Giving Up the Search

If we could give up
our search for perfection,
"the one",
that perfect place,
that perfect time,
that perfect person,
and accept the good
in what comes our way
or create good
in the here and now
when we need to,

we could embrace
more fully
these wonderful days and lives
we've been given,

but to accept now,
to accept that
there are no perfect people,
not even any perfect lives
or perfect moments,
is to lift up
your broken heart,
your old wounds,
those ancient fears and frustrations,
those delusions you labor under,
and say,
"This happened.
I can't fix it.
I can't change the past.
I didn't like it.
The world is not perfect.
Bad things happen in it.
There is suffering,
and pain,"

and that's harder than it seems,
but you can pause a moment,
and add,

"but there is goodness.
I have seen it.
I have done it.
I have been it."


-Jim DuBois
July 28, 2015

Art is Artifacts of Intelligence

-Jim DuBois
Sept 7, 2014

Like Hearing Echoes

Within the clusters of mental and physical elements

Seeing the animated matter we call human life -
Almost like hearing echoes
of thoughts

echoes
reverberating, rippling
in the material world
outside the mind


-Jim DuBois
A while ago?

New Notebook

New notebook,
                ($3.99)
new one dollar pen,
new poem...

Argh! The pressure!
Don't crack under
the pressure, man!

Grrr....
alright, got that
outta the way.



-Jim DuBois
July 12, 2011

These New Pens

Inauguration
  of these new pens --
it reminds me
of many other times,
recorded by similar pens
and similar neurological alchemy
which turns ink scribbles
into meaning.


-Jim DuBois
June 17, 2011

(Sorting) Laundry

Shirt,
Shirt,
Shirt,

Socks, pants, shirt,

Why do I have so many shirts?

shirt,
long-sleeved shirt,
pants,
pajamas,

I wonder how other people categorize their laundry?

I have the most categories for shirts,

shirt,
long-sleeved shirt,
shirt I need to hang on a hanger,
Oh! this shirt's not really dry yet...

Maybe I'll do more laundry tomorrow.


-Jim DuBois
Jan 22, 1998

Jeremiah

I remember that time
we were walking
along the Holyoke ridge
and you said,
"It looks like these
are basalt columns
that thrust up
through the earth
about 200 million years ago,"
and I thought,
"he just wants to sound
like he's smart,"
but the plaque
at the end of the trail
said almost exactly
what you had.

Another time
we were talking on the phone
and you mentioned
that some days
you only try to have
as much motivation
as is needed
to do the immediate
next thing,
such as reach the doorknob
and leave a room,
and I thought,
"he's just trying
to sound inspirational,"
but many many years later
I still think about
what a helpful perspective
you offered me.

Now, I'm glad
that despite my momentary cynicisms
I got to see your mind
functioning well.


-Jim DuBois
Sep 10, 2009

I Have This

I have this pen
and I have this brain
and I have a world to live in

this pen
this brain
and a world to live in


-Jim DuBois
July 11, 2008

Ordinary Days on Planet Earth

The light from the sun
travels to earth every day,
soaks into the ground,
        the dirt,
        the water,
        the rocks,

and the plants burst upwards
in a multitude of colors

and the animals grow
and change
and evolve,
wandering over the land
and in the sea

and the people
are simply starlight
with brains and hands

they create marvelous art and music

they solve incredible problems
with knowledge, ingenuity
and vast imaginations

they invent technology
to communicate with each other
and transform the lives
of billions

and though they
don't always know it,
they are
        striving striving striving
to be good,
and kind
to one another.


-Jim DuBois
Aug 11, 2009

The Economy of Memory

I'm watching a sea of static on TV
    late at night

I'm talking to my girlfriend on the phone

I'm writing a poem
    and finishing it later

I'm living in a tent behind Hampshire College

I'm going nowhere

I'm standing on the balcony of F2,
    going nowhere

I'm living on Bridge Street in Northampton

I'm thinking about thinking

I'm thinking about memory

I'm taking off my shirt

I'm looking at the clock

I'm wondering how it will end
    and when it began

I'm floating, a tiny black-eyed fetus
    in amniotic fluid

I'm making notes for a future poem

I'm learning to write the alphabet
    by tracing sandpaper letters

I'm writing a story for the first time
    in my life

I am six

I am twenty-five

I am thirty-four

I'm telling her about myself

I'm using her attention
    to search through my memory,
    to reconstruct myself
    from different angles

I'm telling you about telling her

I'm remembering remembering



-Jim DuBois
Dec 13, 2003

Artifacts of my Intelligence

Artifacts of my intelligence
Artifacts of my imagination
Artifacts of my existence,
    like a poem or a painting

Artifacts of my consciousness
Artifacts of my memory
Artifacts of my mind,
    like a signature or a sentence

leftover creations,
manipulated playthings,
static reminders
of a fluid mind
-- they can't be me --
I just leave behind things
which illuminate a tiny fraction
of my complexity,
that might give you that clue
you've been looking for for so long
that shows you are not alone
-- someone, some other mind,
    is out there,
        thinking,
            doing,
                creating.


-Jim DuBois
March 29, 2009

Overlooked

I hear there is more
    old growth forest left in Massachusetts
    than they thought.

In narrow bands,
    too high for logging,
    too low to clear for skiing,
        they stand in the mountains
            like they always have
                because no one had a use
                    for the place they lived.

And I want to look
    behind a person’s eyes,
        to the ruined landscape,
                to the left-over places
                of their minds
            just to see what
                is still growing there,
                    undisturbed
                        by the turbulence
                            of oppression.

Those places that went un-noticed
    by society,
    the places they forgot were there.


-Jim DuBois
January 20, 1999