Macbeth doesn’t live in Scotland; he has a little shack down by Putah Creek, California, where there is no king to kill. Macbeth spends his days hunting for reeds to weave into baskets, doing a little fishing. The sun, the moon, and the stars do what they always do.
james lee jobe
Tricky, Nothing's Changed (with Francesca Belmonte)
There is no god, and it’s that way because I wrote it in a poem. My personal theology comes down to a full notebook and the stub of a pencil.
james lee jobe
“Go out and do something. It isn’t your room that’s a prison, it’s yourself.”
-Sylvia Plath
What the duck was thinking right before the shotgun blast.
How I love to fly on a winter day with the treetops at my feet! The sky is my silver-blue sister, feather-free, and I am loved by all my kin, even the geese! And I love to paddle about on a frosty cold pond or river! The pond is a green-eyed brother giving comfort and food. To paddle and dream; that's the life! I think it's time for me to slow down, to take life a little easier. Yes! Good times are right around the corner!
james lee jobe
Dawn - by Robert Bly, 1926-2021
Some love to watch the sea bushes appearing at dawn,
To see night fall from the goose wings, and to hear
The conversations the night sea has with the dawn.
If we can't find Heaven, there are always bluejays.
Now you know why I spent my twenties crying.
Cries are required from those who wake disturbed at dawn.
Adam was called in to name the Red-Winged
Blackbirds, the Diamond Rattlers, and the Ring-Tailed
Raccoons washing God in the streams at dawn.
Centuries later, the Mesopotamian gods,
All curls and ears, showed up; behind them the Generals
With their blue-coated sons who will die at dawn.
Those grasshopper-eating hermits were so good
To stay all day in the cave; but it is also sweet
To see the fenceposts gradually appear at dawn.
People in love with the setting stars are right
To adore the baby who smells of the stable, but we know
That even the setting stars will disappear at dawn.
Hanshan on Cold Mountain. Meditation, poems, and laughter. The winter wind on the surface of the frozen snow.
james lee jobe
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jlj
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