One can only guess the amount of magic mushrooms a sane person would have to consume to believe that a frisbee constituted a genuine threat to roughly 3,000 police officers.
Mark Thomas
The red river — the sabine river
red dirt river and lake country
tornado country
I was on a crew cutting a right of way
for a power company
through tall trees — bois d’arc and oak
and mushrooms growing in the neighboring fields
in the fresh cowpies
wash ‘em clean and swallow quick
chase it down with coca cola after work
watching the starry sky like van gogh painted
up late
laughing with the tree cutters
jobe
'Thank you' is the best prayer that anyone could say. I say that one a lot. Thank you expresses extreme gratitude, humility, understanding.
Alice Walker
When I pray
it’s to the universe
not for wants or wishes
but to say thanks
jobe
a poem by Charles Bukowski:
i can't stay in the same room with that woman for five minutes
I went over the other day
to pick up my daughter.
her mother came out with workman’s
overalls on.
I gave her the child support money
and she laid a sheaf of poems on me by one
Manfred Anderson.
I read them.
he’s great, she said.
does he send this shit out? I asked.
oh no, she said, Manfred wouldn’t do that.
why?
well, I don’t know exactly.
listen, I said, you know all the poets who
don’t send their shit out.
the magazines aren’t ready for them, she said,
they’re too far advanced for publication.
oh for christ’s sake, I said, do you really
believe that?
yes, yes, I really believe that, she
answered.
look, I said, you don’t even have the kid ready
yet. she doesn’t have her shoes on. can’t you
put her shoes on?
your daughter is 8 years old, she said,
she can put her own shoes on.
listen, I said to my daughter, for christ’s sake
will you put your shoes on?
Manfred never screams, said her mother.
OH HOLY JESUS CHRIST! I yelled
you see, you see? she said, you haven’t changed.
what time is it? I asked.
4:30. Manfred did submit some poems once, she said,
but they sent them back and he was terribly
upset.
you’ve got your shoes on, I said to my daughter,
let’s go.
her mother walked to the door with us.
have a nice day, she said.
fuck off, I said.
when she closed the door there was a sign pasted to
the outside. it said:
SMILE.
I didn’t.
we drove down Pico on the way in.
I stopped outside the Red Ox.
I’ll be right back, I told my daughter.
I walked in, sat down, and ordered a scotch and
water. over the bar there was a little guy popping in and
out of a door holding a very red, curved penis
in his hand.
can’t
can’t you make him stop? I asked the barkeep.
can’t you shut that thing off?
what’s the matter with you, buddy? he asked.
I submit my poems to the magazines, I said.
you submit your poems to the magazines? he asked.
you are god damned right I do, I said.
I finished my drink and got back to the car.
I drove down Pico Boulevard.
the remainder of the day was bound to be better.
Charles Bukowski, 1920—1994

A field
and after that a pond
with shade trees
and a rather large snapping turtle
a rural east texas oasis of sorts
my friends and I would skinny-dip there
my cousin eddie was concerned
that he would be gelded by the turtle
he said one could never live that down
“there’s dickless eddie jobe or maybe
I’d get a nickname — ol’ stubby jobe
or falsetto eddie.” we swam anyway
the turtle had its own agenda
and it didn’t include us
jobe
We are asleep with compasses in our hands.
W.S. Merwin
It will happen
the sun will go supernova someday
it won't matter then where you were born
or what color your skin was
and it won't matter who you slept with
or who you prayed to
just BOOM it’s all gone
jobe
Tao defined is not the constant Tao.
No name names its eternal name.
Lao Tzu
December cold, and the night dew becomes mist, and then, in the most silent hour, becomes a soft rain. I am up late, putting my life into words that no one will read. What use is this world of men? I shiver violently from the cold, even deep within this thick, soft robe.
jobe
Links:
My great teacher, Galway Kinnell, taught me: “Speak the unspeakable.” -a poem by Toi Derricotte
Amsterdam, a poem by Safia Elhillo
My Life Closed Twice, a poem by Cameron Awkward-Rich
Am I Going to Kill My Daughter, a poem by Rae Rose
Thanks for reading this, paid subscribers can read on, but I appreciate the free subscribers, too. Regards—
jobe
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