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Category: Poetry

haibun: 12 April 2025

Published 13 April 2025 by Jason Crane

Black Saint Billy Harper is wailing 40-something years ago in some other city but tonight he’s filling the air in our bedroom in Charlottesville because earlier today at Melody supreme his record was on the wall and I remembered that time I interviewed him and his voice was so rich and resonant that it put mine to shame and that was already so long ago that I recall only impressions (not the Coltrane tune) and wow! this band is killing.

five decades
collapsed in an instant
black metaltail hummingbird

/ / /

12 April 2025
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: Dishwasher At The Barricades

Published 8 April 2025 by Jason Crane

Dishwasher At The Barricades

I made the mistake
of listening to headlines
while I washed the dishes tonight.
I’d been proud of myself
for washing them
rather than just getting into bed.
By the time I finished
I was enraged,
my heart pounding in my chest.
The antithesis of meditation.
It’s the Frodo Baggins of it all:
living through times
I’d have rather avoided,
chest full of a heart
that can’t look away.
I’m too cowardly for the big things.
I let my bosses silence me.
I hide behind the age-old fear
of getting yelled at.
I’m not a Willem van Spronsen.
Not an Alexander Berkman.
My hands shake
as I rinse the last glass,
set it rim-side-down
on the pile of clean dishes
in the drying rack.
I turn off the podcast
so I can write this poem.

/ / /

4/7/25
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: dawn chorus

Published 5 April 2025 by Jason Crane

dawn chorus

we’ve sung for them
for a thousand years
but they’ve never
learned the words

/ / /
5 April 2025
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: the mysterious valley

Published 4 April 2025 by Jason Crane

the mysterious valley

there’s a mysterious valley
behind Lisa
I hadn’t noticed it until today
I guess I was too distracted
by the smile we’re told to look at
but there it is –
a path and a bridge
some mountains fading into mist
while Lisa sits there
daring us to look past her

/ / /

4 April 2025
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: For John Breen

Published 31 March 2025 by Jason Crane

For John Breen

We’ll probably never know what he did
when he was overseas in a uniform.
He kept most of that pretty close to the chest.
In fact he kept most things pretty close to the chest.
He was a classic man of his era.
He served, he worked, he did what was required.
I once watched him eat two slices of pizza
and wash them down with a full glass of milk.
He was, if memory serves, the only person I ever knew
who preferred Wonder Bread to all other kinds.
I sat at his table one afternoon,
having decided to unburden my emotions
to this least likely of hearers.
When I was done, he told me
to get my head out of my ass.
He wasn’t wrong.

/ / /

31 March 2025
Charlottesville VA

For my Uncle John,
who passed away on
March 29, 2025.

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POEM: hush

Published 28 March 2025 by Jason Crane

hush

a carpenter bee inspects the bird feeder
across the street, a neighbor mows short grass
there’s a woodpecker knocking in a tree behind me
the cat jumps up to say hi then bites my hand
I saw a video once about a man
who finds the last quiet places
I haven’t seen him around here

/ / /

28 March 2025
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: Fred Astaire’s Sister

Published 25 March 2025 by Jason Crane

Fred Astaire’s Sister

The crossword puzzle book –
which, let’s be honest,
is already a pretty old place to start –
has a clue asking for the name
of Fred Astaire’s sister.
As I pencil in ADELE,
I get that cozy feeling
that comes from a warm fire
on a snowy day
with an old movie playing.
There’s something oddly comforting
about knowing Fred’s sister’s name,
as there is about knowing Fred himself.
I was born in the era of record players
housed in credenzas, grew up
in the era of cassette tapes and then CDs,
and watched my kids come of age
at a time when every song ever recorded
is available at the touch of a pretend button.
But now it’s Sunday afternoon,
I’m listening to Horowitz on vinyl,
penciling in the name
of Fred Astaire’s sister,
and happy to be spanning the ages
with my wonder still intact.

/ / /

25 March 2025
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: Carrying A Pencil

Published 24 March 2025 by Jason Crane

Carrying A Pencil

“I got me an Altoids can
and one of these pencil sharpeners here
German pencil sharpeners
M&R
and these are great,
little $8, heavy, brass pencil sharpener
and I would carry these daily
that’s a lot
then I finally wised up
and went with the mechanical pencil here.”

