u/BocephusJackson90210

(The Daily Pull And Push In Feeling Alive)

By Bocephus Jackson, The Hemlock Bard, ©2026 Bocephus Jackson. All Rights Reserved

_______

“We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey.” — Kenji Miyazawa

_______

The autumn sun amid chaotic waves,

Sets the scene for those unmoored,

Witnessing a lived life before the grave,

And meaning wanting to be explored.

“The fish aren’t biting, they rarely do,

A silk thread stare is a death threat,

I cause my own destruction, it's true,

Yet the act is a debt I don’t regret”

“It's a mortally meaningful distraction,

We serve and celebrate as we thrive,

Amid the strains lies our true passion—

The daily pull and push in feeling alive.”

“The tendency to grow numb with age,

Lingers with each one that gets away,

Yet, the actor cannot leave the stage,

Nor dismiss the unique role they play.”

“Sometimes a nibble becomes a catch,

So we hold fast to the line and wait,

Into the dawning sun as one will latch,

As a determined act not left to fate.”

“So test the waters and their currents,

Even when stuck in the wakes of loss,

Inevitably, there are some deterrents,

Even the Fisher of men on the cross.”

_______

“Even a river eventually finds the sea.” — Unknown

_______

Author’s Reflection

“The stage is a world of illusion; yet the life it portrays is very real.” — Laurence Olivier

To honor Paschal Triduum (the Three Days leading up to the ultimate act of devotion) on this Good Friday, I wanted to do something special. So when Ambar2 on Allpoetry sent me a kind comment about one of my pieces, I weaponized the opportunity.

By marrying both, I took an underdeveloped metaphor within their entire body of work, along with various adaptations of their verse, to craft this testament of faith and the love that readily embraces us, especially in those moments when we cannot feel its warmth.

So whether you are out there in the current or stuck in a wake, the Fisher of men can walk on water. So he’s got you. As always, I thank you for your time and kind consideration. Who knows, you might be the next to get the Bardic Inverse. Have faith. Back to work! Right then—

Gone fishing…

_______

“Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.” — Emily Dickinson

_______

©2026 Bocephus Jackson. All Rights Reserved

(The Daily Pull And Push In Feeling Alive)

By Bocephus Jackson, The Hemlock Bard, ©2026 Bocephus Jackson. All Rights Reserved

_______

“We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey.” — Kenji Miyazawa

_______

The autumn sun amid chaotic waves,

Sets the scene for those unmoored,

Witnessing a lived life before the grave,

And meaning wanting to be explored.

“The fish aren’t biting, they rarely do,

A silk thread stare is a death threat,

I cause my own destruction, it's true,

Yet the act is a debt I don’t regret”

“It's a mortally meaningful distraction,

We serve and celebrate as we thrive,

Amid the strains lies our true passion—

The daily pull and push in feeling alive.”

“The tendency to grow numb with age,

Lingers with each one that gets away,

Yet, the actor cannot leave the stage,

Nor dismiss the unique role they play.”

“Sometimes a nibble becomes a catch,

So we hold fast to the line and wait,

Into the dawning sun as one will latch,

As a determined act not left to fate.”

“So test the waters and their currents,

Even when stuck in the wakes of loss,

Inevitably, there are some deterrents,

Even the Fisher of men on the cross.”

_______

“Even a river eventually finds the sea.” — Unknown

_______

Author’s Reflection

“The stage is a world of illusion; yet the life it portrays is very real.” — Laurence Olivier

To honor Paschal Triduum (the Three Days leading up to the ultimate act of devotion) on this Good Friday, I wanted to do something special. So when Ambar2 on Allpoetry sent me a kind comment about one of my pieces, I weaponized the opportunity.

By marrying both, I took an underdeveloped metaphor within their entire body of work, along with various adaptations of their verse, to craft this testament of faith and the love that readily embraces us, especially in those moments when we cannot feel its warmth.

So whether you are out there in the current or stuck in a wake, the Fisher of men can walk on water. So he’s got you. As always, I thank you for your time and kind consideration. Who knows, you might be the next to get the Bardic Inverse. Have faith. Back to work! Right then—

Gone fishing…

_______

“Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.” — Emily Dickinson

_______

©2026 Bocephus Jackson. All Rights Reserved

(Holler Herb For One To Deceptively Cash)

By Bocephus Jackson, The Hemlock Bard, ©2026 Bocephus Jackson. All Rights Reserved

_______

“Every man’s life is a fairy tale written by God’s fingers.” — Hans Christian Andersen

_______

The garden tells stories worth sharing,

In life, as nature inevitably shows up,

Patience always pays through caring,

As plants listen while people disrupt.

