Ennui Within the Son

My son complains there is nothing to do, that he is bored to death.

I tell him to study the dictionary.

He ascends to his room upstairs.  I don’t see him for days.

I begin to worry about his absence & he returns

to tell me something, perhaps what he has learned, I hope.

He says, We are the moral liars, of which little is writ of our true selves.

I say, Every single line is connected to every single line.

He says, You invent meaning to suit you.  We all do.  What makes the connections real?

I say, What I wanted you to capture from the exercise was knowledge.

He asks, So why do you snigger above what you have created?

I leave the question unanswered & step outside into the yard.

I realize my son has more potential than I.

But I wonder if he is too serious to ever be content or content others.


Writ is a lovely word.


Talking Shop

The silent isolated farms

are covered by a sea of haze

from a wildfire somewhere

to the west of town.


The smoke fills the world

the way the heiligenschein

of the woman who lived

in this house before me


inhabits my liver.  I could sit

in the mechanic’s shop & listen

to the passerby’s stories

of hotwired boats & squandered


family fortune for hours

but the evening draws out

vulgar language from the calendar

peddler in the corner who knew


my father.  Walking home I see

diseased faces wheezing

in the branches.  On the porch

a spider lets herself down


from the eaves.  She falls

like an ember in the dark

from the celibate woman

ranger’s watchtower.


People say after the farms

the town will be next to go.

I open the windows & mind

the whispers & breathing I hear outside.

The Posh Geometry

Firstly, it is everlasting. Set in stone. A priori.

Second, though obvious to all, it is put to language by one consumed by one’s own knowledge.

It is music & it is slow & slowly into us all as it surrounds & inhabits.


The birds bathe in the birdbath beneath my window throughout the day.


Any two set points of demarcation can be paired by a single line.


One chair in the yard has been pulled from the table made of gray metal.

My sight is a straight line from my mind to the chair, emitted & reflected.


I would prefer not to follow the first word with another word.

But there is a need for words.


Lastly, there is a need for words.

As the hemorrhaged light of the afternoon fills my being,


the birds through the yard are innately demonstrating a physics unknown to our bodies.


Shannon Jonas reading–Thursday, July 21, 7pm, New River Community College


Shannon Jonas will read from his recently published book of poetry, Battle Sleep, Thursday, July 21, 7pm, in the Student Lounge of Martin Hall on the campus of New River Community College. There wi…

Source: Shannon Jonas reading–Thursday, July 21, 7pm, New River Community College

Shannon Jonas reading–Thursday, June 23, 7pm, The Nines, 546 W. Center St., Fayetteville, AR

http://shannon.t.jonas@gmail.comShannon Jonas will read from his recently released book Battle Sleep at The Nines in Fayetteville, AR.  Joining Shannon reading will be Katie Nichol and Sara Nicholson.

Source: Shannon Jonas reading–Thursday, June 23, 7pm, The Nines, 546 W. Center St., Fayetteville, AR