feeding boldness to the night
haibun, poetry, poetry links
Ah, autumn in California’s Big Valley, highs in the low 90s. Brr. Better wear a hoodie. I’m joking, but only about the hoodie. We’ll reach 90 today. I’m in Davis, near Sacramento, and our season more truly changes around Halloween. In fact, it’s the only thing I like about Halloween. (Samhain and DÃa de Muertos are cool, but not Candy Night, in my world.) And I like it this way.
Before we moved to the Valley we lived in San Francisco, out by Ocean Beach. We had three seasons there. Rains from November to June. June, July, and August have foggy mornings and brisk afternoons in most of the City, mostly foggy all the time at the beach. September and October are the warm, dry months. Still, far cooler temps than out here. On the day we moved away from San Francisco it was 55 when we loaded up, and 105 for the unloading. Its, um, noticable.
I hope you enjoy your day, and this post. It is 9/28/24 as I post this.
All Good Things,
James
Like a hobo of old. Sort of. (haibun)
New Orleans, some forty years ago as I write this. I lived in the French Quarter, and several times a day a freight train passed between Jackson Square and the Mississippi River, moving very slowly because of all the tourists there. Since I was young and usually in a hurry, I would often grab the ladder of a passing boxcar, step up, ride for a few blocks. Sometimes I would climb across and get off on the other side. New Orleans is a crowded and busy city, but I never saw anyone else doing this.
Deep and wide, so strong;
the ancient Mississippi.
A lone train horn blast.
James Lee Jobe
The women's movement hit my neighborhood like a freight train. Everybody got divorced. You wonder what would have happened to women if the suburbs hadn't been built.
Susan Faludi
Weariness
The sun gives up and goes down.
Sundown releases power that feeds
boldness to the night. All along
the quiet street lights come on
in the houses like little beings
being born; they are not human,
but close. Some birds stop singing
and others start. The sky
is the very color of exhaustion.
On the broken and uneven sidewalk
I stand. My eyelids are as heavy
as sandbags. My feet are anchors
from a ship that no longer sails.
Who knew that a weariness like this
could exist? That it walked the earth?
james lee jobe
Life is one long process of getting tired.
Samuel Butler
That I might see myself for who I am, without listening to others tell me who I should be. That I might always be working to pare away the false layers of who I am not, layers that have built up over time. That I might find and remain myself.
james lee jobe
If it's your job to eat a frog, it's best to do it first thing in the morning. And If it's your job to eat two frogs, it's best to eat the biggest one first.
Mark Twain
LINKS
The Surreal, Destabilizing Strangeness of Poetry: A Conversation with Michael Leong
The Crypt Seed, a poem by Jackie Wang
A poem by Hala Alyan: Bearing Witness
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