Monday, January 27, 2014

Then What?

Sacramento Poet Anna Marie in a recent reading
at Sac. Poetry Center
—Photo by Michelle Kunert, Sacramento

—James Lee Jobe, Davis
Within my aging chest lies a deep, stark cavern;
I keep your precious memory there.
Among the multicolored stalactites and stalagmites
there hides the ghost of you.
And though I often go there to visit you,
a wall of hard dreams stands between us.
In death, as indeed it was in life,
I just cannot quite get to you.
A poison of darkness, a cold tomb.
My eyes are nothing.
And in the quiet stillness,
I can hear your breath from beyond.


—James Lee Jobe

I came to love the sweet
taste of your round belly
and the dark magnolias
waiting in your forest.
Almost until dawn
I wandered through your trees,
and your kiss was my moonlight,
and your embrace was my dream.
You kept caged birds
in those along ago times,
and they sang in the morning
with beautiful voices
while you slept late,
and I lay there wide awake,
breathing you in, inhaling
your fields and trees.


—James Lee Jobe

Who is here and who is not?
Where are the flowers of living and dying?

And the river? It flows to the sea?
Who asked it to do that?

The warm milk of your soul has been poured
into a porcelain saucer to sip.

And tonight? Then what?
And tomorrow?

How many lifetimes
do you suppose that you have? 

 Sacramento Poet Francisco Dominguez in a recent reading
at Sac. Poetry Center
—Photo by Michelle Kunert

—Caschwa, Sacramento

In the world that God created
Night descends slowly, carefully,
And precisely like the landing of
The Apollo Lunar Excursion Module

In the world that man created
Night trips and falls like a
Broken tree limb or drunken drifter
Or a KO’d heavy weight boxer

A wholly demented and incompetent
Night crashes to Earth, erasing an
Entire day of sunlight and triggering
An onslaught of artificial light

Drive-in movies, neon signs
All kinds of crime, graveyard shifts
High beams at the wrong time,
The struggle to put kids to bed

I had a fall once on a hiking trip
Painfully hot day, cooling stream
Night was never that good
Wish I was there now



Along with the people who keep track
Of when swallows return to Capistrano
Or when annual taxes are due
Some note the time the sun will rise

That sure is a relief to people like me
Who hopelessly lose track of what
others properly label “Duh!”
Each morning the atlas saves my ass

Today's LittleNip:

—James Lee Jobe

A silver girl slowly bathing in silver water.
Silver moonlight.
A love that is silver, a silver heart,
My cold, empty, silver soul.
Her beautiful, ripe flesh
Kissed by my cold, silver lips. 



 Sacramento Poet "Pinkie" in a recent reading
at Sac. Poetry Center
—Photo by Michelle Kunert