a brand new box of your favorite cereal

photo by james lee jobe 

a flock of Canadian geese flies north
up the Delaware River
and they do this in perfect formation
like a giant letter V in the sky
         winter is over
down on the Chesapeake Bay
sailboats adorn the dark water
bright sails harness the wind
and the boats glide
with the grace of ballet dancers
         I wonder
how many days are left to me.

james lee jobe 

Link: Grieving His Mother's Death, Ocean Vuong Learned to Write for Himself

Throwing away the ashes,

The white plum-blossoms

Became cloudy,

Nozawa Bonchō

I awoke to this life on November 7, 1956, in Baltimore, Maryland, near the Chesapeake Bay. Canadian geese migrate through there. I like to imagine them, flying high above Saint Agnes Hospital, moving south, perhaps crying out even as I made my first cry, at 4:16 AM, two hours before dawn came over the bay. The cries of the geese to match the suffering of my mother.

james lee jobe 

Arooj Aftab “Mohabbat” (Live Performance) | Open Mic

Please support this blog with a small donation

through the the Buy Me A Coffee link

at the bottom of the page. Thanks.

To me it seems pretty easy to understand; life opens up like a brand new box of your favorite cereal on a lovely morning, but it’s also the morning when your favorite uncle dies.

james lee jobe 

Link: Wanting Sumptuous Heavens, a poem by Robert Bly 

Reclaiming the sacred in our lives naturally brings us close once more to the wellsprings of poetry. 

Robert Bly

a sixty foot pine tree

is loved by the breeze

I nap in shades of rich green. 

james lee jobe 

Poetry is high-class information. 

Gary Snyder

Paul McCartney, Heart of the Country

Peace requires courage and hard work. Peace means that each and every one of us has an obligation to build mutual understanding and an obligation to reject fear.

Gyalwang Drukpa

Washing Her Hair

I pour the warm water slowly, my mother

bent over the too small kitchen sink,

unable to get her mastectomy stitches wet,

and I work the water into her thin, gray hair

with my fingers, feeling her head in my hands.

Once we were one body.

Today we are connected by the washing,

and as I lather her I feel as if

I could wash all of her 75 years of living.

If I rinse her clean enough

we will be one body again.

Whole.

james lee jobe

Thanks for reading today's post here at the poetry zendo. You might consider supporting this blog with a small donation through the Buy Me A Coffee link just below. 

Thanks, jlj