James Lee Jobe
—Poems and Capay Valley Photos
by James Lee Jobe, Davis, CA
Call the pigs back from their mud bath. Call the milk cow back to the barn. Open all of the windows and all of the doors. Mama has a song tonight, and her music is as bright as a fire. Bright and hot like the stars in the evening sky, sweet like the corn in the crib.
In beauty and in love, the children join mama in her song. The words of mama's song, like drops of a rain made by god, like diamonds from heaven, are a gift. And now even the chickens join in, lifting their croaky voices up on high.
The pigs do not regret leaving the mud bath. The old milk cow in the barn is humming along. Mama has a song tonight, and her music is a fire, but don't worry, my friend—the water hose is nearby, ready to spray us all down.
You can, if you choose, chop down life
With the machete of your words. Or not.
Anger. Rage. Hate. Indifference.
It’s a matter of choice in the end.
Or—You could choose to just go on.
To have a life of meaning.
Be humble. Live simply,
Attempt kindness.
Try to be a help,
Not a hindrance.
Eat life one moment at a time,
No more, but also no less.
By willing myself to become invisible,
I am able to walk right out of this prison.
But friend, I ask you, are you truly free
If not even one person can see you?
No, we were never friends. You could have been born a maggot or a cockroach, and the world would have been a better place for it. Maggots and cockroaches don't lie. They don't plot and execute acts of evil. You could have been stillborn, or been aborted, and again the world would be a better place today, free of the stink of you. I wish for you.... nothing. I don't wish good things for you, for that would be pearls before swine, a waste. And I don't want bad things for you, that would be an evil on my soul. And mister, you are not worth even one second of my soul. Go now, and be small. May your life be long and average.
Holding a sea shell up to my ear—do you know
That sound? I used to say it was the ocean.
Not anymore. Now I know what it is, it is the sound
Of my son's soul, the son that I lost. And I don't say
Anything at all about it to anyone. I just sit and listen.
Sit and listen.
It's a nice night, so death and I are taking a walk. Stars. A waxing crescent moon. Cool, sweet air. Through the park, through the shadows, until the silent trees, pines and oaks, are all around us, all above us. And there, sitting on the park bench, is my old body. My goodness. I certainly do look worn out. Like a pair of shoes that were worn for far too long. Have I fallen asleep there? Now death is telling me to hurry up, to catch up with him, to not fall behind. Sure thing, pal. I’m coming right behind you. Don’t worry about me.
___________________
Today’s LittleNip:
HAIKU
—James Lee Jobe
Is a god above?
Does it matter? Fresh blossoms
On my crape myrtle.
__________________
Many thanks to James Lee Jobe for his fine poetry and photos this Saturday morning!
Today from 3-8pm, Sac. Poetry Center will be hosting the 2018 Sacramento Voices Anthology Reading and BBQ, plus 100 Thousand Poets for Change. That’s at 25th & R Sts., Sac. Readers from 3-5pm, potluck BBQ at 5pm. 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 Photo
Celebrate poetry!
Celebrate poetry!
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