Do every act of your life as though it
were the very last act of your life.
Marcus Aurelius
I awaken to find that I cannot speak
my voice is missing
perhaps someone took it from me
or I might have left it somewhere
but who can I ask
and how
jobe
I believe in peace. I believe in mercy.
Malala Yousafzai
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Return to those fields where you were planted
return to the ground where you once grew
from seed you sprang and to seed you return
the fields where you were sown
the fields where you were reaped
life is gleaned
from the treasures of the earth
seed water sun
jobe
a poem by Nanao Sakaki:
SOIL FOR LEGS
Soil for legs
Ax for hands
Flower for eyes
Bird for ears
Mushroom for nose
Smile for mouth
Songs for lungs
Sweat for skin
Wind for mind
Just enough.
Nanao Sakaki, 1923 — 2008 CE
One night past full — the moon rises
over the trees to my east — a lot of pine
some oaks — four sycamores standing
in a row like soldiers on guard duty
in walking meditation I move slowly
through the trees and out into the open
step by step — breath by breath
moonlight on my face — and finally
looking up — in my eyes
the corn moon of september
jobe
Enlightenment: Realizing you're a dipshit
and trying not to be as much of a dipshit.
Brad Warner, Soto Zen monk
Doves and sparrows come everyday
to enjoy the birdseed I scatter for them
a bird party on my patio
a sunny day in spring
light filters down through the trees
and from the park across the street
come the sounds of a softball game
people might think I'm poor
because I have an old house
and no money
but people are silly
I am so very rich
that I spend the days laughing
jobe
Reclaiming the sacred in our lives naturally brings us
close once more to the wellsprings of poetry.
Robert Bly
The heart often falls in love with the things at our feet
the ground by the creek that is so very soft
like a cushion for walking
the worm that crosses the cool sidewalk at dawn
making for the grass on the other side
damp fog that so tightly hugs the earth
the thoughts of the mouse that squints up at us
the ocean when it rolls and roars
earthquakes
the heart loves all of these things
the mind loves things up high
mountains — eagles — sequoia trees
the idea of heaven — the need of it
the heart isn't worried about heaven
heaven can wait
let's take off our shoes and stomp in the mud
we can stomp and splash all we want
the heart says so
jobe
Politics is the entertainment branch of industry.
Frank Zappa
Time has graced the trees with sound and color. Their bark, once silent, is marked with beauty and thought. Time has formed the clouds into letters and has now spelled out words across the message board of the sky. "Faith." "Random." "Coincidence." Time did all of this, and there is beauty in that also. Below, on the green earth, children write these words in spiral bound notebooks and carry them to their teachers. In turn, the teachers share the magic and blessing of meaning. Time has taught us that the teachers are themselves blessed, and they then bless and grace the children. They take the children outside into the sunlight and see that there is one more word written with clouds in the thick blue of the sky. "Kindness." One child smiles, and then they all smile.
jobe
At age 22 I set what I insist is an all-time record for distance hitchhiking in Bermuda shorts: 3,700 miles in three weeks.
Hunter S. Thompson
Freddie King playing Key To The Highway
Seeing a painting by Van Gogh up close and personal
Watching Brooks Robinson, Mark Belanger, and Boog Powell turn a double play like acrobats for Cirque du Soleil
My Grandma’s sausage and kraut
My other Grandma’s banana pudding
My grandparents - all six of them
Red Skelton when he touches my heart doing pantomime
Watching a red tail hawk circle and hunt in the Sacramento Valley
Walking through the summer fog in San Francisco late at night
Camping alone by Jackson Creek up in the Serra Nevada with stars scattered across like tiny diamonds on a dark tapestry
Hitchhiking from Texas to Maine or Maryland to California with all of America opened up like a flower
Listening to Bill Mack’s all night country music trucker radio show on WBAP in Fort Worth and later having my own shows on stations around Northern California
Listening to to Yo-Yo Ma playing Bach on his two-century-old cello
When the kids were all home and I could hear them laughing together about something
When my dog asks to sit with me (I always say yes)
Little Willie John singing My Love Is while I am driving at night
Just a few things I love
jobe
I've always wanted to go to Switzerland
to see what the army does with those wee red knives.
Billy Connolly
BERMUDA, a poem by Kamau Brathwaite
SIDEREAL , a poem by Debra Allbery
WANTING SUMPTUOUS HEAVENS, a poem by Robert Bly
West of Silicon Valley, a poem by T. Zachary Cotler
To the Sea, a poem by Anis Mojgani
Fresh Irish poetry - Everything Gathers Light by Eithne Lannon