Still with those two dogs

I lay there with the two dogs,
watching them sleep on the floor
in the hallway.

The older one stretched up
and then lay down again,
and I saw the tiredness
in his scrawny legs,
and saw the scraggliness of his coat
which happens to old dogs.

I thought about him as a puppy,
how energetically he chased
my brother and me from room to room,
and we would jump up together on the big chair,
- since we were little too -
as he came rushing in.

He's really lasted a long time,
hasn't he?
Despite the way we all
ignore him a little more lately,
despite years of sleeping in hallways,
despite the advance of age,
he keeps living well.

The other dog isn't as old
and isn't as spirited.

If he didn't have
the first dog for company
(I think of them as brothers)
he wouldn't make it.

The younger dog
is fatter than I remember him
and he whimpers as I pet him.

Then I woke up
and remembered:
those dogs died
a long time ago.

But,
I guess I'm still there sometimes,
still pleased to be with those dogs,
to be just another living thing,
resting in some random spot,
not left out of the tapestry of life,
not forgotten,
bur preserved by the fleetingness
of the moment.


-Jim DuBois
May 30, 2002
Jan 22, 2014

Relaxing in the late afternoon

Relaxing in the late afternoon
in January,
watching the dusk deepen,
I think of those days
you told me about
where you'd only
work up enough ambition
to reach the doorknob
but not enough to know
whether you'd make it
out of the room or not,
and I appreciate your lack of effort
because these days
nobody takes the time
to stay still for long.


-Jim DuBois
Jan 13, 2014

Your house, without you

Your house, without you
I stopped by for some bread
The screen door clicks shut


-Jim DuBois
May 13, 2010

That story about how I only ate fruit for nine months and lived in a tent in the woods behind Hampshire College (parts I, II, II)

This is the beginning of a poem that has 22 parts and 25 photos. It is about my life from about 20 years ago. It took me that long to be able to reflect on it well.

If you want to get a full color printed copy on 8 1/2 x 11 inch pages, go here.

Or click this button:

See my other printed books for sale.

-Jim DuBois
Jan 2013

More Marks on Paper

Marks on paper
More marks on paper

yee-haw,
here they are

meaning,
but not
deep meaning

Every day meaning,
mundane meaning


-Jim DuBois
Dec 17, 2013

PS - this was written in pen on paper originally... now its just "light from a screen", etc.

For Gabriel García Márquez, upon learning he has Alzheimer's

This is a pen,
you use it
to write words
and tell stories

This is paper,
upon which you write
those stories

This is a novel,
you read it
to gain insight
into the magical loneliness
of existence

This is a poem,
you read it
every day
to understand
that someone
appreciated
your creations,
and to remind yourself
of your great contributions
to literature


-Jim DuBois
Dec 11, 2013

Gabriel García Márquez has Alzheimer's - the Guardian

Intellectual in a tea house in Northampton

Intellectual in a tea house
in Northampton,
reading Langston Hughes
and Diane Wakoski
paying too much
for tea
and a seat in the window
so all the holiday shoppers
can see how cool I am


-Jim DuBois
Nov 23, 2013

Is Your Shadow Part of You?

Is your shadow part of you?
Is a scar part of you?
Is your hair part of you?

Is the air in your lungs part of you?
Is the water in your bowels part of you?
Is the living blood carried away by a mosquito part of you?

Are the photons emitted and absorbed by your skin part of you?
Are mitochondria part of you?
Are the bacterial colonies which inhabit your body part of you?

Is your child part of you?
Is your family part of you?

Are your memories part of you?
Are thoughts part of you?

Is the way you move part of you?
Is the sound of your voice part of you?

Are your fingernails part of you?

Is yesterday part of you?
Is what you might do part of you?


-Jim DuBois
Nov 4, 2013

Zen Blackout #3

-Jim DuBois
Oct 2013

Zen Blackout #2 - The Original Ancestors

-Jim DuBois
Oct, 2013

Zen Blackout #1

-Jim DuBois
October, 2013

Done Anything Good

I don't know
if you've ever
done anything good,
but I have,
or so they tell me.
It always seems
that my memories
of doing good
fade so quickly.
I can't quite
grasp them.
I probably can't quite
understand who I
actually am.
My self image
is out of line
with reality,
but I've decided
to go on this quest
for the truth
about myself,
to try and remember
the good things,
to commemorate
and celebrate
the things I've done
and if one of those
fleeting memories
comes back
for a moment,
I must grasp on,
and write it down,
to get a better picture
of what my life
has really been.


-Jim DuBois
Sep 12, 2013

The Other Side of Familiar Things

I took
  a path

I knew
  by heart,

but it
  was overgrown

and I got lost

- just enough
to come out
20 feet
from the
old trail entrance

and there
was
a beautiful old
stone wall
with a drain
through it,
a lost bit
of the old
state hospital
which I
had walked by
for years
and never known.



-Jim DuBois
Sep 25, 2013

Nowhere

A great place to sit
and watch
a lot of people
going nowhere.


-Jim DuBois

You are a Spider

You are a spider
You are capturing
moments of love
Your web breaks easily
Luckily, you were made
to build webs well


-Jim DuBois
c2006

What is Existentialism? #4 and last

-Jim DuBois

What is existentialism? #3

-Jim DuBois

What is Existentialism? #2

-Jim DuBois

What is Existentialism? #1

-Jim DuBois

just over 3 years since you died

The other day,
we were
up at the lake house,
putting things away
for the season,
packing up
the odds and ends,
reviewing memories,
winding down.

It's been
just over 3 years
since you died
and I
have a few more things
to tell about,
to record and remember,
to help me
wrap things up.

I remember seeing you,
orange skinned
from liver failure,
entering the front door,
a slightly fatigued look
on your face,
and at that moment,
I had no idea
it would be
the last time
I saw you,
or that a few months
later
I'd move into the basement
of that house
for three weeks
to be close
to your son
and widow.

I made a lot
of phone calls,
did a lot of coordinating
support for your wife,
listened,
and listened
and listened,
and cried
and cried
and cried.

I arranged visits,
I kept some people
at bay,
I got people to
come up and play,
in the midst of it all,
play with me and Josh.

I found out how far
I could go,
how much I could take,
what I could do.

I went over that line
a few times
and I want to
tell about them
because it's good
to know about
your limits
and mostly people
only hear that in
a vague way
and mostly people
haven't been
out there themselves.

The first time,
I offered
to make some
phone calls
to family and friends
who might want to
say something
at the funeral,
and these were
probably the hardest
conversations I have
ever had.
I got off the phone
and burst into tears.

The next time
I remember,
a call came in
from a friend
of your wife's
and I took it.
More bad news:
the friend's husband
had died, only a few days
after you.
I had to take
your widow out to the porch
and give her that news,
and it broke my spirit
for a little bit
and I rushed out
and kayaked hard
for a while.

I told my dad,
who I never tell anything,
that that fall
was the most unhappy
time of my entire life.

I also tell people
that it was good
to find out
that I could put
my values
into action
and wasn't just talking
about integrity and courage.

Ever since those hard times
I've known myself
much more clearly.


-Jim DuBois
Sept 4, 2013