raining frogs
the moses
who made the sky rain frogs is sleeping
on the round pillows of your breasts
will he split the red sea?
yes, of course
but not right now
now the fleshy skin of your chest
is damp with his steady breathing
his eyes are lightly closed
and the children of israel can wait
a little longer
so can we
jobe
Do not give back to his master a servant who has gone in flight from his master and come to you: let him go on living among you in whatever place is most pleasing to him.
Moses
"Telephone Booth Number 905 1/2" by Reverend Pedro Pietri:
Gray sky, wind. The cold rains of winter. What is that to the prisoner, locked up tight in a hard cell, or in a detention camp?
-jobe
The poet's job is to put into words those feelings we all have that are so deep, so important, and yet so difficult to name, to tell the truth in such a beautiful way, that people cannot live without it.
Jane Kenyon
Things fall apart. Indeed,
Hard things happen quite randomly.
What was once an ocean becomes a desert,
Flat and true.
Earthquakes move the plates of the earth
To the dismay of buildings and bridges.
The sky can strike you with lightning, wind, or hail.
Tread your path with care, friend,
And watch out for the good things that happen, too.
The flutter of a hummingbird.
The friendly nuzzle of a pup.
jobe
The poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.
Gilbert K. Chesterton
the days of COVID-19 passed like
condemned men walking up
the steps of an old wooden gallows
no one has to help them
or force them
the condemned climb the steps
on their own
with a kind of pride that is fierce
and without shame
jobe
Let Evening Come, a poem by Jane Kenyon
dogs became men and men became goats
What ancient night does a man touch with his senses?
-Pablo Neruda, sonnet XII
The night where the lessons were skipped
and the rules were ignored.
The night when the ocean walked across the earth
and the earth spun in circles ever faster.
The night when your pain was so immense
that you chose not to continue.
The night when dogs became men and men became goats,
and there was much barking and bleating,
and many foolish things were said.
The night of the volcano, the night of the lightning.
The night of the river of rage and torment.
Life, cursed at times it seems,
but also blessed.
Life with it's curves like a woman,
and you want to hold her.
Life, the Van Gogh of existing,
the Picasso of breath and heartbeat.
Life, a gift in and of itself.
Come. I will hold you
and we will breathe together.
Wait here with me until the moon sets
and the new sun rises.
See? Now I am touching your face.
Now the hard moment has passed,
and what remains?
We do. We remain.
-jobe
Thanks for your support!
jobe