—Poems by James Lee Jobe, Davis, CA
—Anonymous Photos Courtesy of James Lee Jobe
—Anonymous Photos Courtesy of James Lee Jobe
What we have,
And what we have not.
These poems are fairly worthless; a house
Made of twigs, mud, and thistles.
And what we have not.
These poems are fairly worthless; a house
Made of twigs, mud, and thistles.
The good comes, perhaps, from building them,
More than from their use; an exercise for the spirit.
So take them with a grain of salt. I am only a human, after all.
Autumn in America. Waking at dawn
On a cross country bus. Gleaned fields.
A damp fog, gray and cold.
Arkansas? Oklahoma?
Snores from a passenger.
Wheels on pavement. The whining
Sound of a highway.
We are leaves caught in the current,
Floating along on the strong river.
I am growing colors in my garden. It's easy, because death is nothing. There are rows of red, yellow, and blue. There are also rows of coffins that stink of rot and pain. The colors and coffins are fertilized with the debris from a razed building. The earth eats the broken boards and the bent, rusted nails. This garden is alive. Death is a rainbow.
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I am determined not to be eaten alive by a shark.
They are sleek as silver, and as bold as sound and fear, lightning bolts with teeth that can hunt like my father, like my uncles.
Some humans find them beautiful, as a tiger is beautiful, fierce and strong, but for me they are teeth and terror. I stay out of the ocean the way a sober alcoholic stays out of a tavern.
These lightning bolts can strike again and again, until your blood is a downpour, until the light opens up and welcomes you home.
I am determined not to be eaten alive by a shark.
They are sleek as silver, and as bold as sound and fear, lightning bolts with teeth that can hunt like my father, like my uncles.
Some humans find them beautiful, as a tiger is beautiful, fierce and strong, but for me they are teeth and terror. I stay out of the ocean the way a sober alcoholic stays out of a tavern.
These lightning bolts can strike again and again, until your blood is a downpour, until the light opens up and welcomes you home.
This is a wine that I can not drink.
I don't hate anyone at all. Hate chews up your stomach the way a mouse chews through the cardboard box to get to the crackers. Hate turns on you. You can count on that. It eats you up from the inside out while the person you hate isn't bothered at all. Hate will grind up your eyeballs and your heart and your flesh until you are less than a memory. Because who wants to remember the hateful, anyway?
_________________
Now the coals are glowing red and orange. There is a soft light to the room. A gentle warmth, the quiet time. A time beyond any need to speak.
Rumi said that your only faithful student is yourself, that all the others will leave you sooner or later. It’s true of being alive as well; wherever you go, there you are. There’s no escaping yourself. You can be your own best friend or your own worst enemy. What will you do with your life? Don't ask me; I don’t write poems because I have all the answers, you know. Sometimes I'm just reminding myself to not be an asshole. I hope it’s helpful for you as well.
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Today’s LittleNip:
Yesterday, watching the sunrise, I was a wren, or perhaps a starling. As I chirped, the new light grew. Powerful. Golden.
—James Lee Jobe
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Our thanks to James Lee Jobe this morning for the lively colors of his poetry and the artwork he has provided! Punxsutawny Phil has spoken for an early spring, and it is indeed springing up all around us: daffodils, cherry blossoms, tulip trees—all bringing color to the Kitchen, just as James has. Enjoy it while you can: Powerful. Golden.
Today is packed full of poetry events:
•••Writers on the Air, beginning at 9:30am this morning, featuring Frederick Foote, Michelle Woods, and Vicki Carroll plus open mic. That's at Sac. Poetry Center on 25th & R Sts., Sacramento.
•••In Placerville, Poetic License poetry read-around meets in the Placerville Sr. Center lobby from 2-4pm. The suggested topic for this month is "close encounter", but other subjects are also welcome.
•••Then back to Sac. Poetry Center by 4pm for the Tule Review 2020 Release reading. (Contributors may pick up their copies from 2-4pm.) 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 Spring, as it leaps around the corner at us ~
—Anonymous Photo
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