Hawaiian Crow
—Poems by James Lee Jobe, Davis, CA
—Crow Photos Courtesy of James Lee Jobe
A book of poems was left on my desk,
The Mountain Poems of Meng Hao-jan.
In the dark before sunrise a wood spider
Walks across the old book cover.
I am up already, working on poems.
I have coffee, some toast, and an apple
Sitting nearby. I nibble, sip, and write,
Sometimes just sitting and thinking
For a while, language moving around
Inside my mind, taking shape.
The spider pauses. Is it watching me?
I don’t know how to tell, of course,
But I leave it alone and just keep working.
I am well into editing a third poem
When I notice that I am again alone
And the morning light is pouring in
From around the closed and dirty curtains.
Hooded Crows
Loved in hidden rooms, behind delicate curtains.
Held in firm brown arms, the feel of clean sheets.
Every moment we shared still exists
Somewhere in time; stepping across the distance
Is as easy as memory, as easy as passion.
No past, no present, no future.
Just the sensuality of us, ourselves.
Together.
Indian Jungle Crow
In this dream, a nebbish little fellow
Was struggling to reach a pie.
He had already given me a gift
And it seemed the least I could do
To reach down that pie for him.
Perhaps I would even join him
For a slice or two. It’s neighborly.
In the dream I turned to my left
And reached up, and as I did so
I sat upright in my bed and woke up.
I was reaching up, but no pie
Was there, no little fellow. Too bad.
Thinking back, I am pretty sure
That the pie was peach. Delicious.
Torresian Crows
The winter sky at night. A cold storm blows in.
I raise my arms up to heaven; love and compassion.
Then emptiness. No thought at all
Is the best thought after all.
The idea of giving up all of my absurd ambitions
Seems like a gift to me now. A Christmas present.
________________
In the mirror, in the photographs, a much older man.
Near my ramshackle house is a railroad track,
Still in use with several freight trains a day,
Either direction. If I had my ‘young strength’ again
I would load my frame pack and walk that line north.
Mount Shasta, Oregon, Washington, Canada.
I would walk until I got tired and then I would rest
In the shade of the evergreen trees; pine, fir, red alder.
Hidden by bayberry and shallon shrubs, I would sleep.
Daytime, nighttime, what’s the difference, really?
Northwestern Crow
On this, the day when your grief made you stronger,
The day when your sorrow opened your being to love,
Say these words when the world around you is empty.
Death will not take me, it will deliver me.
Pain will not change me, but love will.
Yes, I will walk straight into the darkness,
And I will come out on the other side.
I reject the fear, I accept the courage.
I will not deny love, I will proclaim it.
The day comes for each of us to stand or fall,
To open the door or to close it. Friend,
I urge you—open up your heart and live.
_________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Chamomile tea and fresh night air—
Walking in brand new slippers!
—James Lee Jobe
_________________
—Medusa, with thanks to James Lee Jobe for his fine poems (and upstart crows) on this, the cusp of the new year!
For more about The Mountain Poems of Meng Hao-jan,
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