Let me stay as still as stone,
as silent as the moon.

Calm. Loved.
And kind!

Let me be as easy as a breeze,
as gentle as sunset!

Heaven is a promise kept, hope, reborn
with new ideas, new dreams.

And I am a measure of strength, walking
on the face of the world.

When tomorrow calls, the world will marvel,
slowly spinning on its axis.
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JAMES LEE JOBE
late draft 31JAN12

this is my occupation.

The artist’s job is to show us what is real and what is not.

There is some resentment.

I don’t mind.

I move through this world feeling hatred grow around me.

Emotion bounces off my leathery skin,

which has been hardened by the fire of art.

But not without a little burn.

I have no other use.

I have no tools,

no plans,

and no intention of seeking advice.

Yesterday is meaningless,

And tomorrow is still only a possibility.

Yet,

It’s a blessing,

I know,

that the hatred doesn’t get to me.

My heart is a shield.

Love is,

after all,

enough.
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JAMES LEE JOBE
late draft 31JAN12

And I would love them all, these women,
but I already did.

Now, needing peace, a strong measure of solitude,
and just a little fresh air I move down the road.

It is a slower walk than it once was, back when my beard was still brown
and passion was on my schedule.

Passion and the next poem,
always the next poem.

Just beyond eyesight and earshot stands an old elm tree,
giant, endless, right by the road.

It provides me with shade, and a breeze offers me a calmness
that I crave, and pretend is mine.

I am, after, all, a poet; I can pretend
almost anything.

And what is life for, if not
for the next poem?
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JAMES LEE JOBE
late draft 30JAN12

I thought.

But even then madness smeared the sky with colors that were wrong.

Yellow.

Green.

Dogs and cats made love together in the chaos of the streets.

Suicidal squirrels raced in front of fast moving cars.

Children laid down their toys and moved off west,

singing about Leopold and Loeb.

And I began to have doubts.

Deep in the roots of my poems questions appeared,

in that place where life,

language,

and sanity all run together,

each claiming victory,

each claiming a part of me.

Finally,

I moved off west also,

carrying it all on my back as I shuffled along.
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JAMES LEE JOBE
late draft 30JAN12

my son,

it’s just the wind,

like a mother’s gentle hand

wiping the world clean.

And if you raise your hands,

son,

up as tall as anything,

you can just touch her fingertips

as she sweeps by.
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JAMES LEE JOBE
late draft 29JAN12

I will die one day

Right here in this valley.

Don’t be sad.

The sky will slide open

Like a bathroom mirror

And kind angels

Will guide me home.

With an angel of God

To hold me

I will rise

Through golden light!

To you it may seem

Like just another beautiful

Valley sunset.

Lovely,

And excellent!

And you’ll be right.
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JAMES LEE JOBE
later draft 29JAN12

wrapped in an old blanket I’m fond of,

with cold air coming in through the open window.

A little Englishman,

not even five feet tall,

walks up to me.

He is very old;

his mustache and hair are white,

and he is checking things off on a clipboard and talking to himself.

“Is he comfy?

Yes, very comfy.

Favorite blanket?

Yes,

very good.

Cool,

fresh air?

Yes.”

Then he sees that I am watching him.

“Quite alright,

that.

You can open your eyes in this dream.

I’m here to make sure that you have a nice sleep.

Perfectly safe,

perfectly fine.”

Naptime,

and I have the English watching out for me.

A blessed life.
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JAMES LEE JOBE
late draft 28JAN12

James, your body is a cactus flower,

wilting at the end of its one day to live.

For hours, your colors were startling,

glorious, but now, at dusk, you are sagging.

You’ll die tonight, but the cactus will go on,

standing tall on the long flat of the valley,

living in the open, in bright summer moonlight.

And something of you will go on as well,

James, changing, growing, immortal.
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JAMES LEE JOBE
late draft 28JAN12
1st draft 06JULY10

Do you breathe in the scent of her hair when you slowly kiss her neck?

You must.

And her skin?

Fragrant and soft from some exotic lotion that she will never find again.

And tell me, brother, are her lips not the blooms and greens of spring?

Is her smile not a sunrise worthy of prayer?

You must tell her, brother, how you have longed for her.

Tell her how you need her close, and then whisper love to her.

Love.

Place your forehead to hers and say the word, so quietly that you are barely audible.

Love.

Pull her body to yours until her heartbeat is clear.

And when she kisses you, silently thank God that you are alive.

Every new day is a new friend, brother.

Walk with your head high, for her love goes where you do.

Her love is your angel, a halo of warmth.

And your love keeps the wolf from her door, brother.

Also, there is this; stand by her, in all things, at all times.

And may this love keep you both whole when the night is long, and the darkness harsh.
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JAMES LEE JOBE
late draft 27JAN12

without being asked, buds become blooms in the very air you gasp,

pollen and a fair smile, flower tops of vibrant color shimmer across

the flat plate of this old valley, the song of a magpie who hasn’t even noticed you,

her music against the pines dancing with inhalation and seed in a language

too strong and too old for us to understand

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because just a dance can set you free, lost in the throws

of rich music, your body light and jerking, stomping, spinning,

your eyes no longer seeing, a rhythm of breath and heartbeat,

drumbeat, downbeat, an electric guitar with a soul of tears, a dance

that lets go of the past without needing a future, an embrace of today,

right now, this instant of being in an expanding universe, movement itself

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because nothing is standing still,  just to be alive is to change, to grow,

becoming only more truly yourself with every pain, every sorrow also a joy,

the soft color of the moon as she cycles the sky demanding tides

and earning praise, every second you are stronger than ever before,

every dream more lucid, in change you have hope, in the light

there is hope, that you live at all is about hope
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James Lee Jobe
late draft 26JAN12

My lips on your warm skin; I am a little spider slowly
working my way across a web spun of diamonds and passion.

Your life is a harbor town, with lights shining far across the water.
Your soul is an angel blessing this town with her passion.

Behind the swell of your delicious lips, your tongue tells me
of the ways that you make love, drowning me with passion.

And within your thighs there is another shore, where lovers
face a rip tide and swim toward each other, driven by passion.
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JAMES LEE JOBE
late draft 26JAN12

Please,

This hardest of mercies,

Forgiveness,

That I might grant it to others in need,

And that my soul might receive it,

A circle of forgiveness to bless us all,

Hope,

Humanity,

And Your love on earth;

Sweet forgiveness.
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James Lee Jobe
late draft 25JAN12

As it happens,

I am one of those people who like valleys and canyons.

Gullies,

arroyos,

creek beds.

I like going down,

in,

under.

I want to be inside something vast,

wide,

or long.

Some people don’t want to be on top.

I want to see the gears of the world turn and mesh together.

Flora,

fauna,

air and stone.

The wind flying in the endless empty sky.

Flesh and soul with the flat lands around the river.

I love the marshes with wading herons and egrets circling low,

the hum of a summer evening in the hot valley.

The noises and sounds of life in the hot marsh at sundown.

Friend,

the river flows to the lowest point,

there could be a lesson in that!

Lessons are always popping up at the damnest times and places!

That makes for interesting times.

Rich dirt low and river near,

a good life,

and fine dreams.

Friend,

how I love this valley that I chose for myself.
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JAMES LEE JOBE
final draft 25JAN12