James Lee Jobe
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James Lee Jobe Poems
The End of Summer
A crow screams at me from the eave of the garage roof. I wonder, does he carry the soul of the man that I slew?
Look, there's Death in Sister's face, in her eyes - that's the poison. Everyday she eats more poison. For a moment she is alive again,
How It Is,1969, Rains County, Texas
It is an old man, ancient, with stiff, white hair and yellow fingernails, sitting on a sagging bed
It will be on the 11 o'clock news: The sun supernovas! Everything,
AUTUMN -for Kathy Kieth-
The singing leaves and punted footballs drop, and the valley
Yule. A quarter moon southwesters in early evening. From the darkness above, the lonely sounds of geese. An uneasiness, an uncertainty lies across the earth.
The Things That Happened When My Father ...
Dad pulled his hand away from me as he turned to leave. I can still feel his hand leaving mine, his skin leaving my skin.
Trapped by Autumn
I was born three thousand bumpy miles from here, and with a different name. I want God to be a wild god
The Bike Messenger's Lunch
The woman became more ragged as the summer wore on, dirtier, thinner.
Six days till Solstice, and in the news there is nothing about kindness; The war machinery grinds away, lives in the balance teeter and shake,
It's mid-winter and the sunrise knows it, and wakes me with a shudder; I'm just a man.
Charlie, sunrise is a three-legged mongrel dog,
DRIVING THROUGH DOWNTOWN SACRAMENTO AT 3...
The city is shivering, empty, and looks like a model
What Happened on Texas Highway 34 in 196...
The man was dying, thrown from his truck like a projectile, an accident in the driving spring rain, a dark country highway. My father,48, lifted
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The End of Summer
A crow screams at me from the eave of the garage roof.
I wonder, does he carry the soul of the man that I slew?
The last quarter-moon of summer, a barn owl circles
the nude hay field, a mouse hides among broken stalks.
Summer stumbles to an end, an anxiousness blankets
the valley fields. The end is near. The wind is changing.
When the crow leaves, I will fly with him, the breeze in my face,
the treetops at my feet, the fields a blurry carpet far below.