Blog Archives

Why I Don’t Know

8/26/2021

Why I Don’t Know

By JAMES GROB

Sometimes they ask me how I feel
And I tell them, I don’t know.

“Are you upset?” they will ask.
I don’t know.

“Does it break your heart?”
“Do you need a shoulder to cry on?”

I don’t know.

“Are you angry?”
“Are you mad?”
“It’s OK to cry,” they’ll say,
“If something makes you sad.”

I know.

“So are you going to cry?”
“Is there something we can do?”
“We understand why you feel that way
“After all that you’ve been through.”

I don’t know, I say
I just don’t know.

And I’m sorry to disappoint them.

It’s not that I don’t want to tell them.
It isn’t that I don’t want their help.
It’s not that I don’t trust them.

It’s not that I’m a fool
Or that I’m being smart
Or arrogant
Or too clever
Or hiding my feelings.

It’s not that I don’t love them.

It’s just that there are some emotions
That there aren’t words for yet.

There are feelings that have never been named.

Is it breaking your heart?
Is it breaking
Your heart?
Is it?

yes, I finally whisper

yes

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Footsteps

8/11/2021

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Footsteps

By JAMES GROB

Sometimes I hear footsteps
After we make love
As my fingers softly slide down your leg
Or caress your cheek
Or comb through your hair.
Sometimes I hear footsteps and
I know it is you and
It is me
And it us our past catching up with us.

Sometimes I hear gallops
After we make love
As I gaze into those eyes that somehow
Are the color of warm ice.
I hear gallops as we taste each other’s breath
And bathe in the light of our smiles and
I know it is you and
It is me
And it is our future riding back to rescue us.

Sometimes I hear tiptoes
After we make love
As you whisper words like “everything”
And I sigh phrases which feature sounds of “always”
And “forever.”
Sometimes I hear tiptoes and
I know it is you and
It is me and
It is now, a living dream
And we walk softly so not to wake us.

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August 10th, 2021

8/10/2021

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The Charles City experience, through the eyes of a stranger

8/10/2021

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Charles City Press, 8-10-21

When my oldest daughter visited from San Francisco last month to treat me with her presence for a few days, I decided to give her the Charles City experience.

She’s an avid tennis player, or at least she was avid at one time. She’s 31 years old now, and so she doesn’t play as often as she used to, but she still plays and still loves the game. So I thought I’d take her to the amazing grass courts out at All Iowa Lawn Tennis Club.

If you’ve never been there, you should drop by. We were fortunate enough to do so on a day when they were having a big tournament — kids from Iowa were playing against kids from Nebraska. It was a joy to watch. She was impressed. Mark Kuhn himself — the creator of the court — took a liking to her, talked her ear off and even showed her some tennis artifacts he had accumulated over the years.

As we drove off later, my daughter said that Mark “might be the nicest person” she had ever met in her life. I told her that most people who have met Mark probably wouldn’t argue much with that statement. He’s certainly in my top five, at least.

Just down the road from there, we made a stop at Carrie Lane Chapman Catt Girlhood Home and Museum and we were graciously given a tour. My daughter is an advocate for equality, and was fascinated to learn about one of the places where equality advocacy started. Not in San Francisco, not in New York City, not in Chicago or London or Paris — right here in Charles City.

She learned a lot. I learned a lot. My wife took a photo of the two of us next to the barn, which had a sign on it that said “Barn.” I’m guessing they put the sign there to identify the building just in case some big city tourist stopped by and didn’t know what he was supposed to call that big red structure.

She went with me that evening to meet the mural artists, who were in the process of turning a couple brick walls downtown into giant, colorful mosaics that are simply beautiful. The artists were wonderful to talk with, although one of them was kind of a smart-mouth, but when you’re an artist like that, you’re maybe expected to be that way. He made me laugh. I enjoyed the moment, and the finished work is top-of-the-line, in my opinion.

Lunch the next day, I took her for a pork tenderloin at Comet Bowl. That, also, is a work of art — in the culinary sense. And that’s something you just can’t get in San Francisco.

And it occurred to me that we do OK, here in Charles City. We have plenty of things that aren’t available anywhere else. If I started to make a list, I wouldn’t be done until I filled this page.