/ / /

24 March 2025
Charlottesville VA

From this video by Coty Black

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POEM: Buttered Toast

Published 22 March 2025 by Jason Crane

Buttered Toast
for Denise

I eat buttered toast
and think of my aunt
who is actually my cousin,
who almost certainly
wouldn’t know me
if she saw me today,
not because I’ve changed –
though I have –
but because her mind
has exchanged the present
for the hazy glow of the past,
where we all sit
around the dining room table
while the future
stretches out forever,
golden.

/ / /

22 March 2025
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: The Process Of Warping Prevention

Published 21 March 2025 by Jason Crane

The Process Of Warping Prevention

Hammer in
the warp stopper.
Over the years of use
this will prevent the object
from bowing
under the weight of the world.
Make sure it has
just enough grog
to give it tooth.
It’s not necessary
to know what that means
as long as you’re
careful to do it.
At 12,500 feet
below sea level
your lungs will collapse,
so stay out
of the deep end.
The two white women
want to take a cruise.
The two black men
have no place to hang out.

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21 March 2025
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: Glass House

Published 15 March 2025 by Jason Crane

Glass House

There’s an upside-down house
in the pond outside the cafe.
A squad of geese in tight formation
fly over (under?) it then
disappear beyond leafless trees.
The glass-smooth pond waits
for the return of its winged tenants.
Spring has called them north,
back across the imaginary border
recognized only by us,
discomfited as we are
by the idea of freedom.

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15 March 2025
Ruckersville VA

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POEM: Turns Out I’m Not Famous

Published 12 March 2025 by Jason Crane

Turns Out I’m Not Famous

I’m waiting to talk to another musician,
here at the lowest level of radio.
How many times have I done this?
Two thousand? Three thousand?
I used to think I’d be on the other end,
part of some arena-filling band
that all the DJs wanted to talk to.
It hasn’t worked out that way,
and other than the blues guys
who were rediscovered
by eager white record collectors,
not that many musicians start
a successful career in their 50s.
I’m more of the eager white type
than the neglected blues legend type,
so I guess I’ll keep my day job,
waiting here for another interview
with another rock musician.

/ / /

12 March 2025
Charlottesville VA

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POST: Vultures

Published 3 March 2025 by Jason Crane

Vultures

You can’t leave your house without seeing a vulture.
That’s not even a metaphor, just how it is.
And why not? Vultures eat dead things, decaying things.
Where better to fly than over the United States?
Today at a vigil for Palestine we talked about whether,
in 50 years, this era would be seen as a watershed moment
in the rush toward Gilead, or whether the slow enshittification
of everything would continue, with the goalposts of the illusion
of security moved a little more each year, but never enough
for Americans as a whole to actually, you know, do anything.
There are still shows on TV, there’s still food at the supermarket.
That seems to be all most people need to pretend it’s all OK.
In some cultures vultures represent rebirth.
I know if I looked out my window right now, I’d see one.
Eventually even the black holes will fade.
The universe will die in ice.
What unimagined harbinger
might watch from outside the darkness?

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3 March 2025
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: scenes from a Sunday stroll

Published 2 March 2025 by Jason Crane

scenes from a Sunday stroll

an old man hunches over
the engine of his minivan

a young woman with two kids
walks slowly toward the park

a bluebird bursts from a bare tree
strafes the grass, disappears

sunspots on the rocks
at the bottom of a slow creek

the sound of the vulture’s wings
reaches us before the sight

it smells slightly of old pine
at the end of the wooded trail

a slim volume in Polish next to
airport reads in the free library

someone changes a bicycle tire
on the front stoop of their house

a hooded figure in a parka
trudges up a slight incline

a person loads their van
with clear plastic boxes of clothing

Herman Melville’s head
peeks above our mailbox

a greeting from our cat
as we come in the front door

/ / /

2 March 2025
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: the eighties

Published 28 February 2025 by Jason Crane

the eighties

we listened to Pink Floyd & Rush
Genesis & Yes & King Crimson
Marillion & a-ha & Depeche Mode

we watched Monty Python
& Robin Williams & Red Dwarf
& Big Trouble In Little China

we ordered pizza
bought snacks at Wegmans
stopped at Perkins in the wee hours

we read Watchmen & The Dark Knight Returns
The Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy
The Chronicles Of Amber & Tolkien

we played in the marching band
we played in the wind ensemble
we (some of us) played in a rock band

we planned to go to college
we planned to never get married
we couldn’t imagine having kids

we’re not all around anymore
most of us are parents now
most of the rest of it is the same

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28 February 2025
Charlottesville VA

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