reading by candlelight

Pat Mahony

winter 

a rain storm with a hard wind 

my wife and I hear a loud CRACK 

from a tree breaking 

then no electricity for 19 hours 

we read by candlelight 

cuddle 

talk 

later the dog sleeps right next to me 

tight against my tummy 

my wife on the other side 

all of us close together under blankets 

and I tell you (as I often have) 

a simple life isn’t so bad 

james lee jobe

Staying Overnight in Hsü’s Library,

Hsieh Shih-hou and I Are Driven Crazy by Rats

Lamp flame low and blue, everyone asleep,

hungry rats come sneaking out of holes

and send plates and bowls crashing over,

startling us from our dream-filled sleep.

Bang— an inkstone tumbles off the table,

and we panic. Next they’re on the shelves

gnawing at books. Suddenly my silly boy

starts meowing like a cat! Goofy plan, eh?

Mei Yao-ch'en, 1002-1060 CE

Robert Bly 1926-2021 CE

Seeing the Eclipse in Maine

It started about noon.  On top of Mount Batte,   

We were all exclaiming.  Someone had a cardboard   

And a pin, and we all cried out when the sun   

Appeared in tiny form on the notebook cover.   

It was hard to believe.  The high school teacher   

We’d met called it a pinhole camera,   

People in the Renaissance loved to do that.   

And when the moon had passed partly through   

We saw on a rock underneath a fir tree,   

Dozens of crescents—made the same way—   

Thousands!  Even our straw hats produced   

A few as we moved them over the bare granite.   

We shared chocolate, and one man from Maine   

Told a joke.  Suns were everywhere—at our feet.

Robert Bly 

Robert Bly, Winter Poem 

A math that is poetry, a math that is art. This is the voice that visits and speaks in that final hour before another day is born. This is the voice that makes the connection between plus and minus, between up and down. A math of everyday things made vocal and spoken aloud, so to speak. That this is the day in which life will add up to a total that is reliable, a math to be counted upon. Human beings, spirit and flesh, faith and logic, need a math that is poetry, a math that is art, That is god, that is an alternative house to sleep in, when the flesh cannot abide life in the first house. Now the sun rises, the counting begins. the voice says so. Go ahead, begin.

james lee jobe

Herbie Hancock & The Headhunters, Watermelon Man

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jlj