“The world is its own magic.”
Shunryu Suzuki
the conductor on this train takes our pulse
not our tickets
the passengers look deeply into each other's eyes
all except for me of course
I keep my face pressed against the window
to look into my eyes
would turn the other passengers to stone
it’s a problem
there are things in this life
that are not meant to be seen
jobe
"Poetry is the lifeblood of rebellion, revolution, and the raising of consciousness."
Alice Walker
birth
from blood comes blood
from life comes life
death
shadow emptiness
silence without end
love
joy and a sweetness
like honey
hate
the evil that stains the heart
the fire that burns the mind
time
a lie an illusion
there is only now
jobe
"Jazz to me is a living music. It's a music that since its beginning has expressed the feelings, the dreams, hopes, of the people."
Dexter Gordon
The needle and the thread. The left and the right. Something that is and something else that is not. Up and down. Within and without. Which light is for you? How much weight can you bear? Don't speak now, save your answer for when the fog covers the river and the valley. Tell your tale; the balance of your life aligns with this watershed of place, this home that you have claimed. Look, on the low horizon, below the clouds; that is Venus. Walk towards that minuscule dot of light. Thread your needle, and do not look left or right. Take with you that which is, and leave behind you that which is not. The only weight you have to bear is your own life.
jobe
Opposite a Post-Station, My Boat
Moonlit Beside a Monastery
The boat mirroring crystalline moonlight
deep into the night, I leave candles unlit.
Golden monastery beyond green maples,
crimson post-tower beside lucent water:
faint, drifting from the city, a crow’s cry
fades. Full of wild grace, egrets drowse.
Hair lit white, guest of rivers and lakes,
I tie blinds open and sit alone, sleepless.
Tu Fu, also known as Du Fu, 712-770, Tang Dynasty
What day is today? The summer heat
Binds me down like heavy rope.
Above this, the sky is a cooler blue,
And below, the earth is baked hard.
Through this, our love moves,
Traveling back and forth as always.
My lips on your neck taste the sweat.
jobe
"Politics is the art of looking for trouble, finding it everywhere, diagnosing it incorrectly and applying the wrong remedies."
Groucho Marx
Collateral damage.
A drone bomb targets a small house in Somalia.
No one cares, because it isn't here.
Perfectly, the house explodes, killing all inside.
No one cares because it isn't here.
Three terrorists, killers all, are shredded.
Also dead are two wives, four children, and a baker
who was just passing by, walking down the street.
No one cares because it isn't here.
Another drone targets a house in Syria,
full of terrorists. And some of their families.
Again, no one cares because it isn't here.
It isn't America.
Oh, but it is.
jobe
“I think childhood is, generally speaking, a preparation for disappointment.”
Seamus Heaney
And there was a present -- Well, I'll call it a present. A present for me from my mind. It was a memory, long buried. My late son, when he was quite small, running to the table for the dinner and seeing that it was pizza, his favorite. Smiling. Happy. He made a sound that was halfway between a cheer and a squeal of delight. 2,296 days since his death at age 25.
jobe
“At a formal dinner party, the person nearest death should always be seated closest to the bathroom.”
George Carlin
The raccoon eats the cat food I set out on the patio,
And the cat just watches.
She doesn't seem all that interested;
It’s more like she doesn't have anything else to do right now,
Or anywhere else that she needs to be.
So she watches.
The raccoon crunches away,
And 238,900 miles away, the moon shines down
On this scene like a golden balloon.
Sober under a full moon.
Years and years have passed since I have been drunk.
jobe
“If a hermit lives in a state of ecstasy, his lack of comfort becomes the height of comfort. He must relinquish it.”
Jean Cocteau
Months now without rain, even this lizard looks dry. The redwood trees out front are green, but I don't know how they do it. I suspect magick is involved. This is California’s great northern valley, and it seldom rains between Easter and Halloween. By late summer the heat and the dryness are like giants pounding on huge drums, calling out for rain. The rain is in the beat and standing out in the heat, watching the empty sky, I can feel it building, building, building, waiting for the moment when the dam in the sky gives way to life and love. And to rain, simple rain. The lizard has had enough of waiting, and scurries off without even saying goodbye. Too bad. I could use a friend.
jobe
Thanks for reading this. Paid Subscribers can continue on below. That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the free subscribers; I absolutely do.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to book of jobe to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.