—Poetry by James Lee Jobe, Davis, CA
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of James Lee Jobe
Self-quarantined, a day can seem like a year,
And yet a month can be gone in a blink of your eyes.
Daytime, what is the arc of the sun?
Nighttime, what is the phase of the moon?
You see that the trees have grown.
What is life but heartbeat, breath, and hope?
Time has no meaning.
And yet a month can be gone in a blink of your eyes.
Daytime, what is the arc of the sun?
Nighttime, what is the phase of the moon?
You see that the trees have grown.
What is life but heartbeat, breath, and hope?
Time has no meaning.
That we might be folded together like napkins in a drawer.
That midnight might find us close, night after night.
That we might breathe as one, and yet be two.
That time might be our bond, just as the river is bound to the valley.
Yes, like the river and the valley.
—for Alexandra—
That midnight might find us close, night after night.
That we might breathe as one, and yet be two.
That time might be our bond, just as the river is bound to the valley.
Yes, like the river and the valley.
—for Alexandra—
Some of these words are written with smoke,
Others with whiskers. Nothing here is written
As a place for me to hide. Or you. Tell me, friend,
What do you use to write your own words?
Others with whiskers. Nothing here is written
As a place for me to hide. Or you. Tell me, friend,
What do you use to write your own words?
A foolish man in a valley with 2 rather long seasons,
And two very short ones.
In January I miss the dry warmth of summer,
In August I dream of the wet smell of the winter fields.
And the Sacramento Valley itself? It lives in the moment;
A dharma lesson for me from the climate.
A new sunrise, new hope. The blessing of first light
Comes in soft and easy over the bottom rim of the black sky,
And you feel that this day will have some goodness to it.
Of course, that’s all in your head. Whatever goodness is to be,
Or isn’t to be, comes from what you do, not what you see.
Still, it is lovely, and there is some hope for goodness
To be found in beauty. Just enjoy the sunrise that comes to you.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
What can I put in my mouth but rainwater and the truth? Looking upward, the sun, a few wispy clouds, and a dream.
—James Lee Jobe
____________________
—Medusa, thanking James Lee Jobe for today’s poetry (and pix to go with it), and reminding you to check into James’ Video poetry readings on Fridays, 7:30pm at youtube.com/jamesleejobe or james-lee-jobe.blogspot.com/.
And two very short ones.
In January I miss the dry warmth of summer,
In August I dream of the wet smell of the winter fields.
And the Sacramento Valley itself? It lives in the moment;
A dharma lesson for me from the climate.
A new sunrise, new hope. The blessing of first light
Comes in soft and easy over the bottom rim of the black sky,
And you feel that this day will have some goodness to it.
Of course, that’s all in your head. Whatever goodness is to be,
Or isn’t to be, comes from what you do, not what you see.
Still, it is lovely, and there is some hope for goodness
To be found in beauty. Just enjoy the sunrise that comes to you.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
What can I put in my mouth but rainwater and the truth? Looking upward, the sun, a few wispy clouds, and a dream.
—James Lee Jobe
____________________
—Medusa, thanking James Lee Jobe for today’s poetry (and pix to go with it), and reminding you to check into James’ Video poetry readings on Fridays, 7:30pm at youtube.com/jamesleejobe or james-lee-jobe.blogspot.com/.
—Public Domain Photo
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in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
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