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Best Famous James Lee Jobe Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous James Lee Jobe poems. This is a select list of the best famous James Lee Jobe poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous James Lee Jobe poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of James Lee Jobe poems.

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by James Lee Jobe | |

SPROUT

 It could be Valley Oak or Snap-bean,

Elderberry, or Cattail rising out of the creek;

all began the same, a spark of life inside,

the need to be coaxing their will into action.
Seed and pod, nut and bulb, cajoled awake, called by the warmth of the sun, moisture in the soil, swelling them, filling their hearts, beginning the slow push against the dormancy of the husk.
The earth itself helps, offering its richness to eat, till one by one each plant claims a soul, and bursts free into the air, breathing, giving breath, living in the sweet light of the distant sun.


by James Lee Jobe | |

Quietly

 Quiet! Today the earth tells me, be quiet.
Ssh! No talking now.
Our soul is listening to tiny things, almost silent.
This is a language that you feel.
Our soul, says the earth, hears every little sound.


by James Lee Jobe | |

WHAT I DID IN THE MOONLIGHT

 I planted my grief
in freshly turned earth
A tree grows there now
You should see the size of it

I filled my wheel-barrow
with all my pointless regrets
I put them out by the curb
A truck will pick them up on Thursday

I spent some time following my cat
She led me all around our yard
stopping to rub her face in mint
I rubbed my face in mint, too

The moon shone on and on 
climbing higher above the park across the street
"Who can stay awake longer?" I asked her
as she began her long arc back down


More great poems below...

by James Lee Jobe | |

Moon In Virgo

 You are not beaten.
The simple music rises up, children's voices in the air, sound floating out across the land and on to the river beyond, over the valley's floor.
No, you cannot go back for those things you lost, the parts of yourself that were taken, often by force.
Like an animal in the forest you must weep it all away at once, violently, and then simply live on.
The music here is Bach, Vivaldi; a chorale of children, a piano, a violin.
Together, they have a certain spirit that is light, that lets in light, joyful, ecstatic.
"Forgive," said The Christ, and why not? Every day that you still breathe has all the joy and murderous possibilities of your bravest dream.
Forgive.
Breathe.
Live.
The moon has entered Virgo, the wind shifts, blows up from the Delta, cools this valley, and you are not beaten; the children sing, it is Bach, and you are brave, alive, and human.


by James Lee Jobe | |

Richard

 It's mid-winter and the sunrise knows it, and wakes me 

with a shudder; I'm just a man.
For 5 cold mornings in a row, the beautiful pheasant has come to our patio to steal some of the dry catfood, sometimes right in front of my cat.
The house is still, and I enjoy the Sunday newspaper with strong, dark coffee; the smell of it dances around in the early darkness.
Driving to church there is bright, eager sunshine, and the shadows of bare winter oaks stripe the lane like a zebra; shadow, light, shadow.
At church I pray for my favorite aunt, Anna, her clock seems to be quickly winding down, dear lady, widow of my favorite uncle, Richard; mostly I just pray that she finds her center.
The pheasant is a male, strikingly colored, so beautiful, in fact, that I've begun to scatter extra catfood to draw him back; we have become his grocery store.
I tell my wife that if he comes a 6th day, I'll give him a name, Richard; but he never comes again.


by James Lee Jobe | |

Eternity

  for C.
G.
Macdonald, 1956-2006 Charlie, sunrise is a three-legged mongrel dog, going deaf, already blind in one eye, answering to the unlikely name, 'Lucky.
' The sky, at gray-blue dawn, is a football field painted by smiling artists.
Each artist has 3 arms, 3 hands, 3 legs.
One leg drags behind, leaving a trail, leaving a mark.
The future resembles a cloudy dream where the ghosts of all your life try to tell you something, but what? Noon is a plate of mashed potatoes and gravy.
Midnight is an ugly chipped plate that you only use when you are alone.
Sunset is a wise cat who ignores you even when you are offering food; her conception of what life is, or isn't, far exceeds our own.
This moment is a desert at midnight, the hunting moon is full, and owls fly through a cloudless sky.
The past is a winding, green river valley deep between pine covered ridges; what can you make of that? Night is a secret plant growing inky black against the sky.
When this plant's life is over, then day returns like a drunken husband who stayed out until breakfast.
A smile is a quick glimpse at the pretty face of hope.
Hope's face is framed by the beautiful night sky.
Hope's face is framed by the gray-blue dawn.
This is your life, these seconds and years are the music for your only dance.
Charlie, This is the eternity that you get to know.