Good Morning, Jobe Here
—Poems and Photos by James Lee Jobe, Davis, CA
APRIL.
Dawn slips in easy,
Like a beautiful woman getting dressed.
The sky fades from black to gray silver to blue.
Gods pad through the heavens on bare feet.
Around the neighborhood,
The cats are already up,
But not the dogs.
Outside,
The cold air feels fine on your face.
It is beautiful,
In exactly the way fresh ice is beautiful on a pond.
Inside,
There's hot coffee.
There must be someone to thank for this life.
Face to the heavens, you do just that.
The hand knows the pen, and greets it the way old friends do when they meet by accident on the street. The paper is there, waiting. The afternoon gets very quiet, and waits with the kind of patience that one sees in the elderly. An anxious excitement hangs in the air. Dust mites are watching as if they know, as if they understand. It is almost time. In a moment, the poem will begin.
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How I write these damn poems—
I put some faith in the sounds of vowels,
In the strength and heart of consonants,
And in language that holds a small measure of music.
Truth? Sometimes. Not always.
There is a higher truth, with more weight than history.
I prefer verbs to adjectives, they're more fun.
And I need a little magic, from starlight,
Or sunrise, or from the sad look
That dogs give best.
And then I just write it down.
Try to live just for today.
Whatever it is that you are planning to do later, do it now.
Whatever it is that you are saving for a special day, use it now.
You are alive today, tomorrow is a roll of the dice. It might happen, and it might not.
People often say, "Don’t live in the past." They're right, of course, but friend, don't live in the future either.
Live for today, and enjoy it, it is the only day you can be sure of.
Tomorrow could be the day that god calls, or it might be coincidence that calls, and you will answer.
What good will that box of chocolate do you then?
Brittle yellow, the moon glows across this long valley. Shadows and a cold wind. A cold feeling, too. And the question one asks in the night—did we do it all right, this life?
Lay down here beside me, my wife. We will come through this night together, as we have for so long. Take my hand.
We have spent a lifetime trying to be good people. There is no failure, luck, or fate. What is there left to say? Just this, hold on. The long night will pass. Brittle yellow, the moon will set. Hold on.
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Today’s LittleNip:
Like the sky at dawn, silent and vast, let my being merge in the timeless immensity of being alive. I am the universe, the universe is me.
—James Lee Jobe
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Our thanks to James Lee Jobe for this morning’s fine poems and pix! Note also that this morning, 9:30am-1pm, Writers on the Air in Sacramento features Mary McGrath, Tim McHargus and open mic at Sac. Poetry Center. Scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info about this and other upcoming poetry events in our area—and note that more may be added at the last minute.
—Medusa
—Anonymous
Celebrate poetry!
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