Welcome to Morning!

—Poems by James Lee Jobe, Davis, CA
—Photos of Anza Borrego State Park courtesy of James Lee Jobe
 

 

Welcome to morning, blessed by light, blessed by the songs of birds, blessed by the love of families waking up to eat breakfast together, blessed by the possibilities offered by a new day. Gratitude for the sunlight, gratitude for the birdsongs, gratitude for my own family, my own day. Thank you for my life.

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A morning in summer and the windows are all open to invite the world inside, and the world answers ‘yes’ with a breeze that smells of jasmine and rosemary as my yard blooms under a perfectly blue sky.

This time we’ll wear dark glasses to mask our blindness. This time we’ll wear cloaks that cover and mask our wounds; that way the world cannot see our many weaknesses. We will enter the ballroom upright, walking slowly, gracefully, and the world will go silent to see us there, proud as we are, undefeated. And then we will begin to dance.

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The violent, the cruel, and the ignorant call out for war with Iran. They are caught up in their Samsara like a fallen leaf spinning in a whirlpool. As I write this, it is a gray and cold morning in May, more like winter than spring, and I am sipping coffee, thinking of peace, and saying a prayer for those who seek war. May they know peace. May the leaf escape the whirlpool.

A cold night. I shiver as I write down the names of the gods I deny, and then erase them all. The page is again blank. Each time I erase a god, I say, "There are no gods."

Ghosts watch me, or so it seems. I rise from the hard, straight chair, and wrap a blanket around myself, return, sit, and pick up the pencil to begin again. This could take a long time. From behind, a ghost holds me in her whispery arms, and I tell her, "There are no ghosts."

An old friend, now so full of anger and judgement that is hard to be friends anymore. Trying to learn to set some limits to protect my soul from this. My life and his life will always be different. Walking the park to clear my head, to be present, now. Meditation on the park bench. A cool delta breeze blows across the park, south to north, up the Sacramento River from  San Francisco Bay, from the Pacific, from the Gulf of Alaska really, coming around in an unbelievably huge circle. One hundred miles inland, to me. It is a perfect thing. Cool. Fresh. It brings a smile to my lips.

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Today’s LittleNip:

Half of the sky for you, half for me. Half of the river. Half of this lifetime. Walk with me, dear, time belongs to us. Let’s whisper so that no one else hears.

—James Lee Jobe

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Thanks to James Lee Jobe for today’s fine poems and the photos of Anza Borrego State Park in SoCal, which he calls “one of the loveliest deserts anywhere”!

Start out your poetry weekend today at 9:30am with Writers on the Air at Sac. Poetry Center, featuring Carol Lynn Stevenson Grellas, Jennifer O’Neill Pickering, Taylor Graham and Sue Crisp, plus open mic. At 2pm, in Placerville at the Placerville Sr. Center, Poetic License poetry read-around meets in the lobby. 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, celebrating the poetry of the desert

 
 

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