DEATH IS AN USHER

Let go of your thoughts.

Thinking can’t help you now.

Release the hold on your body,

just let go.

Your body was only a classroom.

Stop breathing.

Breath gives you the rhythm to this world,

not the next!

Your breath is a leash,

holding you back.

A chokehold.

You do not need to breathe or touch or know anymore.

If you float or fly,

don’t fight it.

Go with the flow.

Just be.

Death is a simple doorway,

not a room.

Death is an usher moving you to the light,

and inch by inch the light finally overtakes you.
-
-
-
JAMES LEE JOBE
late draft 24FEB12

LET’S CALL IT A DAY

A day comes to an end;

the sun goes down and the feet go up.

The sky cracks open,

as ragged as a broken window from here to the breezy west,

and the all of the wild colors of god slip free.

Birds change their tone at sunset,

have you noticed?

The world makes a sound,

it is the same sound my grandfather made when sitting down,

umpf,

and that’s it.

Umpf.

A day is over.
-
-
-
JAMES LEE JOBE
late draft 23FEB12

GOODNIGHT ALREADY

The grave opens

like a silent mouth

to swallow

all that is left of us.

Only through darkness

and the void

can we come to heaven.

This earth is the robe

we wear

on the final journey.

The mouth of the grave

closes over us,

swallows,

and were gone.

Mile after mile

in cold darkness

we walk.

Don’t stop.

We must all walk here

at the very end!

Just a little farther,

friend, just a little more,

then sleep, at last.

Wonderful sleep.
-
-
-
JAMES LEE JOBE
late draft 23FEB12

MARCH, MIDDLE FORK, YUBA RIVER

Limestone and granite,

and pools of perfectly clear,

cold water.

A sky worthy of Van Gogh.

The sweet singing of birds;

a hummingbird that drops out of nowhere,

A red-tail hawk circling low,

hunting.

Raccoon droppings.

A sister of a river,

full of fun,

full of spirit.

Snow melt trickling across the clean trail.

A medicine wheel of pebbles on a gray boulder by the edge of the noisy river.

Praying alone at the dog end of winter.
-
-
-
JAMES LEE JOBE
late draft 22/FEB12

WHY FISH JUMP

Sunshine.

The lovely feel of warm air against silver fins.

To fly,

free for a moment,

a perfect second,

breaking away from the weight that holds you down.

To know what birds know,

what dragonflies know.

To be the master of your own fate,

even if just for the wink of an eye.

To join with the sky,

to be movement itself.

To know freedom.
-
-
-
JAMES LEE JOBE
late draft 22FEB12

WAITING FOR THE STORM

This sneezy dust of autumn is settling across the land.

Leaves are giving up, changing color and letting go,

Like the suicide jumpers at New York’s Twin Towers.

The air tastes earthy like that little bit of death

That slips in before re-birth. It’s a lot to keep track of.

The river grows colder, more aloof; it likes winter’s steel.

Finally the last leaf has dropped and no one knows love.

People seem lost without the sun, not me. I am like the river.

I prefer a hard winter. I am waiting for the storm.
-
-
-
James Lee Jobe
late draft 21FEB12

 

The painting here is Snowstorm, by Robert Maione.

WEARINESS

The sun gives up and goes down.

Sundown releases power that feeds boldness to the night.

All along the quiet street lights come on in the houses like little beings being born;

they are not human,

but close.

Some birds stop singing and others start.

The sky is the very color of exhaustion.

On the broken and uneven sidewalk I stand.

My eyelids are as heavy as sandbags.

My feet are anchors from a ship that no longer sails.

Who knew that a weariness like this could exist?

That it walked the earth?
-
-
-
JAMES LEE JOBE
late draft 21FEB12

THE ROSE FABLE

Theses hard years have covered life with lovely red roses,

up and down,

from here to there,

until time no longer remembers our feeble sins.

One rose holds a special magic,

being so large and so soft that god sleeps on the easy petals,

and is so deeply red that darkness visits just to know beauty.

In this manner the slow eons of eternity pass by,

up and down,

from here to there,

and the scent of roses blesses one and all,

the sweetness of a life,

of being alive,

a lesson of the soul,

the love of the roses.
-
-
-
JAMES LEE JOBE
late draft 20FEB12

NOURISHED

For many nights now

I have let my body feed

on the delta breeze

that blows

along the Sacramento River.

This body,

you see,

is no longer comfortable,

it has become

a poor fit,

and it might be time

for my old soul

to shake it off!

It happens.

Please

don’t make a big deal out of it.

And so it goes,

on those nights

when this body

can find no rest,

no peace,

I go out of my house

and stand under stars

that are as cold as steel,

letting the breeze

feed

my tired,

aching body.

Bereft of sleep,

my body

finds something

nourishing

in the air.

A peace that flows.

A peace that says,

“Just let go, James.

Just let go.”
-
-
-
JAMES LEE JOBE
late draft 20FEB12

CHEERS

It rained for fifteen straight days,

and drizzled on the sixteenth,

but we managed to keep our cheer.

Perhaps our spirits were lifted by the brazen crow,

yelling in the rain and making us smile.

Or maybe it was how happy the dog was to be let inside,

with lots of wagging and slobbery appreciation.

Or it could have the lovely comfort of the simple meal,

set out on the thrift store table.

Home,

home.
-
-
-
JAMES LEE JOBE
late draft 19FEB12

I’M FINE, THANKS

The night

is so fresh

and cool,

and the street

is silent

at last.

The moon

is an old friend

on a surprise visit,

and lights up

my sweet world,

my delicious night.

No,

I don’t mind

being alone

at all.
-
-
-
JAMES LEE JOBE
late draft 19FEB12

UP

First the chipmunks let go of the dark, thick trees
and float off into the sky.

Loose things on the ground also rise up
into the air and are gone.

A rake. A shovel. That old bit of green water-hose
you have been meaning to throw out.

Then the neighbors’ barking dog soars off into heaven,
and you don’t mind so much.

Finally the big things let go of the earth,
like the long trucks on the highway.

Like the houses, bridges, all gone,
skyscrapers floating up.

All of Tulsa breaks off in one chunk
and is gone.

And now all that is left is you, alone
on the naked earth.

What can you do? You raise your arms up
and pray.
-
-
-
JAMES LEE JOBE
late draft 18FEB12

THINGS THE ANGELS TOLD ME

The light doesn’t pay any attention to you.

Not even a little.

The choice of what to be was always yours,

and still is.

Even now.

The end,

the beginning;

those are concepts hardly worth attention!

The difference is between having and being.

It is your choice.

On this side,

our side,

you don’t have peace;

you are peace.

You don’t move into the light;

you are the light,

or you’re not,

and remain dark.

Alone.

You’ll struggle and suffer,

but you might get a spouse,

a child or two,

and that’s worthy of a struggle;

a lover to hold,

you get a direction to move in,

to grow,

and a name that is just for you.
-
-
-
JAMES LEE JOBE
late draft 18FEB12