—Poems by James Lee Jobe, Davis, CA
—Photos Courtesy of James Lee Jobe
—Photos Courtesy of James Lee Jobe
Somewhere, there is an oasis. Which way? I don't know. This way, that way, any way. Every direction leads to an endless wasteland of dust and death. An unforgiving sun. Thorns like knives, like sorrow. And in the city people live with little hatreds eating up their souls. Fools might say that this one prays wrong, that one looks wrong, another loves wrong. So many different hatreds, like heart-worms, like maggots. Like death. Darkened souls that wither, and burn, and cry out, and damn them all anyway. Which way? I have never known. This way, that way, any way at all. But there is no point in staying here even one more day. Brother, sister, protect your soul. A thorny desert surrounds the city. Let's start walking. There is an oasis out there, somewhere, probably within each of us, and I am damn well going.
Drinking good coffee and listening to Antonio Sanchez play the drums like thunder against the roof of the world. What is tomorrow? I don’t know.
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Respect the dead, even when your body is full of crows, and coffins line the bitter streets like people waiting for a parade to pass by. Respect the dead, even when your body is full of snow and the sidewalk inside you is impassable. Tonight the crows are cawing and the snow is thick. Hold your hand out in the air, watch the snowflakes land and melt on your warm skin. Respect the dead and pray for peace. Just drop to your knees and speak your truth. When the sun returns again, you and the crows will be far away, but the snow and the dead will remain.
Let us span the Sacramento River with a bridge that we build from joy and kindness. Let every person that crosses this bridge be blessed.
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Forgiveness was not for sale at the marketplace. A priest mentioned forgiveness while tugging at his wispy beard, but he didn't actually say anything specific. The cobblestones of this old street have darkened somewhat with age and feel hard against the feet. And anyway, where is there to go? The sins committed are clear. Some kind of atonement is owed, and remorse is painted across the acrimonious omens in the sky. The blue dove of the evening has long since flown away. One step follows another and eventually the street becomes a dirt lane, and then a field, and then goes up the side of the hill that leads to the far side of the world. What is there to do but keep faith and climb?
Yes. The smiles of the stars across the sleeping face of this earth. The clean, fresh breeze from the wings of hawks to cool the brows of the children at rest, and of the lovers at their best.
Yes. How sweet and pure, this darkness of time and ease, this darkness of hope and renewal. The cornflowers of night. This darkness complete and untroubled.
Yes. The people raise up their most innocent dreams up to the stars, to taste the thanks and the holy blessings of life, those gifts that life offers so freely.
Yes. Oh the calm sea of the night. Oh the million lanterns of the night. Those soft cornflowers. Those hawk wings.
Yes.
Today’s LittleNip:
The morning rainstorm fed the trees, the garden, and the grass. The afternoon sun then broke through and fed my soul.
—James Lee Jobe
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Our thanks to James Lee Jobe this morning for his questions that leave us room to answer, and his reminders that there are calm seas and a million lanterns of the night. James will be hosting the monthly Davis Arts Center Poetry Series reading this Sunday, 2pm, featuring Mischa Kuszynski plus open mic. That's on F Street in Davis. But this afternoon, don’t forget the cowboy poetry at Hoot ’N Holler today in Angels Camp, either! 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 good coffee, good poetry, and "the smiles of the stars" ~
“Somewhere, there is an oasis.”
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