dreams and flatulence

3.18.2025

Poetry is high class information.

Gary Snyder

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Dreaming down by Putah Creek, in a hole in the ground. You are a burrowing owl, sleeping beneath the world where the sounds of the creek lull you into watery dreams. In these dreams sometimes you are a fish, swimming fast through cold water. Sometimes you are the sun, shining like a diamond in the sky. The earth, the sky, and the creek are your heaven. And in this heaven, you dream on and on.

jobe

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Survival of the world depends on our sharing what we have, and working together. If we do not the whole world will die.

Frank Fools Crow

Frank Fools Crow, most likely in the 1980s.

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Old man, old man, old man.
I am drunk with the power of it.
The poverty of old age and seniority.
At this age, I am a window
that always looks to the inside,
from either side of the glass.
I am like flatulence on a windy day,
here, but not for long.
Watch how quickly I blow away.

jobe

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Don't surrender all your joy for an idea you used to have about yourself that isn't true anymore.

Cheryl Strayed

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In the dream I had to drive a car down a highway at night, in the rain, while not in the car. I was in another car miles away. Also in the rain. Dreams can often present absurd challenges. When I turned my car, or braked, the other did also, no matter what its circumstances may be. And I could not see this other car. I didn’t know if it was safe. I struggled and worried. Would I hurt people? Kill someone? I finally got to where I was going and parked. My mother, Nena, was alive in this dream and I remarked to her how the situation was like life. What I do here could end up hurting someone I didn’t even know. She didn’t answer. I looked back outside and the rain was clearing off, it was down to just some drizzle. Morning had come, and the sky was gray but beginning to fill with light, the way a person can fill with love. I realized that I was dreaming. No one had been hurt, I thought, not this time.

jobe

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I think we are in the midst of this period where we are committing this suicide on the planet and everybody is just using up all of our natural resources like a bunch of insane people. That's what I worry about more than I worry about jazz.

Sonny Rollins

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Poppies in October

Even the sun-clouds this morning cannot manage such skirts.
Nor the woman in the ambulance
Whose red heart blooms through her coat so astoundingly –

A gift, a love gift
Utterly unasked for
By a sky

Palely and flamily
Igniting its carbon monoxides, by eyes
Dulled to a halt under bowlers.

Oh my God, what am I
That these late mouths should cry open
In a forest of frosts, in a dawn of cornflowers.

Sylvia Plath

The poet on the street somewhere. Plath was an east coast person. Let’s pretend it’s Baltimore, my hometown. It’s probably not, but I like Baltimore more than New York or Boston. Also, I had my doubts about the word, flamily. It’s not a typo. I looked it up and so should you.

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Every day I try to do something creative with my life.

Miles Davis

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Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash

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that I might live this day in mindfulness
and kindness
aware and awake
awake and aware

jobe

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