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Jeff Gundy

Jeff Gundy is writer in (non)residence at Bluffton University. His current project has the working title “Phantom Powers.”

Poetry

Those Who Are Planted in the Lord

I went with my friends to the church, Episcopal, she joined years agowhen the Mennonites threatened to drive her completely nuts....
Poetry

Possible Offenses Against the Community and Assorted Recommendations for Living Well, Gleaned from the Gathering of Assorted Mennonites Writing in Winnipeg, June 2025

In Grünfeld the perils were many: roofs on buggies, mortgages,and bicycles. Some even read novels. And later: living with a gangster,...
Poetry

Camp Haiku

  —Camp Friedenswald       Cassopolis, Michigan, 2025...
Poetry

Phantom #9

Americans need to think more about death.              —Somebody on the internet...
Poetry

Greasing the Plow

No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear, ...
Poetry

Short Sleeve February

At the playground a girl managed to climb up onto the high spinny thing, her brothers reaching,...
Poetry

Why I Keep Shoveling the Cursed Driveway

Cars waver down the glassy streets, somebody in a pickup scrapes the parking lot. Nobody trusts anybody to stop for the signs. Every cough, mine or yours, might tip us off...
Poetry

Little Bridges

                 for Mary Szybist, and after Rilke God is in the space at the hub of the wheel, but God is not only there....
Poetry

Sunset Hill, Father’s Day

Exercise, observation and contemplation are not mutually exclusive but may be orthogonal to each other, if I understand that word...
Poetry

Running across the pews

Just once during a potluck I went upstairs with some of my friends, our parents still nibbling and chatting...

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Poetry

Natural theology in the late pandemic

At the National Quarry, aka Cob Lake, a mother and daughter and their dog stop ahead of me—they want him to chase a squirrel,...
Poetry

Ways to fail to change an American mind, even with a solid hook and a bridge to die for

Desperado, why don’t you come to your senses?...
Poetry

Clay into birds

for Obi Martin...
Poetry

The wind farmer releases the wind

The strange notion of rûaḥ in the Hebrew Scriptures shatters taxonomies, leaving us to ask mistakenly, “Is rûaḥ wind? Breath?...
Poetry

Quarry Hollow: Rules and intimations

Three days without news of the campaign is as good as a stiff martini before dinner,...
Poetry

Sunset Hill

The birds are still negotiating, defending their territory, or just playing with sound and breath. From where I walk...

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