Sixty-eight summers pass, and I am still a fool. I do admire consistency. All is illusion and duality, and still I walk myself into positions of opinion. This and that. Yesterday and today. It's foolishness, I know. This is the wheel of meat, Saṃsāra. As I write this, it is afternoon. From the park across the street I can hear a mockingbird. It lives a life, yet it needs no name.
jobe
Strange things blow in through my window on the wings
of the night wind and I don't worry about my destiny.
Carl Sandburg
is it windy enough for you, jobe
the winds
passing up this valley
come from the ocean
far away
the blow of nature
across the flat earth
twilight as I write this
and through the window
I can see the pine tree tops
waving hello to me again
jobe
which is the dog and which is the wolf
which is the priest and which is the demon
the jailer and the prisoner
the killer and the victim
and where shall I make my stand in this world
jobe
on the other side of the sky
the victims are the victors
and the victors are the victims
life is a balance yes
on the other side of the sky
the windows are mirrors
and the mirrors are windows
even now the the victims
and the victors are looking
at each other through glass
is it real is it a reflection
on the other side of the sky
that is not an issue
a hand reaches out
to touch another hand
and touches glass instead
then very slowly
the owners of those hands
each look into the face
and eyes of the other
jobe
A POEM BY WALTER PAVLICH:
Fatness
In the corner of the exercise yard,
Near the boxing ring,
In the short-breathed heat of July,
A shirtless man in prison jeans stoops
Down to feed his ration of turkey hash
To a twenty-eight pound cat.It eats past fullness,
Stuffed fur mountain
Rubbing its appreciation on the knuckles
Of a man who shot his wife, his dog,
And his car before lunch.He loves the beast in a fat way,
Because it pisses off voluntary jays,
Because it once backed up
And sprayed a lieutenant’s pant leg,
Because it won’t eat what kills.It is not just the walls they share.
He pets it for nothing, grimly.
It understands, purring freely.Walter Pavlich, 1955-2002
I remember all of the times that I have let myself down
it is something I carry with me into my dreams
those times — those failures
and also my few successes
in dreams I embrace my failures and triumphs
and I name them as my own — a part of myself
and in doing so I can release them all
and so find my rest
success without pride failure without regret
let that be the road where I walk
the bed where I sleep
jobe
We can’t save the world by playing by the rules,
because the rules have to be changed.
Greta Thunberg
my beard is nearly all white now
and the top of my head
is becoming more bare all the time
(like many old men)
there is seldom a sunrise that I miss
I like to wake up early
and meditate while the house is silent
how silent?
like a mouse in soft slippers
walking gently on a carpet
let the mind be empty at dawn
and in doing so leave yesterday behind
one day is enough weight to carry
why carry two
jobe
Losing the ability to describe the birds,
You become a bird.
A Clapper Rail in the Delta, perhaps.
Feathers. Like your finest suit.
Little claws. Strong like iron, like steel.
Like your mother at her strongest.
Beak. It is at once a weapon, a tool,
And a place to put food.
It is a kind of whistle.
And wings. A life in flight.
You cannot describe the birds anymore,
It's a little sad, but you feel better
As you bank into the wind
And rise up to the roof of silver clouds.
jobe
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