A man walking down the street,
his daughter trailing behind,
and I overhear him say,
"Because being nice
doesn't always get things done."
-Jim DuBois
March 23, 2015
Working Class Wisdom #2
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
Tuesday, April 21, 2015
How I used to write poems
Like the sun
Like gravity and hurricanes
Like the first day of spring
Like the first snowflake of winter
Like the smell of rain on warm pavement
Like the secret fort in the stone wall from long ago
Like those early friendships
Like the ever-expanding universe
Like a radio-wave
Like first love
Like possibilities
Like nothingness
-Jim DuBois
April 12, 2015
Like gravity and hurricanes
Like the first day of spring
Like the first snowflake of winter
Like the smell of rain on warm pavement
Like the secret fort in the stone wall from long ago
Like those early friendships
Like the ever-expanding universe
Like a radio-wave
Like first love
Like possibilities
Like nothingness
-Jim DuBois
April 12, 2015
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
As I walked along the road
As I walked along the road
thinking about nature
about vast uncivilized wilderness
about technology destroying nature
I failed to notice the thick undergrowth by the roadside
the harmony of where I was
the perfect union of tar and tree
pavement and grass
myself and my surroundings
As I sat in my room
looking out the window
I failed to notice the glass in the panes
the dirt on the grass
my eyes
-Jim DuBois
Fall 1991
This was probably the first poem I wrote in my adult life, and it was kind of like a liberating ephipany that I could notice something, have something to say about it simply and directly, and write it down in a way that pleased me, slowed people down, and enhanced the meaning with its form.
thinking about nature
about vast uncivilized wilderness
about technology destroying nature
I failed to notice the thick undergrowth by the roadside
the harmony of where I was
the perfect union of tar and tree
pavement and grass
myself and my surroundings
As I sat in my room
looking out the window
I failed to notice the glass in the panes
the dirt on the grass
my eyes
-Jim DuBois
Fall 1991
This was probably the first poem I wrote in my adult life, and it was kind of like a liberating ephipany that I could notice something, have something to say about it simply and directly, and write it down in a way that pleased me, slowed people down, and enhanced the meaning with its form.
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