The Heron

—Poems by James Lee Jobe, Davis, CA
—Photos of the Sacramento River Courtesy of James Lee Jobe 
  

Dawn is its own reward.
To watch the little teeth of morning
Nibble away at the meat of the night,
Bite by bite.
When the dark corpse is finally gone,
Heaven blesses us all with light.

_______________

This heart of mine is like a tree
In the springtime; new buds grow
And blossom.
A new life, a new season.
All around me the world spins
And orbits the warmth of the sun.
A new life, a new season.
Everyday, rebirth surrounds me.
 

How old is my valley?
Millions of years, I suppose.

How old is my iris?
Just a few days.

One grows from the other.
Time means nothing.

Life goes on,
With us or without us.

________________

So it is this way. 600 nights since you died
And I am still pushing against the entire world
In a futile effort to stop it from turning.
I was turning the first corner of old age
When you died, and now I am an old man.
I can live with that. If you live long enough,
That’s what happens to us all. Not you.
You will always be young, and I, your father,
Will never see you marry, settle down,
Or become a father yourself. It is this way.
A year has passed. I failed to stop the world
From turning, just like I failed at fatherhood.
How many times have I wished those ashes
In that box on the table were mine, not yours?
That I was gone and you were still here, living?

The heron hides her head under a wing; she doesn't care to see the humans standing there, watching. The reeds in the shallows are rattled by a cold, wet wind. Fresh raindrops begin to trouble the surface of the dark green water, and so the water seems to be shivering. Winter has come to the slough, stark and fascinating. The heron moves on, but not us. We'll stay for a while longer.


 

Hello, are you now on the path
You have always wanted to walk?
Is there still kindness in your skin,
In the part of your hair?
When you sleep, are the dreams
More real than waking life?
And what of the feel of steel,
The kiss of wood on your face?
That ache in the small of your back,
That ache in your knees, friend,
Is that where you whisper your true name?
The name you wanted from the very first day?
Will you whisper it again right now?
To me?

 

May the cruelties of the world pass through us and do no harm,
Like a child walking through fog.
May even our bruises and scars be healed.
May the hope for a better life never leave us.
May we have sunlight and showers in equal measure,
And may we be blessed with kindness,
Both in giving and in receiving.
And friend, when the end is near,
May we be able to relax and welcome it
For the rite of passage that it is.

___________________

Today’s LittleNip:
 
For people, and for nations—
May we cease competing and begin sharing.

—James Lee Jobe

___________________

Many thanks to James Lee Jobe for today’s fine poetry and photos! James facilitates a writing group in Davis called The Other Voice Poetry Group, which meets on the second Tuesday of each month—plus, James is now emailing writing assignments to members throughout the month, which members may do if they choose. For more details, go to jamesleejobe@gmail.com/.

Today in Placerville, Poetic License meets from 2-4pm at the Placerville Sr. Center lobby on Spring St. Today’s theme is “dancing”, but other poetry by yourself or someone else is welcome. Scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info about this and other upcoming poetry events in our area—and note that more may be added at the last minute.

—Medusa


 

 “The heron hides her head under a wing…”
(Celebrate poetry!)

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