a tomorrow with no promise

by Kenneth Patchen

midnight 

tired 

it is much too late to die young 

so there's that 

the night unfolds like a map and we are lost dogs 

walking 

beneath a moon that is himself lost 

beneath a few scattered clouds without names 

that are lit from behind and invite our stares 

dogs 

we circle and circle and circle 

and finally settle down to sleep 

we have no names and bear no collars 

night sounds 

the hoot of a lone owl 

a tomorrow with no promise 

but no burdens 

a tomorrow that creeps in 

on dog paws 

unfolding like a map 

james lee jobe 

We have been too quiet for too long. There comes a time when you have to say something. You have to make a little noise. You have to move your feet. This is the time.

John Lewis 1940-2020

Out from the corners of night, shadows gather like hungry soldiers at mess. To the west, these shadows slowly eat the Vaca Hills and roll down easy to the ocean to drown.

Veterans sleep in front of TV sets, numbed by beer and weak programming.

From the south, a chill breeze races up the delta lands and marshes, the estuaries. Herons shiver in the cold water, wading and hunting. Dragonflies race; they are fighter pilots in a Hollywood movie.

This breeze makes a lonely sound, like a saxophone on the radio. Like a child crying for something it cannot have.

The corners of night square off into a box. The lid is shut now. It will not open until morning.

james lee jobe 

Everyone makes mistakes. The wise are not people who never make mistakes, but those who forgive themselves and learn from their mistakes.

Ajahn Brahm

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Thanks, jlj