In the Kentucky hills came a new strain,

It was kindly called ‘Appalachian Ash,’

Hitting as a coal-carrying freight train,

Holler herb for one to deceptively cash.

Farmer Dale stopped growing weed,

Wanting to change his life directly,

Fixated on personal growth, not need,

Otherwise, he would grow a pot-belly.

High in the clouds, he was planted,

His motto: “Don't worry, be hempy,”

High as a Georgia pine, he lamented,

How the highs aplenty left him empty.

So he invested in a new familial sow,

Affectionately naming it ‘Dank Crawl,’

As a consumption companion now,

Facing life’s immediate rises and falls.

Making joint decisions in life and love,

As an odd pair of toking troubadours,

They are high-maintenance best buds,

Weaving a new kind of yarn as folklore.

With the crosses that one must endure,

Smoking a fresh doobie to begin again,

Extending a Canterbury Tale allure,

The cost of living high as immoral sin.

To deal with inquiries of their tummies,

Together within the ash-cloudy fog,

It was good until hit with the munchies,

Then Dale was eating high off the hog.

As starkly dark as gut-ache poetry,

Hitting the road, please never forget,

A bird in hand is worth two in the belly,

D.C. turned a carcass in the couplet.

_______

“Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Truth isn’t.” — Mark Twain

_______

Author’s Reflection

“Stories are the communal currency of humanity.” — Tahir Shah

Given my love of the syncretic nature of Appalachian folklore, this Bardic Inverse of Geoffrey Chaucer’s 14th-century Canterbury Tales feels inevitable, doesn't it? Yes, I hear you saying, “It's about time, Mother Trucker!” Because of this, reinterpreting Appalachian aphorisms will become a new series — ‘Canterbury Told Appalachian Aphorisms.’

Making the medieval modern, this should be a hoot, celebrating the folks back home as a wayfarer’s weed wisdom with Chaucer’s social and/or moral observations. Therein lies a full harvest of potent potential. But alas, D.C., we didn't know you well enough…

The opening stanza acts as a synopsis of the entire Canterbury tale: Even in change, avarice determines fate, whether through pot-related munchies or other means, what is assumed as care is a calculated deception that eventually feeds on others when the need arises — a subtle modern critique of D.C./current administration through an Appalachian aphorismic Canterbury cautionary tale.

With that said, as always, I thank you for your time and kind consideration. Puff, puff, give, but mind the pig. Back to work! Right then—

I’m not a one-hitter quitter…

_______

“Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure.” — J.K. Rowling

_______

©2026 Bocephus Jackson. All Rights Reserved

(Holler Herb For One To Deceptively Cash)

By Bocephus Jackson, The Hemlock Bard, ©2026 Bocephus Jackson. All Rights Reserved

_______

“Every man’s life is a fairy tale written by God’s fingers.” — Hans Christian Andersen

_______

The garden tells stories worth sharing,

In life, as nature inevitably shows up,

Patience always pays through caring,

As plants listen while people disrupt.

In the Kentucky hills came a new strain,

It was kindly called ‘Appalachian Ash,’

Hitting as a coal-carrying freight train,

Holler herb for one to deceptively cash.

Farmer Dale stopped growing weed,

Wanting to change his life directly,

Fixated on personal growth, not need,

Otherwise, he would grow a pot-belly.

High in the clouds, he was planted,

His motto: “Don't worry, be hempy,”

High as a Georgia pine, he lamented,

How the highs aplenty left him empty.

So he invested in a new familial sow,

Affectionately naming it ‘Dank Crawl,’

As a consumption companion now,

Facing life’s immediate rises and falls.

Making joint decisions in life and love,

As an odd pair of toking troubadours,

They are high-maintenance best buds,

Weaving a new kind of yarn as folklore.

With the crosses that one must endure,

Smoking a fresh doobie to begin again,

Extending a Canterbury Tale allure,

The cost of living high as immoral sin.

To deal with inquiries of their tummies,

Together within the ash-cloudy fog,

It was good until hit with the munchies,

Then Dale was eating high off the hog.

