calling bullshit

                    you say you are a poet because the moon was in cancer on the night your poor old momma squirted you out but I call bullshit as what makes you a poet is writing poems forever even when you are ancient and long in years and decades with the reading lamp shining on your gray hair

james lee jobe 

hello are you now on the path
you have always wanted to walk
is there still kindness in your skin
in the part of your hair
when you sleep are the dreams
more real than waking life
and what of the feel of steel
the kiss of wood on your face
that ache in the small of your back
that ache in your knees
is that where you whisper your true name
the name from your very first day
will you whisper it again right now
to me

james lee jobe

louie 'satchmo' armstrong & one of his 4 wives - in egypt

The day you die is just like any other, only shorter.

Samuel Beckett

continuum

how old is my valley
millions of years I suppose

how old is my iris
just a few weeks

one grows from the other
time means nothing

life goes on
with us or without us

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. Many thanks, jlj.