Pay attention to the sky, the weather,
The phases of the moon.
That weird tree down the street;
What is it? Learn about the flora
And the fauna living around you.
Stop taking everything personal,
Nothing is personal.
Give a break to everyone, anyone.
Try to be a help everywhere you go.
Wake up.This is your life, right now.
Live it.
-jobe
LINKS -
A fog hangs over the flat farmland,
While watching through my window
I can hear the sound of geese above me.
Somehow this makes me sad again,
And so another long, slow day begins.
My son will never come home.
-jobe
LINKS -
I tried using shame
to get the moon to listen
to me.
I knew it wouldn’t work
but shame is the only thing
my parents ever taught me.
The moon just kept moving.
-jobe
LINKS -
Midsummer, the Year of the Ox.
The full Buck Moon rises tonight.
May the Ox of Joy and the Buck of Peace
Visit you, bringing blessings.
May your life be a honeysuckle.
-jobe
The smoke from a forest fire fills the valley
As if it was a bowl. I haven’t seen a bird all day.
A fine ash has settled on everything, on our lives.
Even the sun looks hazy and gray,
But it pleases me to know that the sun is actually safe,
Far above this gloom.
Something moves in one of my redwood trees;
There is a bird after all.
A lark.
-jobe
LINKS -
Almost winter, both in the time of year
And at this time in my life. Skin like tin,
Thin and hard. My memory is tinted
Somewhat from the passing years,
And I reject my old sins; it’s imbecilic
To hold on to the past. Pointless. Slowly,
The current year is running out of wind.
And so am I. One does not escape time.
-jobe
LINKS -
If I drive a little faster
the field I am passing will begin to blur
at the edge nearest my car, and yet
it will still be clear to me in the distance.
If I slow down,
everything becomes clear.
It is the same with life.
Alfalfa.
It is a field of alfalfa, ready for harvest.
Can you smell it?
-jobe
LINKS -
People wave their flags,
But I have never known why.
Countries run on obedience,
Not pride. And look at me;
A poor poet. I have neither one
To offer.
-jobe
What good is sorrow
When love still grows
In every fresh smile?
What good is weeping
While turtles still crawl
Through the tall grass?
-jobe
