Showers, Sunlight, Showers

—Poems by James Lee Jobe, Davis, CA
—Retro Photos Courtesy of James Lee Jobe

Morning is here
After a long and empty night
And now I will be one with the truth.
The wind will be the light from my eyes
And there will be sunlight in my speech.
I will never escape time, but then again,
I don’t wish to. Let the end come
In any manner, at any moment.
I am the truth. My life is the truth.
And that is enough.

___________________

Looking outward, I find a valley
Bathed in rain.
Looking inward, I find a valley
Bathed in sunshine.
My goodness,
How this life goes around!

It is a warm afternoon in October

In Northern California's huge Central Valley.
The day considers getting hot,
But decides against it in the end.
Riding my bicycle west
Puts the late-day sun in my eyes.
I ride that way anyhow;
Some people are like that.
Pulling over in the shade of an old cedar,
The ice water in my bottle
Tastes like the love of heaven,
But then, of course, this is heaven.
Isn't it?
Other people have their own stories,
This one is mine.

_________________

Showers, then breaks for sunlight,
Then showers again.
Turn, and turn about.
The sky has great power
And so commands our actions
By what it will and what it will not
Allow us to do, and yet remain dry.
Showers, sunlight, showers.
From below, we watch and wait.
Raindrops tumbling from the sky
By the millions.

In 62 years this body has become worn;
Lumps and bumps and bald spots. Aches.
Places that hurt and I'm not sure why.
Other things have changed with age, too;
I spend more time thinking about the sun and moon,
The trees and watersheds.
Much less thought goes to the curve of a shapely thigh.
There is a beauty that comes with age, perhaps
You, dear reader, are still too young to see it.
It is the beauty of a tall pine bending in the south wind,
The loveliness of a delta breeze on a hot day,
Cooling the entire valley with its sweet breath.
Yes, it’s true, I have a game knee
And my feet hurt a lot, even in the best shoes.
But when I stand in Putah Creek
I know where the water came from,
And I know where the water is going.
An old turtle sits on a log, very still,
And I get to put him in a poem.
Lovely.

___________________

Forgiveness. It is so fine to learn to forgive
That which we do and that which we say.
And to forgive ourselves, not just each other.
Kindness and self-kindness.
And yes, a lot of what we think
Needs to be forgiven as well.
Especially that. Forgive ourselves,
Forgive the people around us, and
Then walk outside and stand in the sunlight,
Stand in the moonlight.
Open our beating hearts wide and just be.

Language is a tool, the craft of communication. Human to human, speaking, listening, a thought, an idea, a need expressed. A desire spoken. An answer for a question. This work will never end.

____________________

My friend wanted to know,
“James, in your poems,
You go down to the creek a lot.
Is that true?”
Summer in the valley,
About a half of a year of waiting for a real rain.
Still, the Sacramento River charges down the valley,
Fed by other rivers, like the Feather River,
And by creeks, like my Putah Creek,
Fed like a nanny feeds a child.
Along the banks, trees grow madly,
In other places, they hang on.
Often, my footsteps kick up dust.
I am like a tree that hangs on,
A determined valley oak,
Or like a rattlesnake lying in the sun.
About a half of a year, waiting for a real rain.
When it finally happens I will dance
Until my clothes are soaked through.
Until then, I will visit the creek.
The frogs and the herons don’t look dry at all.

In
the 801 days since you died
I
have slowly gotten stronger.
I
no long weep every day, just some days.
Of
course, I think of you every day,
But
most often it is the good memories

Slipping
in, not the horror of heroin, meth,
And
a heart that couldn't bear the load.
—You,
at 5, interrupting a poetry reading
To
ask the poet if he “had any Rumi.”
—You,
at 7, up on a fire lookout tower,
With
all the forest below you, asking me,

“Am I the King now?”
—Your
band playing a gig in a basement,
While
you banged away on the drum kit.
801
days. I have a lot to do on day #802.
The
patio needs cleaning. Laundry.
There
is a project where I need to finish
Writing
my application. Other things, too.
But
it can all wait while I write
One
more poem for you. One small poem.
My
dear son.

_____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

I have lost much in life, but two things remain steadfast. My wife and the moonlight.

—James Lee Jobe

_____________________

—Medusa, celebrating the poetry of James Lee Jobe!

 “My wife and the moonlight.”
—Anonymous Photo

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