In the vaults of my mind is fog,
that grey speckled layer I scan,
vague vision a frustrating blur,
six sided ice crystal baleful,
a hindrance to glowing recall,
aerosol dangle, ground floater,
me beggar of radiant sun,
to banish that cloudy chaos
Upon the brick, a spray of neon hue,
Where painted wings awake and start to fly,
Graffiti of butterflies starts to brew,
And lifts the heavy concrete to the sky.
The rusty fire flights dissolve in the air,
As swallowtails of crimson softly gleam,
The alley morphs into a vibrant snare,
A lucid, wild, and rainbowy dream.
The asphalt melts beneath their phantom breeze,
While caterpillars whisper through the wall,
And urban shadows bend upon their knees,
To watch the urban architecture fall.
This aerosol illusion takes its flight,
And turns the dullest grey to starry light.
Boxcar graffiti travels from town to town
It's the eye candy of someone handy, sown
In the sunshine or the rain
It travels on on the train
To all passersby it is known
Nothing short of a museum display
Nothing short of a Fairey
The colors dance
The colors romance
For all who have come out today
We've see your art in different ways
I heeded the message that it portrays
Not to be out done
It's etched for everyone
I've got my lawn chair out to save my place
When I hear that whistle blow
I look outside my window
There for me to see
The glamorous artistry
It's time to start the show
So when it comes into view
It is time to imbue
Winter, Spring, Summer or Fall
Palate, paint pen or aerosol
A boxcar reserved for me and you
Then the eerie sound sight
Of a train whistle at night
Gets my mind rolling
Memories start patrolling
I'll live forever in my minds flight
Delicious winds blew questions
out of my contemplating hands.
I saw pieces, cloud caught,
sink inside soft, puffy mounds.
Without a why, I cried on
hard but receptive land.
What I sensed my faith knew,
I would never understand.
When feeling partly cloudy
my attitude loses melody.
Opaqueness gathers aerosol
particles of confusion.
Moods must self-forage while
ponderings wander to confer
with logic's billowing haze.
This is ever the system when
intuition shush-whispers truth.
Images
The images in
my mind of
verbs mating with pronouns are
sometimes broadcast on
TV. On TV: me sucking out and
not praising aerosol cans to
make a less money for
the unnamed company. The pressurised cans are
bronze, the
substance released in
a fine spray are:
advantageous states or
positions and
points earned following
deuce furthering causes. My too lewd comments of
their intercourse are
sometimes broadcast on
KG751 FM to
high ratings.
Oh, blue, blue sky that used to be,
Before those grey lines bled,
Has evil now taken over the World,
Are all the good men dead?
Owed to a Grecian Formula,
Though secretive and unbetrayed,
Scarce noticed, by gradations wane:
Auld sylvan strands, fine argent grey.
Rich chestnut hues, slow, unannounced,
Emerge discreet midst ashen roots,
As grizzled mantle transforms brown,
Like autumn leaves or wooded shoots.
And though ’tis pittance sacrificed
To dab small bits at break of day,
Alas, amended means, I yearn:
An aerosol, fine misting spray.
’Tis sweet to subtle reclaim youth,
To push back time, to mount attack.
A caution raised to those who dare:
Embrace thy choosing, glimpse not back.
Kiss me flower what time buoyant so scent
Caress me evergreen tree that needle spent
Oh swallow me valley of distant streams
Cover me aerosol now breeze surround me
And all that's left is mine tasteless breath
For God is Grand creator kissed my lungs
His breath in me He breathes a life in my lungs
He blew his winds his wind inside of me
Now so I am now this living creature
A product of His awe perfect nature
1/14/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2022
Blatant ignorance is blissfully putrid
Like a decaying rodent inside a wall with maggots spewing out of a crack perfectly placed directly next to the cash register at Godfathers Pizza lol
Excessively happy spraying an aerosol can of bug spray into a tiny place where you’ve wanted to live for far too long
While shoving change back into smiling customers hands
Showing up thirty minutes early to your shift to roll a blunt, but only to call in 25 minutes later and explain why you’re going to be a little bit late
My life has been toxic since the day I smelled my death at the age of 15
I'm sure that's where I came to terms with my mortality
More like the stage of awkward boners and f*cking teen spirit
Rain splash lashing,
droplet aerosol crisp whiff.
Washed spray is distilled.
Nothing
Like, lollygagging by a waterfall
Watching the clouds deliver
A daytime, honey drizzler
Falling in wet, misty, aerosol
Rain
Invigorates
Me
Yea
Enamored
As the heavens open wider
The afternoon sky takes a gander
Showcasing, a freshwater
Sun shower, water whisper
There are so many people pleading cases.
I am sure these facts speak for themselves
When I say there are very few places
Where man hasn't built bridges with strong
Braces
For man is one of the greediest races.
There are pilots who are known as aces.
They know where there are secret spaces
Where you will see only animal faces.
Huge cats that can walk with out leaving
Any traces.
Colorful birds in all stages
Who try to escape man's cages.
There are also lists of insects and spiders
That man wants to put in to book pages.
I believe through artists who have special
Brush stroke graces
They can show us the beauty of our rain
Forest on canvas or vases.
Our children would have the benefit of
Seeing the beauty of the lands
That would of been destroyed by the hands
Of only man....
Who felt everything from rain to what ever
Should be put in an aerosol can.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY JOYCE
Born before the hair dryer
And even before hearing aids
Frozen foods and television
Pop-up toasters and aerosol sprays
Jet engines, folding wheel chairs
Scotch tape to stick things down
No parking meters, electric blankets
These items were not around
But God in His infinite wisdom
Knew what the world would need
A great poet named Joyce Johnson
To write poems for folks to read
She acknowledges God in her poetry
Her poems have become her voice
Happy Birthday to you my dear
We truly love you Joyce
12 April 2018
Now here's something I've never thought of before
How'd they get the air in those aerosol cans I implore
A major phenomenon
Need help from dear mom
Mom knows everything, she's smart to the core
The flash of fear I feel
at passing darkened windows
or dim-lit mirrors comes
when I observe, reflected,
a stranger in my clothes
(or skin) and think:
is this the me
that other people see?
This ghostly image
that I know cannot be me?
Though its actions correspond
to those I take
in shaving, bathing,
wielding cans of aerosol,
surely I would recognize
this jaded, aging,
desensitized distraction
that the world
mistakes
for me.
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