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ice on a hot stove

ice on a hot stove

4.25.20

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book of jobe
Apr 25, 2025
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Three things in human life are important: the first is to be kind; the second is to be kind; and the third is to be kind.

Henry James

adult yellow Labrador retriever inside black plastic basin
Photo by Jonathan Daniels on Unsplash

All night,
My eyes strayed over the orchard,
As loyal as a dog.

All night,
The wind was a cauldron of fear.
My sorrow for a grave,

I hold you buried in my chest,
The tomb of memory.

My sorrow for a grave,
A well of evil dreams to water both of us.

All night,
Eating pie baked with your poison,
Baked with a dressing of tears.

My sorrow for a grave,
My grief for a blanket, even now.
Even now.

jobe

Wind in the cave:
movement in stillness.
Power in silence.

Deng Ming-Dao

brown trees on forest during daytime
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

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Like the sky at dawn,
silent and vast,
let my being merge
in the timeless immensity
of being alive.
I am the universe,
the universe is me.

jobe

Like a piece of ice on a hot stove the poem must ride on its own melting.

Robert Frost

Still Life with Hammer, Melon, and other crap.


Some people claim that broken things are all that's left. Shards of glass between the feet and the street. Shards of glass to pick up and use. to break the flesh. To hurt. "Go ahead, cut yourself", people say. "Cut someone else." Broken questions in the pieces of night. Scattered. Broken souls that have become questions with no answers. Shards of people on the shards of a world. Some look to the sky and ask, "Why are we even here?" To listen. To feel. To mend. We come here to mend,and to try to learn some kindness. Brother. Sister.

jobe

Sell your cleverness and buy bewilderment.

Rumi

A full moon in spring
like a pearl afloat in the heavens
so beautiful
I watch for a short while
and then return to this desk
to write more poems

jobe

Here in these mountains, our farewell is over and the sun sinks away. I shut my gate made of brushwood. Come the spring, grasses will again grow green. And you, my friend, will you be back as well?

Wang Wei

It was long ago and you were walking
you stepped off from a cloud
and onto a snowy mountaintop
white clouds and white snow
a white moment frozen in thought and time
the sound of a strong wind against boulders
you wondered if that was heaven

jobe

Monastery gate
Huge wooden bolt
Fragrant wind

Mitsu Suzuki

brown wooden duck figurine
Photo by Olga Serjantu on Unsplash

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