Archive for July, 2009

Dreams
July 30, 2009

DREAMS

How sweet the dreams that dress the night
That fire one’s heart with brief delight
Undispelled by morn’s first light
And breathed throughout the day.

Sonnets poured from poet’s tongue
Heart’s miseries and joys are sung
On which his hopes and fears are hung
His soul bared on display.

And you, the Golden Haunt of dreams,
The Mystery lure of scented steams
Vapors formed to contoured schemes
Morosely held at bay.

How long before my self awakes…
An empty room, save bleared opaques
You, lost again as dream forsakes—
Carpe-Diem–Seize the Day!

Jon Jacobs c 2009

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Bottled Love
July 30, 2009

BOTTLED LOVE

A bottle of green love
Lay docile on my dresser
While shafts of languid light
Pushed through its smoky sides.
It must have thought, as bottles think
That days are giv’n solely to drink
Nostalgic moments in sips
Of impassioned memories.
It never travels far
This timeless, dust-covered jar,
Ne’er far save in spirited light-years
Voyaged with past lovers’ eyes and ears
Hearts endeared and lives enshrined
In lead crystal, clear as now
Opalescent past, and future, too.
But you, you the clarity constrained
Until one day it dropped and drained.
The decanter emptied slowly
Its bright green gave way
To sweet air clear
The jar still sits, quite happily, queer
Like a Mona Lisa smile it winks
Pondering your wonderment.

Jon Jacobs c 2009

Woman with hemorrhage
July 15, 2009

The slender 28 year old girl turned the corner in the large crowd following the new prophet everyone was talking about. She was so tired she could hardly keep pace. Her town of 3000 knew her, knew everyone. Their histories, families, sins, shortcomings, and what they could contribute. Her hair was braided today. Unlike other women, she took daily bathes, and had for twelve years. Such a hard road. Her friends had children to love, to hold, to raise. She had no husband. So many years of visits to the physicians. 

 After years of special eastern concoctions that did not help, the leech therapy began. After six months and no progress, they stopped, just before she broke her wrist. The bones were so brittle. If she could have gone to Sabbath ceremonies or prayed with a priest, some hope would have been held out. Not allowed. No Sabbath worship
for 12 years. She carried her little bag of cloths to be changed during the day. Is this my life? Will I never stop bleeding? Will I never have children? Will I ever be married? Will I ever be able to worship God with my neighbors and friends?
She had to push to get closer to this Jesus. Stories told of miracles of healing children, of healing leprosy. Could he tell her something? Pray for her? Touch her and change her life? The crowds were dense. Her heart was pounding and little strength was left but she was so close. Something spoke to her in her heart. She did not know what this experience was, but a glimpse of Jesus’ face made her smile. So one last effort, possibly the last ever in her life, she plunged forward, but fell at his back. There was His robe. “I must touch it. I know I will be judged for it, I am unclean. But if I don’t, I will simply die in this state of disgrace”. 

 She reached her little arm as far as she could, just enough to touch the robe. With thousands around, she felt unnoticed.  But there was a shock. No,, not a shock of pain, of joy. She felt it. Strongly. So, so strongly. Jesus turned amidst the throng and looked at her. He looked at her. Peace washed over her. Then he said, “”Who touched me?” No one admitted, and Peter said, “There are hundreds pushing against you”. Jesus said, “Someone did touch me, because I felt power go out from me.” She could not hide. 

  With great effort she stood up. She came directly before Jesus. Thoughts of the priestly condemnation, and of friends, family, came through her mind. She felt totally different in a new, fresh way. The pain in her abdomen was gone. She told why she had touched him and how she had been instantly healed. Jesus smiled and said, “Dear woman,” (no one had said those words for many years) “you are made well because you believed.  Go in peace.”   

  Peace. Peace. Given a new life, and given peace by this miracle worker, Jesus. Now she could go to Sabbath celebrations. Now she could live her life as He meant for it to  be.

Peace.

Jon jacobs

Who Am I? Itty bitty autobiographical sketch
July 12, 2009

I am here. After decades of somnambulism.

Yes, I am a  relative of Edgar Allen Poe (“The Raven”, “Goldbug Island”, etc) on my paternal mother’s side.

