Sitemap - 2024 - book of jobe
waiting a very long time for a bus
The Late Life Adventure Of Mr. Miggs.
goats are not mentioned within
an armed drone above a village
a shooting star above my valley
a little shack down by Putah Creek
To translate life into language.
Don’t just do something, sit there.
armageddon is scheduled for thursday
a lion watches a meaty antelope
the days of hunger and exhaustion
golden light filters through the green branches
an old house that needs repair
greeting each other with an embrace
crops growing in the warm light
Time is our blanket, and we are kept warm tonight.
I raise my face to the sunlight
dreams, a tiny woman, and roses
being alone and silent sometimes
I am everything my father hated
look at me - I have become the moon
the day you roasted a squirrel on the barbecue
the birds move through my body
coffee so strong that the neighbors can smell it
in this spell we are stars from different galaxies.
howls that dress the moon in rags
out on the breakers a brain bobs up and down
the two johns - coltrane and lennon
a hawk sits naked in a cedar tree
that plain that is east of paradise
there has to be compassion and empathy
casting spells under the cloudless summer sky
we are all on the witness stand
the sights and sounds of living
Truths, big and small, that are not for us.
the light that shines on your body
learning to respond with kindness
prose poems. rusted pails. lion claws.
I try to keep track of it all, but often I fail.
the ocean rising up to kill us
up was down but down wasn’t up
flying through the invisible tunnel
those fields where you were planted
people i love will love others
leaving the porchlight on all night
old books holding down loose papers
the tremendous valley of california
the blood of the needy, the gardens of the rich
tenderness, kindness, joy - for no reason at all
that cloud - it looks like a flower
-bearded old men with no homes and broken shoes-
the bullet-gray sky had turned blue
face the end of it all with a glib remark
you'll need this when you grow up
I will be a ghost until the world ends
Somewhere there is an edge to all of this
the church of my nouns and verbs
words we use to identify different dimensions
crops growing under warm light
let the little ones know peace
flies on the faces of the dead
chirping birds and sniffing dogs
a field mouse makes a run for it
The lovely tree of Kitty Maudru.
What can I do with this world but laugh.
There is an army of clouds today.
One dollar movies on Market Street.
Help me now as I gather the wood.
Taking the fun out of gambling.
Every day lasts for a thousand years.
The earth when she shakes and rolls.
Sunlight filters down through the branches of the trees.
I accept my solitude like a gift.
There is a new gestapo called ICE.
It’s all more than a bit confusing.
The earth, the sky, and the creek.
weather and the deeds of humans
No one liked me, for I was Welsh.
monkeys mating in the jungle trees
The scent of rain, the scent of pine
the November of your one existence
the world cannot see our weakness
dispatching the shadow creatures
loving both the wind and the stillness
a bed made from stones and branches
Come now and beat the drums loudly
light filters down through the trees
time no longer remembers our feeble sins
To be a human being is self-service work.
the daylight grew and covered all of the sky
throughout this life we are blessed
O life, you strange rubber band
that empty feeling, multiplied by silence
A shout and the drone of machines
a star that could use a better name
Bringing life and beauty to the earth.
the first hint of a new sunrise
Tule fog covers the Sacramento Valley
May hunger and sickness become strangers to you.