frying potatoes

Photo by Ricardo Gomez Angel on Unsplash

Everything is near and unforgotten.

Paul Celan

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steel bars stacked in bundles
— too many bundles to count
stacked in long rows
each row is now taller than a man
the warehouse seems endless
— a universe all its own
it’s dark in this place
cold and hard
only two things are moving
in the warehouse of steel
my son’s ghost
and his father’s grief

jobe

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not right, not wrong, but
somewhere in between

I am the fine line
drawn in the middle between right and wrong
bringing balance to the universe
tipping the scales in the right direction
should they sway too far
as the pendulum swings,
the outcome of each action is determined
by chance
you have to fail sometimes in order to succeed
you won’t be able to taste the sweet glory
of victory
without having choked on the bitterness
of defeat
its only after we’ve lost everything
that we are free to do anything

will jobe 1991-2017

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Zen does not confuse spirituality with thinking about God while one is peeling potatoes. Zen spirituality is just to peel the potatoes.

Alan Watts

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frying potatoes
while listening to the radio news
sounds like there’s violence and hate
enough to go around everywhere
plenty of cruelty for everyone
— just like my potatoes, plenty—
the onions smell good while frying
I like a lot of onion in my potatoes
— it’s nice—

jobe

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I learned a long time ago that reality was much weirder than anyone's imagination.

Hunter S. Thompson

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Night

A sliver of moon lulls through clear night.
Half abandoned to sleep, lampwicks char.

Deer roam, uneasy among howling peaks,
and falling leaves startle locusts. Suddenly,

I remember mince treats east of the river,
and that boat drifting through falling snow.

Tribal song trails out, rifling the stars. Here
at the edge of heaven, I inhabit my absence.

Tu Fu 712-770

---

power corrupts, they say —
but maybe it’s the corrupt
who seek power
it could be that the corrupt
are naturally in sync
with corruption
like the way dust is in sync
with the wind

jobe

(I was tempted to put a photo of You Know Who here, but I would hate for a ‘search’ on my name to bring up his photo. Ugh.)

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Hibernal, a poem by Babette Deutsch

Mingus at the Showplace, a poem by William Matthews

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We came into the world like brother and brother,
And now let's go hand in hand, not one before another.

William Shakespeare, The Comedy of Errors

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Our granddaughter was here for a few days over the holiday break from school. It’s a lovely treat. Not just for my wife and I, but also a treat for Zhen-Zhen the dog and Pico Verde the conure. Critters love having a kid around, and so do we. An element of fun is thrown in to the mix of daily life, an element of joy. It’s a blessing.

I did the same as a boy. My two sets of grandparents were in two different states; I had a parent from Maryland and a parent from Texas. I grew up in both places. Whichever grandparents were closest, I would go and stay with them sometimes on school breaks, and for as long as my parents would let me. I loved it. All four grandparents were kind, decent people, but that’s not all.

My maternal grandparents were city folk, living on the west side of Baltimore, walking distance from The Wire was filmed. (It was safer 60 years ago.) Streetcars, stickball in the street, beaches not far away, my city cousins to visit, crab cakes, and and a nice big downtown. Buses and streetcars were a nickel for a kid. Hide and seek meant anywhere in the neighborhood.

My paternal grandparents lived in rural East Texas, in Rains County. Cows, pigs, a nice lake nearby, my country cousins to visit (especially Eddie, my ‘best friend cousin'), woods to play Army in, old men on tractors spitting tobacco juice, hell, even Grandma Allie dipped snuff. One cousin, Judy Mae, was a teen and would chase me and kiss me. I confess, I only ran half-speed.

There were differences between the two sets of grandparents. Catholic Democrats in Baltimore, Republican Baptists in Texas. That didn’t matter. Union workers in Baltimore, cotton farmers in Rains County, Texas. And a lot was similar as well. Kindness. Better cooking than I got at home. Rosemund and William. Allie and John.

I love it when our granddaughter is here. Those visits open up a door to a truly lovely place. Thanks for reading this.

jobe

Our granddaughter. She’s 11 now, but I especially like this photo.