pulverized diamonds

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Posted at 08:33 pm | Link | Leave a comment | Add to Memories | Share

A verdant field so far and fair

that only wild horses know it.

A deep green carpet

to gallop across, the way

a tremendous ship cuts

through a still and empty sea.

The kiss of the first breeze

to love my mane and my tail!

A warm sunrise to bring the field

to life, the morning light in my face.

A lazy moon watching me,

not yet ready to set.

My hooves young again,

beating the earth like a drum!

Thundering!

And heaven on the horizon,

with angels calling out my name.

Let me thunder and run!

Friend, I am an angel, too.



---


A second draft. The first was back in March.

All Good Things - JLJ

Tags: what the old mare prayed for

Posted at 07:38 am | Link | Leave a comment | Add to Memories | Share

The moon, with her steady hand, has drawn

a perfectly straight chalkline from me to you.

A line that crosses the Rocky Mountains!

The Great Lakes! A long, thin chalkline

across the broken prairie, with the moon above,

watching. Imagining your lovely, dark smile,

I set out walking. One foot follows the other,

like sled dogs, like mules. How many miles?

I don't know. Hundreds and hundreds.

The journey seems hopeless, but oh,

I am

so very

lonely.


---


My poem for today, April 11, 2010. First draft.

All Good Things - Jobe

Tags: the chalkline

Posted at 08:05 pm | Link | Leave a comment | Add to Memories | Share

A path through the overgrown fields is silver smooth

from the feet of running children, and a memory

of laughter hangs in the still, humid air.

There seems to be a buzzing. The sky hides

behind a black wall of fat storm clouds, each

bearing the face of a raging angel, lightning is bold

and strong in the distance, and the slow rumble

of thunder is over-powering, commanding.

Soon it will all begin. The abandon of torrents

and sheets of water to batter the world, the crash

of water and earth, of wind and stone. The path

is silver smooth and long; it goes on.

I am far from the end. I do not mind being wet.


---

Jobe here. Still writing a poem a day; here's the offering for today.

ALL GOOD THINGS.

Tags: the approaching storm

Posted at 08:01 pm | Link | Leave a comment | Add to Memories | Share

How tiny you are! And soft!

Your eyes are dark

And filled with wonder

As you look in my face

And I say the first words

You hear in this life;

Your name,

And that I love you.

I am your father,

And in this life

I will walk with you,

For as far as my body will go.

And my memory

Will walk with you

The rest of the way.



---


A second draft. The first draft was seven weeks ago.

Jobe, All Good Things!

Tags: this walk we take together

Posted at 02:23 pm | Link | Leave a comment | Add to Memories | Share

Morning, with a murder of crows

and strong coffee outside

under a blue sky. What world

is this? A crow answers

with a raspy voice, "Your world, sir."


Morning, and transformations

happen to the best of us, the comfort

of hiding deep in her breasts,

and a murder of crows to laugh

from the trees, "Your world, sir!"


Morning, with a measure

of kindness and strong coffee outside.

This is a world where love

and a murder of crows can win.

"It's your world, too," I say.


---


A first draft.

All Good Things - Jobe

Tags: what world is this?

Posted at 08:27 pm | Link | Leave a comment | Add to Memories | Share

Posted at 07:41 pm | Link | Leave a comment | Add to Memories | Share

Your smell, your taste,
your press of flesh
late
when all the night is a window.

Your feet
drawing warmth from mine
under woolen winter blankets,
our toes lost in laughter.

Your voice in song,
the car radio up loud
with music that you love,
the highway dancing along.

Your smile when I present you
with a shell from our sea,
driftwood from our beach,
or a perfect waffle.

The candlelight glow in your face
when we throw love down naked
on the rug, our bodies
still carrying a scent of our youth.

Your hands
in mine,
the affection of fingers,
the closeness of a whisper.


Our changes
through years and hard days,
and the bond of that struggle,
that work.

Simple stories that lovers tell
in quiet voices while shadows
dance
on the wall.


The many things
you and I will never have,
love
which we will never know.


---


A poem a day. I've been this merry-go-round for months! I've written so many that I no longer remember the first one, back when this streak began last fall. Well, maybe a couple of them. I'm also not sure how good they are! I like them, at least. When this streak finally ends, I'm going to feel like a lover left me! And all things end, my friend. But not yet, not today.


ALL GOOD THINGS - James Lee Jobe

Tags: ignorance

Posted at 08:22 pm | Link | Leave a comment | Add to Memories | Share

Our universe
has a uterus
a billion lives long.
That's why we are all
brothers and sisters,
really. We are born
one city at a time,
and we live
different lives together,
one day at a time.
It is the small moments
and we how we live them
that define our souls.
What other measurement
is there, my friend?


---


A first draft, after breakfast this morning.

All Good Things - Jobe

Tags: i was told there wouldn't be any math

Posted at 06:39 am | Link | Leave a comment | Add to Memories | Share

Dear Reader,

I know these poems are sometimes odd,

as often when I am writing them a spirit invades me,

and uses my hand and my memories.

This is my dark friend.

Many of these poems were written by this dark friend, not me.

At those times I retreat to a nice corner of my soul

where I keep a comfortable chair and a good reading lamp.

There I read poems from Ovid and Li Po,

from Rilke and Baudelaire, for long hours,

sometimes all night!

Later, when the spirit has gone,

I will come out of myself to edit those poems

that were written by something that is far more creative

than I could ever be.

I often have no idea what those poems are saying,

but when I read the words out loud

I feel a warm glowing ball in my chest.

My heart feels beautiful

and in this life I stay very warm.

Love,

James



---


A first draft. I used to write a lot of 'letter' poems once upon a time. It felt good to write this one. A first draft, just now.

ALL GOOD THINGS /JOBE

Tags: i know these poems are often odd

Posted at 08:18 pm | Link | Leave a comment | Add to Memories | Share

As I have gotten older it has become obvious to me that I am shrinking.

The strapping lad of 6 foot 2 is gone, pushed down by guilt, work, and the weight of miles and time.

Aged, I will come to know life among the short, followed by life among the microscopic.

Every year I will become closer to the warm earth, farther from the winds of the sky, and my life will become more full with the blessings of loss.

My heart will grow as I shrink!

Going down, I will see the wildness of life beneath, the gift of life that is under, below.

At last I shall be so minute that gravity must release me to dance with protons, neutrons, and electrons.

What a merry wheel we will make!

Whirling and spinning!

Together we will orbit the nucleus, the great mother of life.

My life will become so full that the universe will gladly join me!

And then just a wink after that I will be gone.



---


Second, from an original dated some 6 weeks ago.

ALL GOOD THINGS/JOBE

Tags: how full my life is

Posted at 08:12 pm | Link | Leave a comment | Add to Memories | Share

Tell me to sleep and I will climb

into the box and close my eyes.

My breath will become even.

And slower.

My face will resemble sleep,

my eyelids might even flutter,

but I will not be asleep.


Tell me to dream and my mind

will shift into gear, and I will think

way into the night. About many things.

What I should have said.

What may or may not happen.

I will think, but I will not dream.


Such is my life; I will listen, but

I will not obey. I color outside

of the lines because it looks better to me,

and I do not take the shortest route.

I am like no one else, and I change

like the weather.


Tell me to relax and I will stop

this debating. I will sit down

and put up my feet and tell you

a long story from 1974.

The story will have a happy ending

and we'll both laugh,

but I will not relax.


You will never break me.



---


A poem a day keeps the county mental health workers away.

A first draft.

ALL GOOD THINGS / jobe

Tags: tell me to sleep

Posted at 08:14 pm | Link | Leave a comment | Add to Memories | Share