The Field With No End

 

—Poetry by James Lee Jobe, Davis, CA

—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of James Lee Jobe

a field of alfalfa that goes on until monday
a field with no beginning and no end
and somewhere deep within the alfalfa
a circle of masked women intone an ancient chant
the elements are empowered here
far from the useless egos of the men
heavy cloud cover at first
then the sun breaks through
and hearts are lifted
the women go silent
a red-tailed hawk circles above
hunting

 

 

 

 

darkness catches me in the empty hours
when there is no sleep and no tomorrow
tomorrow   today   i cannot tell the difference
a void in time   a tear in the fabric of time
this is covid-19 and I am tired of hiding
a cowboy might ride out to face death
but a poet just scribbles nonsense like this
the empty hours   darkness has caught me
again

 

 

 

 

i am tired of my name this comes from my disgust and my love for my father who wore this same name before me i both love and hate him love for the bond of blood and hate for his racism and cruelty also i hate and love myself hate for that same bond of blood hate because I can also be cruel in other ways and I know this   i fight it everyday often failing and love   for finding my own path for rejecting his racism in my life for this he disowned me i deny jobe and yet i am jobe if i could just forget it and choose another name i would be pablo  ishmael  or joshua with no last name at all   just the one i would cut off this brand of jobe and never look back my final words to that other jobe were fuck you   on his deathbed and i stand by them even now forty years later   old and cruel so i deserve the brand    jobe

___________________

you carried the corpse a long way
it was a journey of decay
that was a thousand miles long
very step was a long hot summer
every step was a bitterly cold winter
you carried the corpse in your arms
your faces close together
death was a journey for you both
the living and the dead

 

 

 

 

your ashes in the yuba river   the cold bluish water
when dropped in   your ashes spread out
like the one gray cloud in a perfect sky
the swift snowmelt current takes them away
downstream and forever gone from me
there was so much to tell you   like a fool
i was waiting for you to be a bit older
your ashes in the yuba river   the cold bluish water
forgive me son   i’ll love you forever

___________________

Today’s LittleNip:

the silence after the fires burn out
california made of ashes and loss
still some grasslands survive
still the sound of a western meadowlark
celebrating a fine and tasty beetle

—james lee jobe

___________________

—Medusa, thanking James Lee Jobe for his poetry this morning, and for the photos he has sent to help start the new year!

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.

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