be this for you! 
The clock ticks, 
And midnight comes."

Walking Outside

Walking outside 
Feels like stepping into 
The warm breath of the world. 
Summer is panting in and out, dog style. 
Even so the geese hear their flight boarding 
And go honking to their gate, 
And the oak tree's leaves, 
So tender bright green just a blink ago, 
Are dark and warn 
With Autumn curling up their edges. 
Seasons, by definition, do not last long, 
Yet we are still shocked 
When they end.

Unknown Sound

An unknown sound 
Is a vehicle 
In which 
The imagination 
Can ride 
To anywhere. 
Listen close, 
And travel far.

Diamonds

Diamonds Form deep down 
Under the crush of gravitational force, 
Coal pushed into 
Crystalline order, 
Bland, without wonder or mystery 
Until we gaze 
Into the cut, polished 
Gemstone sparkle 
That hints, 
But does not tell, 
Of majesty, magic, 
Beauty and love, 
A prism of color spread to our eyes, 
Glorious as the risen Christ.

With Only

With only 
Twenty-one percent remaining, 
The battery warns Of its impending demise. 
Without a charge, 
All will go black. 
My own charge 
Is at thirty-five per cent, 
But I have no idea 
Where to plug 
The cable in.

Slanted Across

Slanted across the sphere of of earth, 
Burned red by a sky full of dust, 
The last hour of work 
Drips like sweat from labor's brow 
Until the solar eyelid droops 
Just below the rim, 
Great orange pupil 
Giving one last, hard foreman's stare 
Before he turns the hands over 
To the night boss 
Who rises pale by comparison, 
Lax as her predecessor was hard, 
To preside over dinner and drink, 
Dancing and song, 
Story, prayers, and slumber 
With silver compassion 
For all who 
Would wander the stars 
In search of the rest needed 
Before 
The coming 
Day.

A Wasp Marches

A wasp marches back and forth, 
Picketing my window, 
Shadow cast by Sunday morning sun 
Onto drapes. 
He searches for something 
Like a man who has 
Lost his keys in the grass, 
Back and forth, 
Back and forth, 
Over the glass, 
Following a scent, 
A hidden path, 
A lost doorway. 
I tear myself away from his search, 
Put on my pants, 
And drive to church 
To continue 
Mine.

Written by Jim Weber
From "The Second Arc - Poems from Summer To Winter"
© Jim Weber 2025 All Rights Reserved.

It is Easy to Believe

It is easy to believe 
All that moves is alive -- 
Leaves fluttering like chatting friends 
On a crowded beach, 
Trees slow dancing with each other, 
Clouds traveling to distant lands 
Reshaped by their journey. 
My own foot moves in time To a mental rhythm 
That only I can hear, 
So how can I know That every invisible breeze 
Is not, in fact, 
The breath of God?

Written by Jim Weber
From "The Second Arc - Poems from Summer To Winter"
© Jim Weber 2025 All Rights Reserved.