a brief time without soldiers

She was quiet for a long time, it seemed like years,

And I was patient, I knew I could wait her out.

Finally she said, "Every tree on earth is a grave marker

For the invisible dead. You could dig and not find a body,

But the bodies are there. They're invisible bodies."

So that was done. She looked down at her feet

And sort of dug one heel down in the dirt.

"James, you're awfully quiet."

I watched her and I didn't say one word.

In fact, I never spoke again.

james lee jobe

"We take refuge in pride because

we are afraid to tell the truth to ourselves." 

Kakuzo Okakura, Book of Tea 

LINK: The Work of Happiness, a poem by May Sarton

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We have but a brief time without soldiers.
Let us use this time to celebrate the rain and the soil.
Let us give praise to the sun and to the air.
Now, before the earth turns again,
And we are lost in the chaos of living as humans.
We are human. Spirit made flesh.
These are our bodies. This is our world.
So now, before the soldiers return
And we hear the bolts sliding back on the rifles,
Celebrate and give praise.
Quickly.

james lee jobe

No person is your friend who demands your silence,

or denies your right to grow.

Alice Walker

Steely Dan, Deacon Blues

1. You must let the pain visit.

2. You must allow it teach you

3. You must not allow it overstay.

Ljeoma Umebinyuo, Three Routes To Healing

Silence isn't empty. It's crammed full of stuff;

answers, truth, peace. All kinds of good stuff.

james lee jobe

Al Green, Let's Stay Together 

The gaudy lights on the Christmas tree are lit.
My granddaughter, just one year old, points at it
And says, "This." Her embrace is heavenly, golden.
The family is all here, settling in for Christmas Eve.
Earlier today, shopping, I saw a homeless man
With a dog and a sign saying that he was a vet,
Please help. I slipped him a little cash, and wished
It could have been more. He looked about my age,
Maybe sixty. It could have easily been me, if the dice
Had rolled just a little differently. He doesn't get
An embrace, I was thinking. Maybe not ever.
Still, the dog seems to love him, and stays close.
Rain clouds were quickly rolling up. Walking away,
I wondered where he would go to stay dry.
I am not much, I know that, but I am loved.
My home is plain and simple, but it is a home.
And my granddaughter is there for Christmas,
And my wife, and my three grown children.
And a son-in-law, certainly he's a son now, too.
A Christmas tree is waiting, strung with cheap lights
And ornaments saved up from across a lifetime.
"This." Yes, little sweetheart. This. Merry Christmas.

james lee jobe

LINK: Dirtbag, a poem by Leigh Lucas

 

Please consider making a donation through the BUY ME A COFFEE button below. It's done safely online, and just takes a moment. I could use the supplement since my mobility issues no longer allow me to work. Thanks!

james