—Poetry and Photos by jobe, Davis, CA
I send my broken messages out on the internet
and in quiet prayers, loud cries and wails
these messages to my lost son
William in the Bardo
I am on one side and William is on the other
the gossamer veil hangs between us
between existence and nonexistence
one day I won’t exist either, Son
today would be as good a day as any
love is the lifeforce, Son
I am here
but I am receding
I am fading
__________________
drinking coffee black and reading
the poems of osip mandelstam
the ground quivers and shakes
is it an earthquake
or just fine poetry?
now the coffee is finished
and the morning sky is blue
like my grandmother’s eyes
and in quiet prayers, loud cries and wails
these messages to my lost son
William in the Bardo
I am on one side and William is on the other
the gossamer veil hangs between us
between existence and nonexistence
one day I won’t exist either, Son
today would be as good a day as any
love is the lifeforce, Son
I am here
but I am receding
I am fading
__________________
drinking coffee black and reading
the poems of osip mandelstam
the ground quivers and shakes
is it an earthquake
or just fine poetry?
now the coffee is finished
and the morning sky is blue
like my grandmother’s eyes
Fire is greedy and bold. It can begin
With just a spark, tiny, but then a gust
Of breeze, a wind, and an entire forest
Is gone, a town vanishes, lives are lost.
Fire has no gods, no heaven, no hell.
Fire walks and runs with large strides
And does not bother to look down.
Not ever.
_________________
Bless the soil, the seed,
the sun, and the rain.
Bless the labor of the farmers,
the workers.
And bless the hungry
that they might be fed.
That we all might be fed.
With just a spark, tiny, but then a gust
Of breeze, a wind, and an entire forest
Is gone, a town vanishes, lives are lost.
Fire has no gods, no heaven, no hell.
Fire walks and runs with large strides
And does not bother to look down.
Not ever.
_________________
Bless the soil, the seed,
the sun, and the rain.
Bless the labor of the farmers,
the workers.
And bless the hungry
that they might be fed.
That we all might be fed.
perhaps
I’m like an old dog
who doesn’t understand the moonlight
but also doesn’t care
come
howl with me tonight
__________________
I’m like an old dog
who doesn’t understand the moonlight
but also doesn’t care
come
howl with me tonight
__________________
Today’s LittleNip:
clouds race across the windy sky
someday every one of us will be gone
—jobe
__________________
Long time, no jobe! James Lee has dropped into the Kitchen today, and we’re all the better for it! How about it—are you like an old dog? Will you howl with jobe tonight?
__________________
—Medusa
—Photo by jobe
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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All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world, including
that which was previously-published.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
