On the Sling of the Moment

—Poems and Photos by James Lee Jobe, Davis, CA

We have slept on the colored stones at the green

River’s edge since time itself first slept with those dreams

Of clouds and flying and the song of angels

Whose fingers are long and tanned from years

Under the golden light of the sun, so far away and true.


We have slept on the colored stones at the green

River’s edge and our own dreams are rich and painted

In bright colors of orange and green, dreams that have music

From another world where the plumage of peacocks and the footprints

Of woolly mammoths address our courage with favor.


We are a tribal people, masked, moving silently through the trees,

Our skin smeared with clay, and when we sleep

It is on the colored stones at the green river's edge,

And any one of us can go an entire lifetime

And never once reveal our name.


The colored stones at edge of the green river.

The colored stones at edge of the green river.

Birds that stop and listen as we pass by.

Creatures that pass us by as we sleep.


We have slept on the colored stones at the green

River’s edge.

It's this way. Listen.

I love. I don't have a reason for it, I just do.

The usual things, of course, my wife,

Our family, our friends. But that's not

All. I love yesterday, for both its joys

And its sorrows, both things have led me

To today. And I love letting yesterday go.

Why not? I don't need it anymore.

And I love today, and the breast of living.

Life rests on the sling of the moment, defined

By the love we invest in it, one second

At a time. I'll probably love tomorrow, too,

But why worry about that now? And other

Things—the noises birds make. Dogs

When they run for no reason, and the smell

Of fresh coffee right when it is brewed.

I love sunlight from behind a tall tree

And a saxophone playing sad and low,

Indeed, I love sad sounds very much.

I could go on, but I won't. A song

Just came on the radio and I... you know.

A body holds a heart.

Growl now. Or bark.

Climb now, back into your animal, into its hide, its soul.

Feel your claws, your fangs.

Blood of an animal to drink to your future,

To pour on the bones of your angriest past,

The pleasure of your dated sins.

Free yourself now. Climb.

Rows and rows of beasts, companies and battalions,

Animals in formation like soldiers, an army of your devils,

Each one ready to gnaw, bite, claw, and fight.


They can kill you, yes, or else you must climb
Inside of the animal wearing your name.

We are creatures holding light the way a body holds a heart.

Growl now. Or bark.

You live in this terrible age that holds man prisoner.

Climb now, back into your animal, into its hide, its soul.

Don’t even turn to see what is behind you.

It’s quite possible that kindness is the answer to everything. Human beings, driven like nails into moldy, rotten wood, into boards that exist for no reason at all. The old, cataloged and hidden away, where the not-so-old don't have to see what it is that they will themselves slowly become if they can only avoid death for long enough. The young are taught lies and half-truths in order to ensure conformity and compliance. The talking snake, the virgin birth, the resurrection. The white Jesus. The white heroes. Loaded weapons, lying in piles in the streets for anyone to use. Death, at a wholesale price, a bargain rate, or even free. Life, lived at half-mast. Not emotion, but token emotion. Not strength, but anger. Rage. Turn out the lights, it will be better for us to sit in the dark, it will better if only we can reach out without needing to see, if only we might clasp our hands in the darkness.

In the dream I was a janitor, buffing a floor. Working steadily, I swung the buffer back and forth in a long hallway. Each pass was as grand as the tower of babel. I didn't want to be famous or rich or even the boss, just to see the floor shine like a gem satisfied me. I know who I am, my friend, even in my dreams. Work is work, to be honest, to do my best—that is enough. Waking up, I looked at my face in the bathroom mirror and I saw an old man, nothing more, but nothing less. Indeed. The earth had spun around one more time, as it does. A new day. Isn’t that enough?

Cheese, the crust of the earth,

The unmade bed built of dreams from last week,


Last month, last year.

Also—brand new dreams and more cheese.

Bread, a loaf fresh from the oven,

Take it from my hand.

Coffee-scented whiskers,

Hands without callouses,

And the gnarled feet of an old man.

Tomorrow is a promise never made,

And yesterday has been thankfully forgotten.

Shoulder the moment and bear its weight,

Lift it with strength and passion.

Find something to love and love it.

Rinse, repeat.

Another day is passed by a (very) minor poet.

_________________


Today’s LittleNip:

May we, as a people, find the strength to hold on to our compassion, faith, hope, and love. And may I, as one person, find that strength as well.

—James Lee Jobe


_________________

Thank you, James Lee Jobe, for today’s fine poetry and photos!

Today is a busy day in area poetry, starting with Writers on the Air from 9:30am-1pm at Sac. Poetry Center, presenting Ivy Almond and Mash, plus open mic. Then Poetic License meets from 2-4pm at the Placerville Sr. Center in Placerville. After that the Convergence (online journal) reading takes place at Sac. Poetry Center, from 2:30-5:30pm, celebrating its 15-Year Anniversary! Then from 6-10pm, Kathryn Hohlwein and Gene Avery will read at Luna's Cafe in Sacramento, followed by music from Proxy Moon. 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

 —Anonymous
Celebrate poetry!

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