That Bell That Keeps Tolling

Train Tracks, Davis, CA, Looking North
—Poems and Photos by James Lee Jobe, Davis, CA

Angels rise from a river of fire, their eyes are blazing.

A man standing over a grave, argues with the bones

Of the dead. The bones do not, however, argue back.

A wild, mongrel dog that doesn't care what you want.

The bell, the damned bell, it just keeps tolling.

I don't remember why I came here,

And I don't remember the way back.

Nightmare.

My dreams are all dark, very dark,

And I don't really know if I can ever wake up again.

Water Fountain, Davis, CA

 

Perhaps you had been alone in a desert for a very long time.

Days blurred into weeks, and weeks into years. Decades

Grew like tall saguaro cactus; they were your only shade

From the blinding sun of time. Your life was endless sand.

And perhaps you had walked at night, and during the day

You hid yourself away. The moon and stars cooled your eyes

With a light like ice, a light like sweet dreams. The heat

Of the day pulled you into the oven, into the empty void

Of sleep. Eventually you forgot how to dream. You lost

All desire. Perhaps you moved through life this way, silent

And alone. Your truth was never spoken, and you harmed

No one, and no one harmed you. Yet you were empty.

Perhaps you never touched another soul. Not really.

Later, the wind blew white sand over your bones,

And it was just as if you had never existed at all.

 Poet has morning coffee with Pico, the conure

It was titled, THE BOOK OF JOBE.

I turned the page and read. It said that I died

Deep down, in the center of the world, in rock

And lava. I closed the book and returned it

To the crowded shelf. "How strange this life is,"

I thought, as I sat and waited for the earthquake

That would swallow me down. "Still,

I just don't believe in fate," I said loudly

To all of the books staring down at me.

 Poet's Bedside Reading Material

Our house is a planet orbiting a sun that loves us.

This room is a small treasure that we keep for ourselves.

Here. Lie down next to me. We will hold each other again

And speak quietly of those things that we love.

Meals together. The children that are now adults.

Years that were moments and moments that were years.

Our faces are now maps of the lives that became one life.

Together, we buried the generation that came before us

And we taught what we could to the generation that came after.

One child we buried together.

That’s a marriage, that's a family. We did that.

Our house is a planet orbiting a sun that loves us.

Even now the golden rays light up our room.

 Poet Eating Korean Dessert, Bingsoo

Gracing the trees, the sky, and the children.

Time has graced the trees with sound and color.

Their bark, once silent, is marked with beauty and thought.

Time has formed the clouds into letters

And has now spelled out words across the message board of the sky.

"Faith."

"Random."

"Coincidence."

 
Time did all of this, and there is beauty in that also.

Below, on the green earth, children write these words in spiral-bound notebooks

And carry them to their teachers.

In turn, the teachers share the magic and blessing of meaning.

Time has taught us that the teachers are themselves blessed,

And they, in turn bless and grace the children.

They take the children outside, into the sunlight,

And see that there is one more word written with clouds in the thick blue of the sky.

"Kindness."

 
One child smiles, and then they all smile.

_______________________

Today’s LittleNip:

That hope might cover everything, working like snow works, covering the land, covering all.

—James Lee Jobe

_______________________

Many thanks to James Lee Jobe for today’s fine poems and photos! This Sunday, James will be hosting the Davis Arts Center Poetry Series, featuring Barbara West and Mary Zeppa. That’s 1919 F St. in Davis, 2pm. 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 the lack of control that is poetry!

Photos in this column can be enlarged by clicking on them once,
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