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“CAN YOU DESCRIBE YOUR DEPRESSION?”

The afternoon sunlight on the dining room floor looks so pitiful and sad. 

All day I have been worried; so pointless, yet done anyway. 

The night before I dreamed again of being chased, they could never catch me, but I could never stop running. 

I am tired, so very tired, you have no idea; even if I slept around the clock, it still wouldn’t be enough to rest me. 

There is no rest for me here. 

There is no comfort in the silence of the world, I am not needed here, and I know it. 

This afternoon has lasted for a thousand years. 

JAMES LEE JOBE

Life grew from a hank of hair and a bag of bones.
Then it became the universe, eating flesh from the bones. 

War is evil and never-ending, soldiers die, 
civilians die, and even now the sun bleaches their bones. 

How many nights have they slept silently without graves? 
So many now that there is nothing left but the bones. 

Peace is a dream we have, with mindless hatred gone, 
with the guns gone, and joy soaking down into our bones. 

I believe we can get there. I have always been a believer, 
for life gave us love, a gift that rests deep in our bones. 

And love it can be, james, children raised without fear 
or anger, heart to heart, soul to soul, and bones to bones. 

james lee jobe 

poignancy, popeye, and cooking some chicken.  

I poured a little olive oil in the pan
and I told that package of chicken,
“this is it for you, I can’t help you now.” oh, life, you cruel bastard. 

sometimes you’re the chicken
and sometimes you are the cook.
the hell of it is the lack of a choice.
it just is what it is, like Popeye always said. 

face the day and face the night,
then turn around and face it again.
that which is terrifying today
could be poignant tomorrow. maybe.

at least this, let’s keep hope for that.
oh hell, let’s just hope for something.

james lee jobe

an ant in a rain storm. 

the rain finds us all, eventually. 

sometimes in groups 

and sometimes individually, 

but it will come. 

the rain will find you.

what can ants do in a rain storm? 

they can go deeper. if they go deep enough 

they will survive. 

and you? you carry  

your own storm with you. 

where can you go now? 

within. 

dig. go deeper. 

if you can go deep enough 

you will survive.

you. the ants. the earth. 

the human soul. 

you can all survive.

james lee jobe 

inhaling the galaxy

the walls of this box are made from a sadness that cannot be cut open 

the lid has been sealed tight and the label has been addressed in blood  

it is my intention that the box remains closed forever in a warehouse far from here, far from me 

inside I have packed all of those things that I can no longer carry and that which I refuse to carry 

the weight of so many funerals all in a row, a certain amount of shame and a lot of fear 

soon the truck will come to take the box away 

and the things that are left? those I will have to carry myself 

james lee jobe

We are all a little broken. But last time I checked broken crayons still color the same.

Banksy

We leave the porchlight on at night 
but I am not sure why - no one is coming 
this light weakens at sunrise 
as if the lamp itself is tired from its long hours of labor 
and something in the air at dawn tastes of change 
whatever this is doesn’t require my permission 
I turn the light off and put on some coffee 
all the while the entire planet has been spinning 
as it does throughout all the years of our lives 
|think of that

-james lee jobe

mountain woke up in the morning 
alive with beings and sunshine 

trees stretched their leafy arms to the sky 
and blew a clear musical note into the air 

streams busily made their way down to the river 
and so eventually to the ocean 

time was eaten for breakfast 
and the taste was like diamonds

that shimmered and sparkled 
that day was a delight 

and are they all 
if you want them to be

-james lee jobe 

Once we recognize that all things are impermanent, we have no problem enjoying them. In fact, real peace and joy are only possible when we see clearly into the nature of impermanence.
-Thich Nhat Hanh

goat gristle

‘Someone Will Remember’

Artist: Hildy Maze, 1949-2020

I arrive at night, to a room that is cold and dark. 

Now you can see my face in the firelight. You can hear 

The angels. Their voices speak from beautiful paintings. 

Van Gogh. Picasso. In the sky tonight, a sliver of silver 

Moon. The world is missing something; you know that. 

Don’t you? When you wake up and the room is dark 

And cold, and you feel a sadness that you can’t define. 

When you look out the window at the silent street 

And you don’t know why you’re looking. What do you think 

You’ll see? What do you hope to see? It is empty, 

And you are empty, and there is still a lot of night left to be. 

The angels come here to help fill that void. And friend, 

I am here to help them. I am here to light the fire.

-james lee jobe

VALUE 

You are not poor,
Just born as a stone is born,
Without riches. 

You come from a fantastic fissure in the earth,
Rock cut by giants from the skeleton of the world,
With a soul so solid it can be built upon. 

What are riches to a rock like you? 

The wind that walks over all of life –
That is your wealth. 

The rain itself is your gold.
The age of man will pass,
But the rock remains. 

The rock always remains.

respond with kindness

Go all the way down the street
And turn left when you get to heaven.
If the gate is open, just go right in.
If the gate is closed, you’re on your own.

Rustle the rain and rustle the wind.
Write signs that send signals to the dawn.
When the music is playing, find someone
That wants to dance as much as you do.

So what if people see you talking to trees?
What you do is between you and God,
Don’t stand for the judgement of humans.

Waste the morning and waste the noon,
Midnight comes and goes far too soon.
This is your life. You know that, don’t you?

JAMES LEE JOBE

PLANS
Somewhere towards the end it all adds up,
That which was and that which is,
The old and the new, and so on.
When the year is done, there has been
About as much daylight as there has been night.
It is all a balance.
We are gifted with a life. We owe a death.
What is tomorrow? Something to dream about.
JAMES LEE JOBE

antonio machado, “caminante, no hay camino,”/“traveler, there is no road,"spoken word performed by lchristopher, manhattan island, fort geor

baby sharks

Thre’s no such thing as an obscene poem. A poem either works or it doesn’t work. That’s all.