Jeff Worley was born in Wichita, Kansas. Later, Worley took five and a half years to complete his Bachelor's degree at Wichita State University due to changing his major seven times as an undergraduate before finally settling on as an english major. He was the second graduate, in 1975, of the Wichita State University MFA creative writing program.

Worley, retried, was the editor of the Odyssey Magazine, published by the University of Kentucky. He is currently a free-lance writer, editor, and manuscript consultant.

Poetry:

The Other Heart (1990)
Only Time There is: Poems (1995)
A Simple Human Motion (2000)
Leave Time (2005)
Happy Hour at the Two Keys Tavern: Poems (2006)
Best to Keep Moving (2009)
What Comes Down to Us: 25 Contemporary Kentucky Poets (2009)
Driving Late to the Party: The Kansas Poems (2012)

Chapbooks:

The Other Heart (1991)
Natural Selection (1993)

Book:

A Little Luck (2013)

Arachnid

"..she lets out a fine
And delicate yet tough and tensile line..."

- Thom Gunn, 'Arachne'

The rain has lifted,
and I've been watching
a furrow spider weave her spell
near the back porch light.
It's a Kentucky summer night.
I sit with a fresh mystery
novel on my lap, feeling
the freshness outside draw
two somnambulent mosquitos
and a carnival of moths who begin
to reconnoiter the 30-watt bulb.
God, this weaver's good!
The loom of her body gives itself
over to pure artistry, the web--
innocent as a doily--taking shape.
Her geometry proves itself
as she reinvents the wheel-like trap,
drawing a crowd now:
whitefly, mealybugs, a spotted
cucumber beetle out on the town
after work. She's furious to finish,
her spinnerettes oozing as fast
as they can the viscid fluid
that hardens into threads.
I'm exhausted by this watching.
I know I could flick off the light,
a simple human motion, and put her
out o fbusiness. But I'd rather
remain her silent partner
in crime, watch her trap this aphid,
strawberry juice from my garden
smearing its face. And here's
one of the Lacebug Mob who've
riddled my azalea leaves, folded
them into withered umbrellas.
I wish I'd screwed in a brighter
bulb if that's all the invitation
they need...
I click the lock
goodnight, let the blaze:
welcome, welcome.

--From A Simple Human Motion

Before the Rain

Dusk. From the porch I see
a huge black shape shriek.

and plunge with thunder
in its breast

and scoop up a chipmunk,
or rabbit--some small

nexus of blood and bone
soon to be gone from the world--

and carry it deeper
dusk, into the resolute night.

When will I stop
thinking about my father.

--From Best To Keep Moving

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