I opened up my brain
using a screwdriver as a prying device
I wanted to put something in there
anything really
it didn't work out as planned
but at least that little bird got out
poor bastard
jobe
The heatwave washed over us as quickly as bad news
and it hung on to the world with both claws
110 degrees one day
112 the next
and so on
so we sat and sweated
we watched the clock as if time would help us
we saw the seconds slip out of the clock
and drip onto the hot floor
this second was for the world
the next second was for the temperature of our lives
time and heat were the blankets that covered us
and we didn't need a blanket
jobe
Sometimes the scandal isn't what law was broken, but what the law allows.
Edward Snowden
Ah look - the men are here to set up my tombstone
but there is something in their way — it's my life
oh sluggard — move
just let them get on with it
jobe
The Splendid Body, a poem by Rebecca Lindenberg
There are those times in the darkness
when I lose awareness of my body
and I wonder if I am the universe
or if the universe is me
am I endless — timeless
what changes will the next day bring
and then — like everyone
I wait for the light to return
then comes the daylight
jobe
Possession isn't nine-tenths of the law. It's nine-tenths of the problem.
John Lennon
I live in davis california
with about 65,000 people
once a native patwin village was here
called putah-toi
it's surrounded by good farmland
and even with all these people here
every now and then a coyote will show up
maybe on the edge of town
looking for a meal
more often I’ve seen hawks hunting
from up above or maybe resting
on a tree limb or a telephone line
and it's easy to hear an owl or maybe two
hooting softly at night or sunrise
a little bit of the natural world
filtering in among our buildings
and our concrete and asphalt
the trees are wild
they're growing here by the thousands
squirrels rabbits raccoon sparrows
are they in my world
or am I in theirs
it's all the same anyway
in the void
jobe
Throwing Children, a poem by Ross Gay
The summer heat in the sacramento valley
is a powerful thing
a dead jackrabbit rots on county road 98
stinking in the afternoon sun
it has even less use for civilization
than I do
jobe
Someone Forgot to Whisper Your Death to the Bees, a poem by Ansel Elkins
It is the very moment of dawn and you are in a winter forest. You are rich in cedar, pine and fir trees. First light filtering through the green of the branches, first light on the snow of the forest floor. A world of white and green. Clean, fresh. Every breath is a delight, like the laughter of a child. Your footsteps make a crunching sound in the snow.
jobe
Stalin Epigram
Osip Mandelstam, 1891-1938 CE
This is the poem that led to Osip Mandelstam’s first arrest and internal exile. Stalin actually liked Mandelstam’s poetry, but not his politics. Mandelstam did not survive his second arrest and conviction, he died enroute to Siberia from an unnamed illness.
Anna Akhmatova is another poet who was persecuted by Stalin. Her first husband was executed and their son spent time imprisoned. I have a lot of respect for those who stand up against injustice.
We are those tiny people who live at the edge of the lawn. Whose lawn? I don't know, so that can't be right.
We are giants stomping across the cornfields of Iowa, dragging a wounded foot through the broken stalks. No, I don't like that one either.
We're too tiny in one world and too large in another. It's a hard life sometimes, figuring out which world you're in, and what you should do about it. Still one day follows the next, in order. It's after that when the chaos begins.
Chin up. Just do your best. There's really nothing to explain anyway.
jobe