One Star At A Time

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

The crow seems to be yelling at me;
How would I translate those yells?
“I am the noise of spirit!
I am the sound of the strength
Of the wild!” And then it flies
Away from my front yard
And joins the other crows
Beneath the pines in the park
Across the street.

I was young and wanted out of my family and into a different life. I didn't want to be me, and I had not yet learned that this was impossible. So what did I do? I ate several years of the calendar in an effort to change time. I then vomited up a new calendar with new days, strange numbers, and different names for the months. And my family? What did they do? The same as always; my father kept drinking good bourbon and my mother told everyone that things were fine, just fine. And my poor sister tore a page from the first calendar, wrapped it around herself like a blanket, and she lives that way to this very day. "Sis, are you alright?" No answer. Just big eyes and a shiver. 

In the dream my penis falls off and I stick it back on again. Some people live without hope. Without any sort of spirituality. When I look at them, their aura is the color of death, the color of emptiness. A cold, dark thing. They seem to want me to join them in this darkness. They seem to want to convince me to lose faith. In fact, they seem to need it. I am reminded of The Book of Job. My faith is the light in the darkness. It is faith that allows me to re-attach the penis. And it is hope that makes me try.

Yes, it's true, I love this creek.
If it were not here, perhaps
I wouldn’t have stayed so many years.
When I was younger, I walked every trail.
Now, with achy feet and a bad knee, I just watch.
Swift water, white rocks.
The feel of my feet on the earth.
I don't even mind that time passed me by so quickly. 
Putah Creek. Years later. 

Here are the months of lightning,
The months of storms. Winter.
Dark clouds pass over this valley,
Thick and fat with rain.
I love the winter rains like I love this place.
I belong here. Let me ask you,
Truly, does a person own land,
Or does the land own the person?

November. Gray skies
And emptiness.
A whisper of the winter
To come. Watching a heron
Wade in the cold, dark water.

                   

                    (for D.R. Wagner)

* * *

Life is full of dreams,
Yes, and dreams are full of life.
Close your eyes, Sisters.
Brothers, close your eyes, too.
Just be.

                    (for Jane Blue) 

The day will come when I pack up and just walk over the summit to disappear forever. The day when I push the boat out into the current and let the river carry me away. It is a time that comes to all of us, some sooner, some later. Even now, tonight, I might reach out and touch the stars one at a time.

_____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

Life; part of the noise
Between our two long silences.


—James Lee Jobe

_____________________

Our Saturday thanks to James Lee Jobe for his stellar poems and photos today, marking yet another day of lives full of dreams! Don’t forget James’ online readings on Friday nights on Facebook, 7:30pm.

—Medusa, reaching for the stars ~

 —Public Domain 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.