—Poems by James Lee Jobe, Davis, CA
—Photos Courtesy of James Lee Jobe
—Photos Courtesy of James Lee Jobe
Can you see nothing of the moon?
Who is cooped up in their room day and night?
A prisoner of the walls and of the ceiling?
Is the window closed? And are the drapes drawn?
Can you see nothing of the moon? Nothing of the sun?
Are your legs now too weak from atrophy for you
To stand and walk to the door?
Does your hand still possess the strength
To throw the lock and turn the knob?
Do you wish nothing of the fresh air or freedom?
Are you alive or merely existing?
Can you see nothing of the moon?
I love Cuban music, poetry from long ago in Japan and China, and art deco buildings in old cities. I embrace the idea of space travel, but before lift-off I would have us first make sure that every belly is full. And speaking of food, I like hot sauce on mine, and I crave coffee so strong that the neighbors can smell it, and come over for a cup. To watch the clouds drift across a blue sky pleases me, and so does the sound of an owl late at night. It is good, this life, like a kind child slipping beneath the blankets on a winter night. I hold my hands up to the moon and stars to give thanks, and the endearing light shines down with the sweetest love.
Some people face a cross and kneel,
Others face to the east.
Perhaps the incense is lit
Or prayer beads are handled.
You might honor the god you love
Or simply empty out your mind
By focusing on your breath
In silent meditation.
My friend, none of us truly know
The secret of all secrets;
That comes later, maybe.
However, we can know this:
This is something that exists
That is greater than this life.
Honor it.
___________________
Silence needs to be nurtured, like a frail child who lacks love. A young oak tree, chest-high, whispers a thank-you to the soil, to the sun and the water. The air is moving, but far too softly to make a sound. I raise my face to the sunlight, thinking, “I have love in my life. I offer my thanks.” Something moves in the old leaf pile, swift and sudden, but I cannot see what it is.
Crone, she cackles and rubs
Her hands together when she laughs,
And her eyes busy themselves
By raking up the leaves of the night.
See the two moons above the nose
That smell out secrets and shame.
See the two moons below the forehead
Like the searchlights of the damned.
Her flesh is now stone
And her soul is the blue steel of a shotgun,
Cold and murderous.
The shotgun is loaded, jacked,
And aimed at the darkness she loves,
Holds close, and yet does not need.
Crone, she knows those truths
That most people can only guess.
Crone, she has brewed up a potion
That induces dreams and courage.
She has poured a dose of this potion into a vial,
And friend, she is offering this drink to you.
Sometimes the Light inside of me is so strong and bright that even the stones by my feet have voices. Life opens up like a present, like a gift, and so it is. Listen to the wind, and listen to birds, for they understand the wind. Unwrap the gift. Is this too fast for you? I can go slower.
___________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Every day is full of opportunities to do good; may I have the ability to see them, and the courage to step and embrace them.
—James Lee Jobe
___________________
Thanks to James Lee Jobe today for reminding us, this close to Thanksgiving, to give thanks! “It is good, this life…”
Poetry in Motion will meet in Placerville today from 2-4pm at the Placerville Sr. Center on Spring Street in Placerville. Scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info about this and other upcoming poetry events in our area—and note that more may be added at the last minute.
—Medusa, giving thanks for this life and the poetry it brings ~
Man and the Moon
—Anonymous
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