—Poems by James Lee Jobe, Davis, CA
—Photos Courtesy of James Lee Jobe
—Photos Courtesy of James Lee Jobe
Dreaming through the deepest hours, then up
An hour before dawn to meditate and pray.
I am not this body, I am not this flesh,
I am the universe and the universe is me.
There now, the first light is spreading
Across the east like a blessing,
And so I say it aloud, “This is a blessing.”
Only that much, and then no more words.
The world is immense, and yet
It is but a speck in the vast emptiness
Of the expanding universe. And I
Am but a speck wandering on that speck.
How marvelous to be so tiny and so free.
It’s wonderful just to be alive, breathing.
Long ago I pictured a quiet life
With children playing in the yard
While I cooked on a barbecue grill
And the scent of the meal rising up
Into the sweet, clean air
—And so it was
Time passes as it must
And she and I are old
The children are grown, one is dead
And there is a grandchild now
She is the light in our world.
As lives go, I’ll take it
When the time comes
I will gladly return it
In the end we pass the gift on
Look,
A memory is leaving the house
And moving down the leaf-strewn street.
A memory with stout legs to stand on.
The memory paused as it went out
The front door, just for a moment,
As if considering something,
And then moved on, leaving the door open.
Then, footsteps in the leaves
And that sound they make.
And me? Well, I stayed in the house.
Even though the house is empty,
I am there.
My road to heaven is not the same as yours, likewise,
My road to hell is different, too. Life is often random.
I have had two marriages. One lasted thirty minutes,
And the other lasted a lifetime. Love is often random.
Young, I was ruled by my anger. I had to learn
To let that go. My choices don’t have to be random.
I live a quiet life now, I say NO more often than ever.
The things I say YES to are quite random.
I mention heaven and hell, but I don’t believe in them,
Or fate. I believe what happens in life is mostly random.
Now I will end this poem. I may go out for a coffee
Or do some shopping. Whatever I do will be random.
“Where is James? I haven’t seen him lately.”
He tripped and fell off the curb
Into a thousand-foot abyss and went splat
On the perfect granite boulders below.
Splat flat, man. It happens.
He swallowed a sickness into his lungs
And wheezed until the dark angels came
To drag him away again.
The last thing anyone heard
Was some intense coughing up in the sky.
Or maybe the coughing was down below,
Deep inside the earth. One or the other.
There is no staying young.
Either you get old or you die young.
So there is no need to worry
About youth or aging or death.
Just live in this moment, that’s enough.
“I’m young at heart.” That’s denial,
But go ahead, that’s your problem.
James is still glad to be here,
Even if being here takes more effort now.
Aches and pains, sure. Regrets? No.
That’s where James is, goddamn it.
______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
That which is easy can overcome that which is difficult. Likewise, simplicity can overcome complexity. With faith and love, life goes on.
—James Lee Jobe
_____________________
Good Morning and thank you to James Lee Jobe for his smooth poetry today. “With faith and love, life goes on”. Damn straight.
And poetry goes on in our area today, starting with a fundraiser at the Sacramento Fine Arts Center, featuring six area poets: William Daly, Bob Stanley, Mary Zeppa, Laura Martin, Lawrence Dinkins, Staajabu Staajabu and VS Chochezi, each of whom has written poems to two of the paintings displayed in the gallery. They will be accompanied by a CSUS Jazz Quartet. That’s at 5330B Gibbons Drive in Carmichael. Donation is $20.
Also tonight: the Love Jones “Late Night Version” w/poets BeeReal, Brandon Leake, T-Mo, Anna Marie plus singers and live band LSB. Sensual poetry, smooth ballads. Celebration Arts, 2727 B St., Sacramento. Admission is $10. 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.
—Medusa, celebrating the random ~
—Anonymous Photo
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