Beams of Light

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

Winter solstice, night slowly drove
Up the street in an old Toyota Corolla, 


And parked in front of my house. 


My wife said, "It gets dark early this time of year."
I stole a glance from behind the curtain; 
Night was just sitting there in the car. 


The engine was idling and I could hear
That the car radio was on. 


There was the small light of a cigarette. 


"Yes," I told her, “it looks like another long night."

The strong north wind has me on the move. Nothing to tether me, I am one speck of pollen lost in the wild strength of the sky, in the flex of muscle that lives above creation. Is there danger in this life? Certainly, but also there is a weight of joy that comes from the freedom of letting go, from simply following the wind.

_________________

Your skin, your flesh; this is a shell, and your mind is shell also. You are the earth, the sky, the water. You live in the universe, but also know that the universe lives in you. One and again. One and again. Do you wish to live? Then live.

We live in these houses of flesh and bone,
Walled in by the soul of our own existence,
Roofed by that love which we can create
With our own hearts, our own experience.
In time, we leave these houses and move
Into the atoms of some other far moment,
A moment beyond our measure and sight,
As if we only continue on in the passing
Of one second into the next, in between
The breaths of our different thoughts.
Here, we are men, we are women.
There, we are the beams of light sent
From one heaven to another heaven,
And there are millions of these heavens,
And the beams of light illuminate the road
That our souls walk through space. 

Writing prose poems as an act of resistance. Counting and naming the clouds as an act of defiance. Telling children to believe their own eyes as an act of opposition to those who rule. Exiting through the entrance as an act of revolution. Choosing a new flag as a way to stand against the fascists supporting the old flag. Painting the creek in flamboyant colors as an act of artistic freedom. Refusing to accept any rules that are not self-made, self-imposed, and self-nurtured as an act of self-love. Writing prose poems as an act of resistance. Always resisting.

Let me live content without a lot of money. Let me be a tool to help replenish the earth and heal its wounds. Let me share of myself whenever there is need without seeking applause or reward. And let me embrace you in friendship with open arms. This I do pray.

___________________

Today’s LittleNip:
 
The tail end of the afternoon, resting in the shade. The cicadas boldly announce that evening is on the way. Preach, my little friends.


—James Lee Jobe

___________________

Our thanks to James Lee Jobe for the beams of light that are his poetry this morning!

Lots of poetry events in our area today: from 9:30am to 1pm, Writers on the Air features Michele Drier plus open mic at Sac. Poetry Center, hosted by Todd Boyd. Also this morning, from 9:30-11am, there will be a group discussion of The Beats at Identity Coffees on 28th St. in Sac., hosted by Frank Graham.

This afternoon at 2pm, Creative Minds spoken word gathering of artists of all genres meets at GOS Art Gallery on Del Paso Blvd. in Sacramento. And from 2-4pm in Placerville, Poetic License poetry read-around meets at the Placerville Sr. Center on Spring St. The suggested topic for this month is "excite”, but other subjects are also welcome. 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, celebrating, celebrating!

Cicada

 “Preach, my little friends.”
—Anonymous Photo

Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.