Embrace Me

—Poems by James Lee Jobe, Davis, CA
—Anonymous Photos Courtesy of James Lee Jobe

I live in the Sacramento Valley, it is tremendous; it goes on and on. Each of us here walks through the valley the same way, and yet each of us is different. A life is a life, yet no two are truly the same. And my life? In summer, I trust the morning dew, and in winter I trust the tule fog. I put my faith in the deer grass and manzanita, in the blue oak and the grey pine. I live in this valley, a part of it.


 

The air is low tonight, pressed down to the ground, and it welcomes me like I am a victorious soldier just home from some distant war.

The ground kisses the low air, and caresses it, whispering sweet love words that I cannot make out, even though I listen closely.


There is moonlight, star light, the street lights, headlights from passing traffic, and a sort of blue light from television sets filtering through the windows of the sad houses.

Even with this light I cannot make out the tops of the trees or the roofs of the taller houses.

Walking in this world brings me a loneliness, a melancholy that lingers long after the night is over.

A new days begins, so what can I do but begin again as well.

So I do.

Hanshan, the old monk, on Cold Mountain.
Meditation, poems, and laughter.
The winter wind howling
Across the surface of the frozen snow.

____________________

Embrace me on the tip of a blue flame, a campfire

Embrace me of the swirl of a dance floor, those drums

Embrace me with the truth, I have heard too many lies

Embrace me until sunrise, the darkness, the darkness

Embrace me in friendship, mi amigo, mon ami


Embrace me on the sharp edge of passion, the stars

Embrace me while the world spins, it never stops

Embrace me, embrace me now, embrace me tomorrow

Embrace me and I will embrace you, our blood together

This life

The music of autumn, the sound of birds, the sound of trees moved by wind. This music is a tall blessing, tall and wide. This life is everywhere. At once. 


_____________________


When the earth herself
Comes asking for help,
How will we hear her?
Friend, we often fail
To even hear each other.

With hope there is life.


With life there is hope.


Live. Hold on to your hope.


Keep the faith, always.


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Today’s LittleNip:

After dinner, standing outside in a light rain, I am connected to all creation. A perfect imperfection.

—James Lee Jobe

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Thank you, James Lee Jobe, for your contributions to the Kitchen this morning, as we hover between seasons.

For up-coming poetry events in our area, scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info—and note that more may be added at the last minute.

___________________

—Medusa, listening closely to the trees moved by the wind ~

 —Anonymous Photo

Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.