Dan Jacoby was born in
Chicago in 1947. He has published poetry in Haunted Waters Press, Deep
South Magazine, Lines and Stars, Red Booth Review, Wilderness House
Literary Review, and Red Fez. He has work soon to be published in Ascent
Aspirations Magazine, The Vehicle, Clockwise Cat, and Steel Toe Review.
He is a member of the American Academy of Poets.
Moonlight Chase
Used to be that men
Would sit around a fire
Of any fine foggy southern evening
Chasing that red dodger
out in Shiloh bottoms
or up on an ancient ball diamond
now covered in corn-
Each hound’s peculiar call
pointed out by some ol’boy
that’s the blue tick out in front….
Bugle Ann was a runner
pure, straight, barrel-chested, relentless
almost never fooled unless
that cheater doubled back jumping the creek
and we sat quilt wrapped
listening to old ones telling
stories of magic nights long ago
characters so real
we saw them in our dreams of
hot dogs and marshmallows
never tasted so good as
our eyes full of wood smoke
listening to a far away clarion
calling us off to sleep
~published in Deep South Magazine Spring 2014
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driftwood
brace against this morning chill
some driftwood feeds my fire
on dry creek bank
bare from late fall flood
water is still, cold, deep, and dark
now in the fog
above the crackling fire
young man comes with plastic jugs
long lines attached to hooks
he will spend day fishing on the creek bottom
for mudcat and carp
he will soon be in prayer as
his weighted baited jars
float silently patiently
in the still world
i would greet him
surely he would sit
spell out weather wisdom
warm himself to foxfire lore
don’t for some reason
moves on hands in heavy gloves
I return to myself as
wind plays havoc with the blaze
in minutes crows discover the fisherman
trees of full flapping magpie critics
will look over his shoulder all day
hoping he will drop some liver bait
having second thoughts, douse the fire
walking after him like blue jeaned buddhist
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risk takers
crossed the bridge
from fayette
fording the narrow, deep
from fayette
fording the narrow, deep
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| Photo by Indiana Voice Journal |
running cruelly hard
east a log drift
sends water pounding
into a bottom corn field
young eagle high in a sycamore
scans roiling water
for fish fighting the tide
perplexed beaver no relief
stemming the torrent
water and coal drew pioneers
with mixed results
land rewarded their tilling
with huge harvests
punished with cold floods
broken dreams
old medicine men still ponder
these shifters of the soil
gamblers of Avalon
insisting that every year
there will be enough rain,
no hail and
an abundance of luck
~Dan Jacoby
