Two Poems Jay Jacobs

Two Poems by Jay Jacobs

As In A Dream

First there is nothing. With dawning awareness comes a slow awakening . . . Perception . . . comprehension. A gathering of clouds in the above, the turbulent ocean below tossing spray and whitecaps. Sky-born tendrils of heavy mist descend, crackling and sparking with electricity. Spontaneously igniting, the sea conceives and gives birth. A wave of consciousness, the offspring of heaven and ocean, comes into being. Arising, with self-awareness, the inconceivably vast tonnage of water purposefully surges forward, exulting in the moment. In sheer, jubilant, utter joy, flowing, spilling, barrel-rolling over itself, gathering speed with pinball momentum, The Grand Kahuna of wavedom irresistibly sweeps all aside. As in a dream, the monster swell knows itself. Ecstatic with its existence, it thinks: I see, I feel, I hear, I know, I am. There is nothing like me in all creation! I am the one and the only, I am great and terrible. I pitch and roll with inexorable power. I am the wave of consciousness and I live! One last surge, cresting, highest yet, to touch my brother the clouds, then falling back elated, crashing into myself, spray everywhere, sizzling droplets and mist. Calming, calm, to sleep again in tranquility. Borne on the wind, or perhaps the very wind itself, a sigh of joy overflowing with gratitude, growing faint, diminishing . . . Through the curtains, morning light.

Observations of a Common Man

It is an uneasy truce between the man I’ve become and the man I used to be. I sit in the barber chair and look at the face that stares back at me, at once familiar and a stranger. The mirrors seem to reflect all the images of similar barbershops and similar mes going back through time, progression-like. I think of things I own, most not of the highest quality. Somehow, I draw a parallel there with my own life; a bit of integrity sold here, a tad of honesty there . . . The tarnish on top of I’m not sure what.

II We sit, my wife and I in a restaurant, The term restaurant really not appropriate. One step perhaps beyond fast food. It is our wedding anniversary. The walls and shelves are festooned with memorabilia from the 50’s. Most are not much better than the leftovers found in attics or garage sales. The food comes and it is no better than the decor-bland, but not completely tasteless; neither hot nor cold; warm and somewhat common. The table has a linen tablecloth, but it is hidden beneath a paper one. Crayons are in a cup on the white paper over tablecloth. This is not a sordid or dirty place, only a non-memorable one, for all the memorabilia. Paying the check, we leave.