As starkly dark as gut-ache poetry,

Hitting the road, please never forget,

A bird in hand is worth two in the belly,

D.C. turned a carcass in the couplet.

_______

“Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Truth isn’t.” — Mark Twain

_______

Author’s Reflection

“Stories are the communal currency of humanity.” — Tahir Shah

Given my love of the syncretic nature of Appalachian folklore, this Bardic Inverse of Geoffrey Chaucer’s 14th-century Canterbury Tales feels inevitable, doesn't it? Yes, I hear you saying, “It's about time, Mother Trucker!” Because of this, reinterpreting Appalachian aphorisms will become a new series — ‘Canterbury Told Appalachian Aphorisms.’

Making the medieval modern, this should be a hoot, celebrating the folks back home as a wayfarer’s weed wisdom with Chaucer’s social and/or moral observations. Therein lies a full harvest of potent potential. But alas, D.C., we didn't know you well enough…

The opening stanza acts as a synopsis of the entire Canterbury tale: Even in change, avarice determines fate, whether through pot-related munchies or other means, what is assumed as care is a calculated deception that eventually feeds on others when the need arises — a subtle modern critique of D.C./current administration through an Appalachian aphorismic Canterbury cautionary tale.

With that said, as always, I thank you for your time and kind consideration. Puff, puff, give, but mind the pig. Back to work! Right then—

I’m not a one-hitter quitter…

_______

“Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure.” — J.K. Rowling

_______

©2026 Bocephus Jackson. All Rights Reserved

(Holler Herb For One To Deceptively Cash)

By Bocephus Jackson, The Hemlock Bard, ©2026 Bocephus Jackson. All Rights Reserved

_______

“Every man’s life is a fairy tale written by God’s fingers.” — Hans Christian Andersen

_______

The garden tells stories worth sharing,

In life, as nature inevitably shows up,

Patience always pays through caring,

As plants listen while people disrupt.

In the Kentucky hills came a new strain,

It was kindly called ‘Appalachian Ash,’

Hitting as a coal-carrying freight train,

Holler herb for one to deceptively cash.

Farmer Dale stopped growing weed,

Wanting to change his life directly,

Fixated on personal growth, not need,

Otherwise, he would grow a pot-belly.

High in the clouds, he was planted,

His motto: “Don't worry, be hempy,”

High as a Georgia pine, he lamented,

How the highs aplenty left him empty.

So he invested in a new familial sow,

Affectionately naming it ‘Dank Crawl,’

As a consumption companion now,

Facing life’s immediate rises and falls.

Making joint decisions in life and love,

As an odd pair of toking troubadours,

They are high-maintenance best buds,

Weaving a new kind of yarn as folklore.

With the crosses that one must endure,

Smoking a fresh doobie to begin again,

Extending a Canterbury Tale allure,

The cost of living high as immoral sin.

To deal with inquiries of their tummies,

Together within the ash-cloudy fog,

It was good until hit with the munchies,

Then Dale was eating high off the hog.

As starkly dark as gut-ache poetry,

Hitting the road, please never forget,

A bird in hand is worth two in the belly,

D.C. turned a carcass in the couplet.

_______

“Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Truth isn’t.” — Mark Twain

_______

Author’s Reflection

“Stories are the communal currency of humanity.” — Tahir Shah

Given my love of the syncretic nature of Appalachian folklore, this Bardic Inverse of Geoffrey Chaucer’s 14th-century Canterbury Tales feels inevitable, doesn't it? Yes, I hear you saying, “It's about time, Mother Trucker!” Because of this, reinterpreting Appalachian aphorisms will become a new series — ‘Canterbury Told Appalachian Aphorisms.’

Making the medieval modern, this should be a hoot, celebrating the folks back home as a wayfarer’s weed wisdom with Chaucer’s social and/or moral observations. Therein lies a full harvest of potent potential. But alas, D.C., we didn't know you well enough…

The opening stanza acts as a synopsis of the entire Canterbury tale: Even in change, avarice determines fate, whether through pot-related munchies or other means, what is assumed as care is a calculated deception that eventually feeds on others when the need arises — a subtle modern critique of D.C./current administration through an Appalachian aphorismic Canterbury cautionary tale.

With that said, as always, I thank you for your time and kind consideration. Puff, puff, give, but mind the pig. Back to work! Right then—

I’m not a one-hitter quitter…

_______

“Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure.” — J.K. Rowling

_______

©2026 Bocephus Jackson. All Rights Reserved