At Work in Sacramento
—Anonymous Photo
Sit at this desk and consider eternity. The measure
Of it. Its shape and scent. Its presence. Outside,
There is rain, grayness, low clouds. Fat drops slap
The window. Eternity wears a rain slicker and eases
Across the back yard, toward the street, out of sight.
A car drives by. The sound of tires on the wet street.
The sun is a hot bath of pure light, a star of gold, but you're free to choose the darkness, if you want. Angels move among us, they look like anyone else. Keep your sword sharp and your wit sharper, they tell us, but you don't have to listen. There’s truth, there's propaganda, and there is a lot of space between the two. We live in that space. Language is a paint made of thoughts and ideas, and your life is a blank canvas. What colors will you use? Everything is made of choices, even the afterlife, and god knows you by what you choose. The iron is hot and soft; raise the hammer now, and beat it flat and true. Or don't. That’s a choice, too.
I live by letting the sound of your breath
Become my rations,
By forcing life from the weight of your words.
At night, the darkness is full of your memory,
The light of your grace, the lines on your face.
How I can go on living this way?
That’s a good question.
I don't have an answer; I just do.
My Favorite Sign
Bless me, mother, I am but a simple man. Time and the tide sweep the sleep from my eyes, mother. What am I made of? Something that counts these scars and forgives these sins. I have cut the cloth and cast the dye, and I find my answers above, in the sky. And the questions, mother? Those I find everywhere. In the eyes of the people without a roof or even a crust of bread. Also in the eyes of the parents whose children are dead, lost in the war that never ends. In the empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. Understand, I do not lack for food but still I hunger—for something more. Something without a name or an understanding. Something joyous. I need the night to hold me close, and the daylight to free me. I need the warmth of death and the kiss of life. Bless me, mother, I am just a simple man. And I am trying so very hard to find my way.
Snow fell, and I stayed home from school for no reason.
I didn't go outside to play, I just read my books
All day with the radio on loud.
The Beatles. The Yardbirds. Like that.
The day felt sad, although nothing sad had happened.
It was as though my life had not yet begun,
And I was waiting for that, in a sort of limbo.
I was wrong, of course, that was my life,
Right then, as this is now, and every moment
Counts as much as every other moment.
But I was a boy, and white snow was falling
From a gray sky onto a gray world,
White upon gray, and I watched this through
The bedroom window as the yard filled.
What did I know? Nothing. I just felt.
__________________
Today’s LittleNip:
That we might be one huge family, united in spirit and love, blessed with humanity, sharing the world respectfully.
—James Lee Jobe
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Many thanks to James Lee Jobe, newly-appointed Davis Poet Laureate, for today’s fine poetry and photos! James encourages all Yolo County poets to submit their work to yolocountypoems.blogspot.com (check it out—it’s way cool). And he will be hosting the Davis Arts Center Poetry Series this Sunday (tomorrow), 2pm, featuring Heather Hutcheson and Stanley Zumbiel. And then next Friday, he’ll be hosting The Other Voice Poetry Series, presenting Patricia Wentzel, Gary Kruse and open mic in the Unitarian Universalist Church library, 7:30pm. Scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info about these and other upcoming poetry events in our area—and note that more may be added at the last minute.
Speaking of Davis events, Weds., Oct. 10 at noon is the deadline for the annual Jack Kerouac Poetry Prize at John Natsoulas Gallery in Davis. The prize will be presented on Friday, Oct. 12 at 7pm in conjunction with the Davis Jazz Beat Conference to be held the next day (Oct. 13) in the same venue. For info, including how and where to submit your work, go to www.facebook.com/events/1849085785159578 and/or poetryindavis.com/archive/2018/09/the-jack-kerouac-poetry-prize-entries-due-by-october-10-2018/. Don’t be shy!
—Medusa
Polyhymnia, Muse of Sacred Poetry, Hymn, Eloquence
—Painting by Francesco del Cossa
Celebrate the Muse!
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