I hope his genes fit me well…

Go to “About” for my watermelon-sized autobiographical sketch. Or just go down for the good stuff!

LIFESCAPES – Musings – “Weave”
July 12, 2009

WEAVE

.

I examined it so very closely

Through fine thick ancient loupes

And followed each separate thread

The cottons, wools, and jupes

As they wound their way in concert

Each bound to pre-set paths

I watched them as they rose and fell—

Patterned corrugated laths.

They bore unique colour splendid

Here white, there red and a navy blue

The sunlight bounced right off them

Riders giv’n every beam a hue.

.

Then I fell back a step or two

That I might not be remiss,

Envisioned the total masterpiece

A smile, a tear, a kiss,..

The red was from a woman’s purse

Clutched tightly to her breast—

Loves gift to her on taking leave

As war’s unwelcome guest.

A spot of blue, so navy deep

From the corner of my eye

I saw was torn from old blue jeans,

Clad the saddened son sitting by.

The white that piqued my every sense

Dazzling my mind anew

I saw on every villager

Crowding round the bier to view.

He was a part of each of them,

Their future, present, past;

He had helped raise every one

Their priest gone home at last.

.

As he lay quiet in coffin closed

Beneath the quilted flag

That they had made from what they had

Be it purse, or jeans, or rag,

The colors brilliant in the sun

Glistened boldly, wet with tears

Which prismed like a million stars

Branding memories for lifelong years.

.

.

jon Jacobs  c 2009

LIFESCAPES – MUSINGS – “Calculated Cocktails”
July 12, 2009

CALCULATED COCKTAILS

Cocktail party cornered

Collar starched and stiff

Drink half-full in one hand

Abstinence belied midriff

Brown stains on his teeth and nails

Sweat pouring from his brow

Surrounded by the products

Of success from past and now.

The nut bowls long been emptied

French dip on his tie

Beyond weak jokes and then some

With one last chuckled lie

Religion, political parties,

The secretary’s style,

All points of conversation

Sprinkled with pensive guile

Gauged humphs, rakish guffaws

Sneers and snively hot-airs blow

We must be most agreeable,

The Boss is here, you know.

Stale, gray cloud, familiar thick

The air hung just waist-high

Room-sized miniature of Downtown

A 5 o’clock rush-hour sky;

.

Another aimless cocktail fest

With just the town’s invited best

Only the names change…

The faces are the same.

.

.

Jon Jacobs c 2009

LIFESCAPES – Musings – “Anarchy of the Heart”
July 12, 2009

ANARCHY OF THE HEART

How long did senseless reign

Of feeling rule the heart?

Where all actions purposed

Deep within they start

Up from the center ushered

Protocol to write

To copy out in longhand

Dictums penned in spite

For no discerning cause

Reason then had fled

Data, schedules, certainty

Spewed forth, wasted, bled

As smiles of meaning crept then

When dawning thought birthed slow

Flew right in releasing

Kilowatts aglow

So what’s the better way now?

Is it copy, hard and fast?

Or by our sight and sound selves

Governed, decided, cast

Moving towards our eighty years

Paragraphed by rest stops

Taking in the scenery

Chuckled forbearance adopts

Chaos gone awry now

To order given way

Once anarchy of the heart

In peace holds fact at bay.

.

.

Jon Jacobs c 2009

LIFESCAPES – Musings – “That Old Coat”
July 12, 2009

THAT OLD COAT

I’ve seen it worn so many times

A hand-me-down from old friends

Where have they gone?

So fashionable the pattern

When it was brand spankin’ new

A flare, the cut, herring weave, too

The hint of sexy and dashing dare

.

That old coat.

Less fashionable now

But functional, and “proper”

Befits the airs of the civic-minded

Career-focused, briefcase-swinging

Yes, practical, economical it is

.

That old coat…

Comfortable, a little threadbare

But oh, so warm

Huddled on a bench

Beside longtime friends

Discussing politics

And the kids these days

Watching as the leaves fall

Our stone bench an island

.

Those were the days

Money, sex, and power

The coat’s kept me well,

Dressed for all occasions

Now it just touches other old coats

Shoulder to shoulder

And winks at winter coming

Once again.

.

.

Jon Jacobs c 2009

Hello world!
July 12, 2009

Check out the “About” page to find out what you are in for!