Poet Trees
—Poems and Photos by James Lee Jobe, Davis, CA
Part of my way of being a person in the world
Is to say Good Morning to that first glimpse of light
In the morning sky.
Around me the earth still seems asleep,
But I have been up for a bit already.
Meditating. Sipping coffee. Puttering around
Since the morning was really still night.
I have no job to go to, no real reason to be up then.
I just love that first bit of light.
It opens the dark sky like a child opens a gift
And then graces us down below on this earth.
It is a kindness. A blessing.
And I am there to receive it.
To give praise, to give thanks.
Is to say Good Morning to that first glimpse of light
In the morning sky.
Around me the earth still seems asleep,
But I have been up for a bit already.
Meditating. Sipping coffee. Puttering around
Since the morning was really still night.
I have no job to go to, no real reason to be up then.
I just love that first bit of light.
It opens the dark sky like a child opens a gift
And then graces us down below on this earth.
It is a kindness. A blessing.
And I am there to receive it.
To give praise, to give thanks.
A Poet's Reading Material
Midnight. Last quarter of the moon.
Fascism rises up across America.
Race hate. Religion hate. Above all,
A hatred exists for the people in need
And for those would want to help them.
White America. Christian America.
Step in the wrong yard and it’s death.
I say the same prayers as I always do.
I meditate, sometimes at midnight,
Sometimes at dawn, sometimes both.
The fascism has a name and face,
And it is easy to find. It lives next door.
Mt. Diablo, CA
A small boat crosses a still lake,
A plane flying through a gray sky.
After? No mark that anything happened.
Such is life.
_______________
I live. And those I still hold close bring me comfort.
Family. Home. Earth. The green pines.
The owls. The sounds and sights of living. Still.
Come death, I will depart this valley. Not before.
With death I will let go of those few things to which I still hold.
Family. Home. Earth.
I do not need to know what comes after,
Or if anything comes after. I accept it,
Even if it is endless darkness, endless silence.
It is what it is, and I am mortal.
Such is the way of all flesh.
What a Poet Needs
Sweet sleep, under my own roof.
Breeze for a blanket, night sounds
For my entertainment. A quiet house.
Empty and still.
Empty and still.
Night is my friend once again.
__________________
Today’s LittleNip:
High above, in heaven, big winds.
Here below, on earth, all of our souls.
And in between?
—James Lee Jobe
__________________
Our thanks to James Lee Jobe for today’s fine wake-up poetry and photos! Tomorrow, James will be hosting Taylor Graham and Tim Kahl at the Davis Arts Center Poetry Series on F St. in Davis, 2pm. And this afternoon, Pachamama Coffee Co-op and Akinto will be hosting poetry and conversation with Margaret Ronda and Marilyn McEntyre (plus open mic) at 919 20th St., Sac., 5-7pm. 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
James working part-time as a Playboy Playmate
(Celebrate poetry!)
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