the faith and language beneath
3.25.2025
who was that man –
the one I called myself
where did he go –
when I look at myself
I don’t see myself anymore
I see a man that I like better
it’s probably best that the old guy is gone
minutes turn into years
like raindrops turn into oceans
when you look at yourself
tell me – what do you see
Awake way past midnight.
Through the long night the starlight
Lays soft across the window.Is it any wonder that in my heart
I sometimes still feel young?
I was saving the last muffin for her
and she was saving it for me
the muffin became stale and hard
waiting for our love to falter
friend, it never will
The first thoughts of Spring were tapping on the door, we had just settled down for the night, We opened the door and let them in. We held these Spring thoughts in our hands and in our hearts. Later in the night we could hear a cold wind blowing by; just Winter saying goodbye for now, I’ll see you again soon enough.
there is another language that lives
beneath every language
just as there is another faith
beneath every faith
the language and faith
of being a true human being
you can call it righteousness
you can call it truth
what you call it doesn’t mean much
it’s how you live it that counts
Do not remind the world that it is sick and troubled,
instead, remind the world that it is beautiful and free.There is no yoke for the world to strain against,
no chains to enslave it. The world spins, the tidesrise and fall, sunrise and sunset happen perfectly
again and again through the smiles of time.The sick and troubled parts are real, and so is sorrow,
but so is joy, and hope, and promise. And faith.Faith is real. Friend, just as you and I need to hold on
the good and the positive, the world needs it as well.
My prayer is for all the refugees trying to escape danger and hard lives. May they find their way here to safety. May the racists and nationalists find it in their hearts to let them in.
it took years for me
to stop counting the days
since you were here and alive
— like I was fishing
and had a bite
and then let the fish
have some line
but never stopped
to reel it it in
so I just ran out of line
walked home alone
down the long and dusty path
a granite boulder kept clean
by the flow of the Yuba River
how long it has rested there is not to be known
the Sierra Nevada mountains around it
go back to the Paleozoic era
the river goes on
the mountains go on
and the boulder shines white under the noon sun
I can watch for as long as I want
poems & prose-poems by jobe