lapping the butter from a dish

the pride that goes before a fall 

the cemetery where the bullets are buried 

and the people are not 

the cemetery of the kiss of death 

the kiss of remembrance 

the cemetery where the tombs stand 

on their hind legs and walk away 

time was a thirst and a hunger 

time was the sting of iodine 

the sting of a wasp 

that was tall as a man and feared by all 

the bite of uselessness and sloth 

the bite of disregard 

the winter that froze the heart of summer 

that froze the beams of sunlight 

right there in the sky 

the grave of horror and sorrow 

the graves of the children that could not be saved 

their bodies stacked like cords of wood 

and covered over with grief and wails 

the cemetery that holds death like a prison holds men 

lIke a cruel bride who toys with a weak husband 

or like a cruel husband waits out his own bitterness 

a poverty that is beaten down with the jawbone of an ass 

a poverty that leaves pockmarks on the skin of the young 

the cemetery where the bullets are buried 

and the people are not 

time like a sharp blade 

a sharp blade that is mistaken for the deeps of time 

the slayer of pride 

james lee jobe

“If you want to travel the Way of Buddhas and Zen masters, 

then expect nothing, seek nothing, and grasp nothing.” 

Dogen Zenji

like a stream in the hills 

what is more fluid, more yielding than water -lao tzu

life rolls by on steel wheels as a train does 

and yet  the afternoon seems small anyway 

like a child or an unfinished thought

the dogs have lapped up the butter from the dish 

and summer is half over 

would you rather feed the poor 

or buy more guns for the soldiers 

bigger guns 

bigger bullets

what was odysseus thinking when he had himself lashed 

to the mast of his ship and the sirens sang so seductively

prometheus returned the use of fire to the humans

he must have known there would be hell to pay

chained to that rock an eagle ate his liver every day

and every night it grew back again 

zeus was a republican

and he chaired the senate finance committee

be the water slipping down to the lower places 

flowing easy and slow like a stream in the hills 

a young girl comes to the bank 

and eases her feet into the blue water 

isn't she lovely 

do you hope that she is kind

james lee jobe

FULL MOON IN THE EIGHT MONTH

(DEATH POEM)

In autumn

even when I hope

to see it again,

how can I sleep 

with the moon this evening?

Dogen Zenji

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