No, we don’t have the Golden Gate Bridge, but we have a brand new Charley Western Trail Bridge, as well as a beautiful suspension bridge. I’ve been to the Golden Gate. It truly is a marvel and a sight to behold, but our little bridges are just fine.

When my youngest daughter visited last year, she got a taste of the Chuck Town Brown and some other varieties at Saint Charles Brewery — now Tellurian Brewing. I know there are hundreds of micro-breweries in Iowa, and they all have some pretty good flavors, but as my daughter said, “I think they’ve got something good here.”

I couldn’t help but agree. This is unique, this Charles City experience.

And when some old friends of mine brought their kayaks to Charles City last year and rafted the whitewater rapids of the Cedar, they told me they had a great time, doing something they couldn’t do anywhere else in Iowa. “It’s wonderful that Charles City is so close,” they told me.

And I realize that I’m often as guilty as anyone else is — guilty of complaining about things in Charles City, how some things could be better, how some things can’t get any worse, about how some things are backwards and some things are dated and some things are just plain dumb.

Contrary to popular belief, being a complainer isn’t necessarily a bad thing. We need complainers. Their complaints are the first step toward making things better.

Before we complain, though, let’s take a walk across the new bridge. Let’s have a sip at the brewery. Let’s check out the artwork, in public around town, or down at the local arts center, or even at the public library. Let’s watch the children play and listen to them sing. Let’s just take a breath.

Someone built that, someone started that — and it’s here for us to enjoy — right here before our eyes, in Charles City.

This is unique, this Charles City experience. I think we’ve got something good here.

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And part two of the Saturday Night Poetry Jam

8/7/2021

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And part two of the Saturday night poetry jam, this one’s an oldie, too, and more fun ... about a puppy-dog who I once knew …

LITTLE MISS EVA
By James Grob

Little Miss Eva was a tiny pup
Smallest of the small
She could fit into a coffee cup
If she rolled into a ball
Miss Eva's pillow was a soft, cool lump
And always on the chair
She'd jump and jump and jump and jump
And couldn't get up there
But she'd jump and jump and jump again
Until she finally got it right
She would lay upon the pillow then
And sleep all through the night.

Little Miss Eva had the brownest eyes
And softest, white curled hair
Her tail was one of smaller size
But wagged a lot back there
Miss Eva liked to run around
And chase her doggy toys
Her favorite was a little clown
Who made a squeaky noise
She liked to hold it in her mouth
And shake it up and down
Then shake it north and shake it south
Then shake it all around.

Little Miss Eva would get quite upset
When the mailman came each day
You wouldn't think such a tiny pet
Would try to chase someone away
But Miss Eva snarled and growled and barked
And howled a little, too
Whenever she saw a mail truck parked
On her avenue
She'd peek at him through the little slot
Where he slid the letters in
And warned him that he'd better not
Come back to her house again.

Little Miss Eva liked to run a lot
Around the coffee table
She would make circles all around the spot
As fast as she was able
Faster and faster and faster she'd run
Around and round and round
Miss Eva thought it was so much fun
Her feet barely touched the ground
Until finally she would get tired, then
She would lay down on the floor
But when she caught her breath again
She would run around some more.

Little Miss Eva's favorite thing to do
Was to snuggle on the bed
With any snuggly person who
Would rub her little head
Miss Eva also liked it when
Someone gave her something yummy
Or scratched behind her ears and then
Tickled her little tummy
Miss Eva was a tiny pet
The smallest of the small
But among the dogs that I have met
She was happiest of them all.

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The return of the Saturday Night Poetry Jam

8/7/2021

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Bringing back the Saturday Night Poetry Jam on IowaScribe for tonight ... this one's an oldie about insomnia ... enjoy ...

Bed Time

By JAMES GROB

Eyes closed.
Affection fraction
Pain reaction
Soul without
Soul.

Eyes shielding light,
Darkness
Mind’s
Only friend.

Eyes open.
Nothing to
See
Nothing to
Hold
Nothing to
Hide …
With sleep.

Eyes move.
Rapidly.
Bad dreams
Silent screams
Waking
Alone.

Eyes water.
No one’s
Lonely
Until
Some one’s
Gone.

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