Long ere the smoking pyre the soul has left,
A rain of starlight seeking heavy clay,
To sail the cosmic stream with newborn craft,
‘Pon washing mundane memories away.
Haply ensconced within a narrow room,
It keeps vigil in vault of pulse and blood,
A mere witness as if within a womb,
Inured to rushing of a crimson flood.
The phantom seal begins to stir and wake,
The sleeping seeds of old desires bloom,
A brand new mask the ancient ghost will take,
To walk the stage of cradle, birth, and tomb.
The infant cries, forgetting all the past,
Yet bound by chains it forged when living last.
________________________________
Spiritual | 02.10.2007, revised Sept 2026| birth, life, memories, soul, Sonnet
I knew you would come back
because you were always there.
My mind begins to wonder;
seeing you made me stare.
The beauty you have is
a display edition; it needs no light.
It illuminates the room
with perfection in the darkest of night.
It strikes the chord for deep love,
sending out perfect harmony.
The beauty you have shown me
made me accept my insecurities.
When I reach back at the memory
of when our love was great,
it makes me thankful for the moment
when I held your warm embrace.
A rightful return.
I have a right. Turn
Turn
Going right hand in hand with God.
I'd return to All-father.
He carries me up out and far
I rightfully submit. I'm not rejected
Gor I am embraced. Lifted up and protected
Graced, forgiven and blessed
Yahweh is my rightful return.
8/25/26
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2026
On the stickers written in black and white
Are our last names on the return address.
It’s been almost a year since we took flight,
When the ocean sprung us from the egress.
We were once so close, now so far apart,
Finding ourselves stuck in separate nests.
The courses we had never planned to chart,
To find a life that we thought was best.
I fly across the sky in search of you.
Hoping I will come to rest where you lay,
To seek the blessed love that we once knew.
If I were to reach you, I would never stray.
Like Lovebirds who stake their devoted claim,
Their tender lodge be writ one and the same.
The token coin,
that's been
collecting
dust
since the
Jukebox died.
The ever fading
smiles,
from laughter
at genuine clowns.
The ashen burial sites
echoing today
still alive
in a child's eyes.
A return to innocence,
simpler, protective
days.
Will forever
have relevance
in eyes faded out.
If only we never
forget
how to breathe in
without
disappearing
like a black hat
magic trick.
—The Geography of Tears—
I know not where thou art, nor whence thy breath
re-enters me—yet when thy name is spoken,
my guarded blood, that had outworn its death,
breaks rank, and bears thee through the sluice unbroken;
whilst all the world proceeds, and engines grind,
some secret firmament within me alters,
and tears, more treacherous than the mind,
unseal the place where distance fails and falters;
I seek thee not in roads, nor years that flee,
but where remembrance, stripped of its disguise,
becomes a country having none but thee,
whose borders vanish inward through my eyes—
for absence loses all jurisdiction there,
and thou arrivest where my tears declare.
When it was,
That none did work for money
And not one would work for fame,
And the work was done for joy,
With each and everyone,
In each their separate ways,
Possessed by honest eyes
That would and could and did,
Draw the thing's, as they themselves
Knew the things to be.
Truly, had this happened,
Or so it seems to me
Not so long ago,
In our far flung histories.
It was when all the art and all the war
Was done, for all the good of folk and tribe,
Just as it is and was, and will forever be,
In each
And every
Child.
Today is a beyond a special day
Today something inside me turned
The fog in my mind has vanished
Like waking from perfect night sleep
God has injected me energy so dense and deep
An ocean of clean clear energy not seen in years
I’ve begged my God for this for years
I’ve wept and drank self-harmed to cope
Today God returned clarity back to me
My turn, my time, my life, on His timetable
Those around me have heeded this miracle I speak
Finally, I knife through my thoughts like cutting sushi
With my mind back I can barely hold back
I must lavish today and pass God's gifts to another
When Fragile Blossoms Fall,
Gentle winds stir the leaves and summer calls
Now, when morning dew settles on the lawn.
We meet again, when fragile blossoms fall,
From this; a promise of a future drawn.
On your return, hope in new seasons cast
When the blackbird’s song breaks the silent dawn
And the long winter of your absence passed,
From your loss, this new summer’s promise born.
If your stay be shorter than a winter’s day,
And the slow passing hours no comfort give,
Leave, let me in memory’s cavern’s stay
And forlorn hope in deep labyrinths live.
Stay; let old fading memory depart,
Let bright hope then in future seasons start.
Barry Stebbings
July 2026
For some reason, the distant scenes have drawn nearer,
whilst the foreground has begun to drift into view in fragments
of even larger images
Appearing and disappearing
Perspectives rush past
At arm’s length
I cross horizons like a zebra crossing
On the streets I see my reflection
In the windows of houses that stand
Three thousand miles from where I am
I can hear Bartók’s First Violin Concerto
Which the last time I listened last summer
I’ve no explanations of what’s happening
A vast world
Is showering me with a flood of unanswered requests
I stand beneath an invisible avalanche
Requests, requests, requests, and each one
Has a ‘return to sender’ stamp
My sense of perspective is gradually returning
I see a row of houses, somehow familiar to me
Rows of green recycling bins
Standing in the bright sunshine, on that street
Where I never quite managed to take a walk.
Even when we're
far apart,
You're always
right here in
my heart.
lasting peace in middle east….
with the return of jewish messiah
Love returned after all this time, he lifted me up with his words and smiles.
My love kissed me and woke me up, making me see brighter and beautiful lights.
I love you my love, and my heart beats for you, like the pulse of the universes, I glow with your love.
My love and I held hands, making all of our love felt within, we felt so happy we smiled and laughed, making us feel like bright lights in the sky, like the stars shining above our love shines for all time.
My love kissed me and woke me up, making me see brighter and beautiful lights.
His kiss woke me from a long sleep, now I remember all of our love that runs so deep.
Love you my love, all around the universe.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always.
My left sock filed taxes on a Tuesday frog,
while a cabbage sang opera to a confused log.
The moon ate a stapler with mustard delight,
then borrowed a canoe from the darkness of light.
I purchased a banana for seventeen clouds,
but the receipt was allergic to yodeling crowds.
A rhinoceros teacup performed ballet cheese,
and a watermelon sneezed in seven languages.
My toaster proposed to a decorative brick,
their wedding was speedy, suspiciously quick.
The minister hamster wore cinnamon pants,
while unicycling ferrets performed tribal dances.
At midnight a turnip became Vice President,
its policies largely were soup-oriented.
It promised free waffles for every raccoon,
and declared every Thursday a ceremonial spoon.
The end is approaching, or maybe a chair.
A penguin just shampooed the national air.
I leave you this wisdom, profound as a sock:
If potatoes can whisper,
then gravy can rock.
Fin.
Or asparagus.
If a hero or heoine, is not dead already
They will be in its early stages..
For this world, will not accept,
Divergence? Nor any up-setting of dark
Powers.' So we prepare un'thinking the
Course's of doubt, the battlefield on which
They'll not yeild, then bewail their passing
And kill some flowers, to lay down, upon their
Battered sheilds, we'll grow as the grass's
Then be thrown in the flames, as torn from
Our grasp; removed will be all our gains, its the cycle
We know? Its the reality? That we trust.' Yet
It will not be the eternity, for that is most just.'
Paring away, ill-conception and all allure, for
We all must give account of that be most sure. I
Have no righteous deeds i'll own..Only the
Blood of Jesus 'may it be shown?' all else is
Vanity..All else has passed, The true Hero He is coming..' Be aware that His trumpets
Will event-ually; blast.!
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