—Poetry by James Lee Jobe, Davis, CA
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of James Lee Jobe
Bees visit my sunflowers
In the fresh air of morning—
How simple, how sweet,
This life.
____________________
Who created the heavens and the earth;
Was it science, nature, some god,
Or is it all just my imagination?
Am I living, or is something greater just dreaming me?
Glancing up,
I see the container with the last of my son’s ashes.
I’m alive.
It’s all real.
In the fresh air of morning—
How simple, how sweet,
This life.
____________________
Who created the heavens and the earth;
Was it science, nature, some god,
Or is it all just my imagination?
Am I living, or is something greater just dreaming me?
Glancing up,
I see the container with the last of my son’s ashes.
I’m alive.
It’s all real.
Shaving my face. Everyday.
Slow and tedious.
Exact, precise.
And through the open window
Come those tastes of the world.
Winds. Trees.
The smell of rain.
Time passes like peeling an onion,
One era of life after another.
I have learned to own a beard.
I have learned to go out into the world
As the man that I am.
Slow and tedious.
Exact, precise.
And through the open window
Come those tastes of the world.
Winds. Trees.
The smell of rain.
Time passes like peeling an onion,
One era of life after another.
I have learned to own a beard.
I have learned to go out into the world
As the man that I am.
Wear your guts on your sleeve,
All of them, not just your heart.
Liver, spleen, kidneys,
Brain, intestines, lungs,
Everything.
On your sleeve for everyone to see.
Mosquitoes and flies will love you,
But some people will shy away.
And that’s alright —
There is a measure of honesty in this.
You’re saying,
“Here I am, as I am, nothing is hidden.”
Friend, you can’t bullshit people
When your pancreas is hanging out.
Mountains of fire, the forest
Is a fantastic red blaze.
Lightning in the summer sky,
The earth is as dry as old bones.
And we burn, each of us is an ember.
This is the hour to hold on to hope,
The hour to keep faith and have courage.
May we not fail, and if we do fail
Let it be brazen. Let it be fierce.
Let the final light of being
Illuminate the entire earth.
__________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Everything is impermanent, every life, you, me.
Even the sun will supernova someday,
And what will your efforts at perfection mean then?
—James Lee Jobe
__________________
—Medusa, thanking James Lee Jobe for this morning’s brazenly cool poetry! And don’t forget Fridays, 7:30pm: Video poetry readings by Davis Poet Laureate James Lee Jobe at james-lee-jobe.blogspot.com or youtube.com/jamesleejobe.
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!
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!
