coffee is a friend with a golden soul
5.31.2025
Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.
Pablo Picasso
A thin slice of moon shares the night sky with constellations of stars – the air is clear and still
The peonies are open and waiting to be admired and I take a moment to give that to them
Shiva sings about the Bronze Age in a low baritone – about how life was simpler then but how can I believe that when life is life is life
This song is almost a chant and the stones listen and shiver in rapt attention
Me? I am a bison or a chieftain or perhaps I am Joshua walking circles around Jericho as I wait for the horn to begin the attack
Shiva’s chanting captures me and I join in – trying and failing to match the baritone
I know the words already as my delightful Baltimore auntie taught me this when I just a young boy still trying to learn my ways
I choose a shivering stone to keep for my own and I put it in my pocket
jobe
Red Rum, a poem by Dorothea Lasky
Look at my hands
I am everything my father hated — everything he feared
And look at my eyes
My father is behind my eyes watching everything I love knowing the whole while that I never needed him
I will never be what he wanted me to become
Truth is everything
This life belongs to me
jobe
Wanting one good organic line,
I wrote a thousand sonnets.
Sam Hammill
You were a beautiful animal
And you had been running across an overgrown field
Your muscles turned like a ceiling fan while you ran
And this patted down the sound of being alive
I told you that today was Ho Chi Minh's birthday
And I served you coffee Vietnamese style
It slowly dripped onto the condensed cream
Coffee is a friend with a golden soul and a hand to hold
It was a beautiful day in May — cool and the air was clean
As we sipped the coffee I watched your long paws
One of them was scratching at the ground
If I concentrate now I can still hear that scratching sound
Then you ran again — finally disappearing from sight
When you cleared a rise at the far side of the field
jobe
Reality leaves a lot to the imagination.
John Lennon
Death is king in the world of men
There are many fountains that flow with wine
But you must sacrifice a finger every time you drink
There is great wealth to be had
But only if you learn to smile
When another child is tossed into the fire
And friend, that fire is always burning
In the world of men there is a Senate also
And the Senators have shotguns crossbows
And automatic rifles but no common sense
The good news is
They will give you a little bit of a head start
The bad news is you can't escape the hunt
Not ever
You see
In the world of men we are all hunted
In the world of men we are all prey
Death is king here and by god
Don't you ever forget it
jobe
Sun Ra Ethos, a poem by Voice Porter
We are defeated
From over the ocean the warplanes return
Like dragonflies flying over a fishpond
The stars above them hum and whisper in diamond light
The world is a whirlpool of churning thought
We are defeated — indeed both sides are defeated
No one really wins a war
The graves of the innocent villagers are shallow and hard
The broken arm of the night will not mend
And the soldiers know this
Some of the soldiers sleep in sleek caskets
We should bury them together — two to a grave
One American and one Afghan
They could rest forever in each others arms
jobe
If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.
Mother Teresa
A murder of crows spend an hour
Occupying the mulberry tree
It is a perfect day
Blue sky — not hot — not cold
Breeze — not wind
The crows are loud but who knows why
An hour passes and they move on
Why did they come
Why did they leave
The rest of the day is quiet
As I write this — September 2017
My country has been at war for sixteen years
Pointlessly
jobe