You're only as young as the last time you changed your mind."
Timothy Leary
Perhaps you had been alone in a desert for a very long time. Days blurred into weeks, and weeks into years. Decades grew like a tall saguaro cactus; they were your only shade from the blinding sun of time. Your life was endless sand. And perhaps you had walked at night, and during the day you hid yourself away. The moon and stars cooled your eyes with a light like ice, a light like sweet dreams. The heat of the day pulled you into the oven, into the empty void of sleep. Eventually you forgot how to dream. You lost all desire. Perhaps you moved through life this way, silent and alone. Your truth was never spoken, and you harmed no one, and no one harmed you. Yet you were empty. Perhaps you never touched another soul. Not really. Later, the wind blew white sand over your bones, and it was just as if you had never existed at all.
jobe
age
the flesh grows weak
but the spirit remains strong
what have I become
who will I be
when nothing is left of me
but my heart
jobe
A four-way stop-sign interrupts my street, and beyond that some oak leaves swirl, lifted by an autumn wind. Late autumn moves toward winter, and this is an apt description of my life as well as the time of year. One can dream of the spring, or of the summer that has long passed, but what good is that? You cannot reach out to either. We live in each individual moment as it is, and that is a lovely thing. The leaves swirl as if in a dance, and I am the audience, breathing in, breathing out. Breathing still, breathing now.
jobe
citizens in the land of hatred
together, as one
we were the ghost who didn't return
even our footprints in the soft mud
held only emptiness and silence
even our heartbeats were empty
our eyes
jobe
A dog sleeps in the park and life continues anyway. No alarm is sounded. No report is made. The police are not summoned. The crooked political parties do not need to disagree. This would be a fine time for a lightning bolt or a stroke to take me. The park is so quiet and lovely with fallen leaves. The bench is comfortable. Waking, the dog stretches, and takes off at a trot.
jobe
A poem by James Wright:
A Blessing
Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness.
They have come gladly out of the willows
To welcome my friend and me.
We step over the barbed wire into the pasture
Where they have been grazing all day, alone.
They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness
That we have come.
They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.
There is no loneliness like theirs.
At home once more,
They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.
I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,
For she has walked over to me
And nuzzled my left hand.
She is black and white,
Her mane falls wild on her forehead,
And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear
That is delicate as the skin over a girl’s wrist.
Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break
Into blossom.
James Wright, 1927—1980
the church of the bees
bees in worship
the love of the hive
a stranger sits in our house sipping tea
clearly we can see
the outline of the gun beneath his jacket
on long summer days
the tree tops reach for the sun
while at the same time
their roots dig into the earth
in winter
rain
we love the feel of cold water
understanding is a goal
it can be reached
by hard and steady effort
work
patience
beside the barn
the old mare is saddled and waiting
I will ride west
but slowly
sunset will take me
bees in worship
the love of the hive
jobe
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