HeyJaredChicken Bus Poetry
here there be poems and thoughts from a Jesus-following poet-farmer based in Central America
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 5
- Latest publication
- Sep 30, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 8, 2026
Latest issues
honest prayer #1 (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedi know i should pray earnestly for things like world peace the healing of the sick my friends’ happiness and future generations, but as I walk, hips aching—everything aching, soggy after spending a sunless day batiendo lodo (read as: gardening in the rain), i pray with all i have— from my damp socks to my muddy forehead— that someone, anyone will appear on the long, lonely road to the bus stop and offer me a ride home
Your Seat (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedIt's still dark out when my phone lights up. The text says, “Your seat's empty.” The picture's of an empty passenger seat in his Jeep. I am (count them in my head) four borders away, I am three (economy) flights away, I am far away, He says, "I couldn't really use your help today," says the bees are swarming and the traps are already loaded up an
Go and Make Compost (opens the original)
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I didn’t become a farmer on purpose. It started with getting my last choice for an elective class my freshman year of high school: Basic Agriculture. Imagine my surprise when, four years later, I couldn’t imagine my life without farming in it and decided to major in agricultural science at the University of Georgia. Now, fifteen years after sitting in Mrs. Lastly’s Basic Agriculture class for the first time, I’m living and working on a farm in the tropical rainforest of Central America growing c
the light i've found (opens the original)
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doubt makesa poor godbut I’m addictedto questioningall the light I’ve found so maybe I’ll startquestioning the dark, too—every shadow-stuck narrative until all that light breaks through I can’t deny howmy story-stained heartkeeps resurrectingin spite of me, how when I watch the forest heal itself<br
can you hear the city singing? (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedit is 5:00 pm —quitting time, and the sun is setting and at the moto repair shop a hydraulic wrench pops another flat tire the buses sing off-key songs the taxis honk their horns conversationally while "dele dele dele" bumper-to-bumper traffic yields to an outstretched hand making room where there shouldn't be one more semi merges onto the highway on my street, keys jangle answers after hurried feet uphill downhill benea
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