Why Am I A Poet?

 

—Poetry by James Lee Jobe, Davis, CA

—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of James Lee Jobe

California. The Sacramento Valley. I have Yolo County in my bones, and Davis town is in my blood. I planted deep roots here, a family and a home, and the years spent working, planting, and growing connect me to this place. Does it belong to me? No, more like I belong to it. Flora and fauna worthy of love. People, too. A love day in July, today. Would you like some peaches? The tree out back has had such a fine season.

 

 

 

 

Driving the summer backroads of Yolo County,
With tiny glimpses of Putah Creek
Between the Valley Oaks.
Tell me, wife,
Did you know that love could last this long?

 

 

 

 

 

If I drive a little faster
The field I am passing will begin to blur
At the edge nearest my car, and yet
It will still be clear to me in the distance.
If I slow down
Everything becomes clear.
It is the same with life.
Alfalfa.
It is a field of alfalfa, ready for harvest.
Can you smell it?

 

 

 

 

The television news never speaks of the health of the creatures in the forest or of the deeds of the insects. The reporters do not give updates on the growth of the Spruce trees or the Douglas fir, or the length of the grass, and no one describes to the home audience the sound the wind makes in tree branches. But the number of COVID-19 deaths? That is information that you cannot escape. Grief is our cloak as the wind blows.

 

 

 

 

Why am I a poet?

My father’s face was hard and angular,
His thin lips seldom smiled, but often sneered.
And when he spoke, it was not of love.

My mother spoke of love quite often,
Even when she slapped my face or took a belt to me.

I noticed the silent power of the sunrise
When I was still a small boy,
How the streaks of color dressed the dark sky,
And I loved the way the winter air tightened my cheeks.

I always knew that birds had a language all their own.

And the smiling eyes of girls,
I caught on to that very early as well.

Why am I a poet?
Because it is the only thing I know how to be.

__________________

Today’s LittleNip:

Watching a magpie, does she feel this heat? I wish I could ask her. Midday, and not a breath of fresh air around.

—James Lee Jobe

__________________

Our thanks to James Lee Jobe for this mornings thoughts about Why? His peach reference made me think of James and the Giant Peach, the children's book by Roald Dahl, so I looked it up and found that it has a dark history of being banned. Interesting. For more about what makes some people get silly, go to wellybannedbooks.weebly.com/james-and-the-giant-peach.html/.

—Medusa

 

 

Would you like some peaches?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.

Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world, including
that which was previously-published.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!