—Poetry by James Lee Jobe, Davis, CA
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of James Lee Jobe
In a few minutes the sun will set and this day will start to fade, one second at a time, both in terms of light and memory, for I intend to take nothing from the day along with me as I ease into the night, and neither will I leave anything of myself behind; this moment is all that I have, and all that I need, and I give thanks for being alive right now.
This is an unusual era, an era that is outside of usual custom and tradition, as a virus races around the planet and people are dying by the hundreds of thousands, grief, grief, grief abounds, and life as we knew it is over now, with many stores, schools, banks all closed, and we survivors stay in our homes and try to live without going anywhere, and we are masked and gloved, but my family still survives and so I give thanks for being alive right now.
The exception for staying home is the ongoing up-rising against racism; in countries on multiple continents, people are marching and calling for an end to the injustices that have been forced upon people of color. For centuries they have suffered and white people have either participated in the cruelty or ignored it, turning their faces away, averting their eyes, wearing societal blinders, living with privilege and denial, and now, after centuries this way, change is happening and I give thanks for being alive right now.
Today I was watering my garden and suddenly a hummingbird, tiny and yet vibrant with color, dropped down from above and hovered in the cool spray of water, just for a couple of seconds, then lifted and flew away, almost instantly invisible to me, and this was a brief flash of beauty and life, and I gave thanks for being alive right now.
Sheltering at home, my wife and I play card games together, chatting and joking, we share every meal together, and we say grace, light a candle, and enjoy a meal that was prepared slowly and deliberately, with love cooked into it somehow, and so we pass our days together, and still in love after many years, and I give thanks for her, and for being alive right now.
The land I call home is a long, wide river valley between two mountain ranges, and there is a dry season and a rainy season, and in my garden I grow herbs, tomatoes, tall sun flowers, and there are fruit trees, lemon, lime, peach, persimmon, and apple-pear, and we tend it all with grace and love for the planet, and for all of this I give thanks for being alive right now.
Age is coming to me now, limbs and muscles are slower, my hair and my hearing are fading, I remember less all the time, and I tell myself, “You’ve had a full life, James, a good life, with love and family, and you’ve known kindness and joy that helped you live through your sorrows,” and I give thanks for being alive right now. I do give thanks for being alive.
This is an unusual era, an era that is outside of usual custom and tradition, as a virus races around the planet and people are dying by the hundreds of thousands, grief, grief, grief abounds, and life as we knew it is over now, with many stores, schools, banks all closed, and we survivors stay in our homes and try to live without going anywhere, and we are masked and gloved, but my family still survives and so I give thanks for being alive right now.
The exception for staying home is the ongoing up-rising against racism; in countries on multiple continents, people are marching and calling for an end to the injustices that have been forced upon people of color. For centuries they have suffered and white people have either participated in the cruelty or ignored it, turning their faces away, averting their eyes, wearing societal blinders, living with privilege and denial, and now, after centuries this way, change is happening and I give thanks for being alive right now.
Today I was watering my garden and suddenly a hummingbird, tiny and yet vibrant with color, dropped down from above and hovered in the cool spray of water, just for a couple of seconds, then lifted and flew away, almost instantly invisible to me, and this was a brief flash of beauty and life, and I gave thanks for being alive right now.
Sheltering at home, my wife and I play card games together, chatting and joking, we share every meal together, and we say grace, light a candle, and enjoy a meal that was prepared slowly and deliberately, with love cooked into it somehow, and so we pass our days together, and still in love after many years, and I give thanks for her, and for being alive right now.
The land I call home is a long, wide river valley between two mountain ranges, and there is a dry season and a rainy season, and in my garden I grow herbs, tomatoes, tall sun flowers, and there are fruit trees, lemon, lime, peach, persimmon, and apple-pear, and we tend it all with grace and love for the planet, and for all of this I give thanks for being alive right now.
Age is coming to me now, limbs and muscles are slower, my hair and my hearing are fading, I remember less all the time, and I tell myself, “You’ve had a full life, James, a good life, with love and family, and you’ve known kindness and joy that helped you live through your sorrows,” and I give thanks for being alive right now. I do give thanks for being alive.
The time has come to throw down the wealthy,
to remake the government, to burn the money
as fuel for a giant barbecue, to melt down
the weapons into tools, and to teach the children
what really happened.
Are you ready?
The ghosts of COVID-19 are asking for new names and new faces. They come in the night and whisper their absurd requests. I am never frightened, but I also cannot oblige them; I offer them poems instead. So far not one ghost has accepted.
Just a sliver of waxing moon,
one night after the new moon,
and no breeze at all.
A hot summer night
here on the hard edge of the world.
The sharp, raw edge.
I am a speck on this huge planet,
which is itself but a speck
in the vastness of the galaxy,
and beyond that, the numberless galaxies
of the endless universe.
Oh my.
Just then I felt a bare hint of a breeze.
Let me rest in a pale room
with open windows.
Let there be a breeze
as fresh as a new day.
Let there be silence.
And I want my hands
to touch the last moment
of light before I sleep.
Then darkness.
_________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Centuries and years pass, but the river endures.
My wife, let’s hold each other in the cool, rushing water.
Love also endures.
—James Lee Jobe
_________________
Our thanks to James Lee Jobe this morning for reminding us to be thankful for what we have in these “unusual” times! And don’t forget Fridays, 7:30pm: Video poetry readings on Facebook by Davis Poet Laureate James Lee Jobe at james-lee-jobe.blogspot.com or youtube.com/jamesleejobe/.
Congratulations to US Poet Laureate (2003-2004) Louise Gluck for winning the 2020 Nobel Prize in Literature. For more info, see yesterday’s Sacramento Bee or www.nytimes.com/2020/10/08/books/nobel-prize-literature-winner.html/.
_________________
—Medusa
_________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Centuries and years pass, but the river endures.
My wife, let’s hold each other in the cool, rushing water.
Love also endures.
—James Lee Jobe
_________________
Our thanks to James Lee Jobe this morning for reminding us to be thankful for what we have in these “unusual” times! And don’t forget Fridays, 7:30pm: Video poetry readings on Facebook by Davis Poet Laureate James Lee Jobe at james-lee-jobe.blogspot.com or youtube.com/jamesleejobe/.
Congratulations to US Poet Laureate (2003-2004) Louise Gluck for winning the 2020 Nobel Prize in Literature. For more info, see yesterday’s Sacramento Bee or www.nytimes.com/2020/10/08/books/nobel-prize-literature-winner.html/.
_________________
—Medusa
—Public Domain Photo
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