62. James Lee Jobe

Haunting and reflective, a magnificent poetic voice from California.

James Lee Jobe was the fourth Poet Laureate of Davis, California, 2018–2021. Among his five chapbooks are What God Said When She Finally Answered Me (Rattlesnake Press) and Red Skelton’s Ghost (Cold River Press). Jobe’s poems have been published in magazines, journals, and anthologies across several decades. He practices Zen Buddhism and is retired from a second career in radio.

He puts out his Substack, The Book Of Jobe, at least twice a week. It features both his own haunting and reflective poetry and personal selections from the work of others.

Poems

My Dog Got Your Chicken
Don't Just Do Something, Sit There
The Bones Are Held Together By Cheap Glue And One Can Hope For The Best
Thinking About Poems While Driving
The Complexities of Life
Moses
Orange Sun, Pale in a Grey Sky

My Dog Got Your Chicken

we've all seen scary things. a child choking
on something he ate. an old woman stepping
into the busy street without looking. four
young tough guys looking at you from down
the block. my father smiling as he slowly
walked back to his pick-up truck and got
the pistol from under the seat. and still
smiling as he walked back and cocked it,
putting it under the other man's chin.
and continuing to smile as he almost whispered,
"I'm sorry my dog got your chicken. I'll pay you
for it. I'll always stand good for that and I'll try
to keep her away from here. but mister, you touch
that dog and I'll blow your head off. understand?
I'll widow your wife, I'll orphan your children.
I'll kill you." and he never stopped smiling as he
and I, and the dog, drove off for home, with him
asking, "so. how was school today?"

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Don’t Just Do Something, Sit there

Stop judging everything, 
there is more to life than right and wrong. 
And stop arguing, 
are you so weak that you need to win all of the time? 
Relax, friend. 
Don’t just do something, sit there. 
Breathe and relax. 
Tomorrow is another day, and if it isn’t, 
if tomorrow doesn’t arrive for you, 
well, that’s alright, too. 
Try to remember, 
it isn’t your beliefs that make you a better person, 
it’s your behaviour.
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The Bones Are Held Together By Cheap Glue And One Can Hope For The Best.

Summer has ended, but it is still hot, and now the bones
Are calling each other names and making vague threats.
The bones seek someone to blame for the state of things.
The soul has had enough and looks toward Heaven
Like someone who has been waiting a very long time for a bus.
Rapture. Judgement. Maybe some kind of peace.
The soul keeps hope that some good will come from this life.
The bones have fallen apart in the street.
Waves of heat rise from the asphalt of the street like angels
Returning to God.
Glue those bones into place and wipe the sweat away, my friend.
The bus will indeed arrive, sooner or later.
Everyone else is waiting, too.

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Thinking About Poems While Driving

thinking about poems while driving
I sometimes get a little lost
or forget where I’m going
and just keep driving straight on
retired for a dozen years now
I might take the exit for work anyway
because of the poems living in my brain
growing like rows of ripe corn
and my heart putting out gold like a mine
in the Sierra Nevada 17 decades ago
time spent and distance covered is math
but time and distance divided by Rumi
is somewhat more spiritual
like food for the soul
besides I’ll remember where I’m going
sooner or later
who cares?

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The Complexities of Life

The complexities of life are really pretty easy to understand;
Life opens up like a brand new box of your favourite cereal 
on a lovely morning when your favourite uncle dies. 
Or something.
 
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Moses

the moses
who made the sky rain frogs is sleeping
on the round pillows of your breasts
will he split the red sea?
yes, of course
but not right now
now the fleshy skin of your chest
is damp with his steady breathing
his eyes are lightly closed
and the children of Israel can wait
a little longer
so can we

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Orange Sun, Pale in a Grey Sky

Davis, California, in the big valley.
The biting odour of burning wood.
There is a forest fire about 100 miles away,
North by east.
Paradise, California, in the Sierra foothills.
A wind out of the north
Has brought the smoke here.
My wife is coughing, many people
On the streets are wearing breathing masks.
Several people dead in the fire, so far,
Some more people are missing.
And nearly 7 thousand buildings lost.
Homes, schools, businesses.
“Did you see the sunset?”
A friend wants to know.
“An orange sun, pale, in a grey sky.
If the fire keeps up I’ll get some pictures tomorrow.”
I quickly decide against chastising him;
What’s the point? He means no harm.
I see the homeless and the dead,
He sees a unique sunset.
Both are there, from a fire 100 miles away.
Settling down in a quiet room, alone,
I begin the Loving Kindness prayer

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