An old hockey stick
Cut off the broken bottom
Tennis ball affixed
A first grader said
“Looks like a thing-a-ma-jig
What do you call it?”
"Black mark remover
Is the name it’s been given"
"That is a cool name"
(You, custodians
Know exactly what it is
And what it is for)
One doesn’t stand on the Bongo
With roller affixed to the floor,
But sway as a reed in the wind
Or risk finding oneself thrown o’er.
A lesson from this childhood game:
Our center is found only with change.
The path to an equilib life
Is balancing our yin and our yang.
A friend told me
over a cup of joe
that the devil quakes in Prada,
barring the gates of hell
from the one who now hunts
beyond the mortal plane.
I chuckled, asking
“If that were the case,
wouldn't the sky be a constant
affixed with blinding cracks
electrifying both day and night?”
He simply shook his head, grinning.
Then the flash of a screen drew attention
to images of Death shell-shocked,
huddling in a hospital bed, quaking
with agonized fervor as if
he saw Death himself and lived.
It was then I knew
he was speaking the truth
as the sky crackled above
with bolts clashing
like steeled fists,
reunited at last.
Noise, like all unwanted things
Annoyment brings.
Though stripped of what, invasive
Is trappable.
And while affixed to, wingless
A blowiness
Upruffles that pool, kept for thought
Calmly stable.
There's an echo in the crackling of the fireplace
Evanescent sparks scatter the room
I sit with biding eyes affixed to the flame
There's a coldness still
that penetrates the air and fills my lungs
I choke on it, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth
No words come out my belly ablaze
Just a quiet shiver between rattling teeth
I cling to the warmth of a coffee mug
gifted to me by my mother
Her words still afresh in my wandering mind
"Quit picking your wounds if you want them to heal"
But my hands are anxious and I needed something to feel
The sun peaks through my window pane
Slowly rising to give her kiss
As if to ease my pain
Their smiles beamed, for they dreamed together,
sharing Barbies, goodies, and even hands.
Aware of my aloneness, it seemed I wasn't there;
even Brown Bear didn't understand.
Staring into a disquieted mind, I sulked my secluded self.
Translucent tears stained my face a pale gray,
as bleak as rain clouds, blocking sun's reach.
Furrowed brows, droopy cheeks, and thin lips
transformed me into a monsterous beast.
Is this hideous, shunned image who I am?
Affixed friends would glow and float into true beauty
like sun painting the beach.
Their smiles were like whispy horizons, eyes glazed like sand granules, feet gliding like waves to the shore.
Are the pretty girls worth so much more?
3-6-2025
My God, it’s filled of stars.
That twinkle and shine with each luminescent bulb affixed to their body
With their blue and white moon-glazed skin that contracts the inky nothingness that follows
It’s filled with little people,
Or whatever they are, specks, molecules, aliens,
feelings.
Floating on their own journey though this world. Aggravated at earth
for her inhabitants attacking a helpless woman, and
Leaving her to the wolves of the universe.
Its filled with celestial connect-the-dots,
Where they wait, impatiently, for dreamers to trace their meaning
And make sense of dots on a page.
Its filled with us
In our little designated corner of the room
And our laughter that radiates across the atmosphere.
Being heard from many rooms and up stairs and out the front door
of her home.
I am 6
Formulated/Factual Form 0+1+2+1+1+9+5+5=24(2+4) = 6
Strengths: “, I am 6, we who are sixes like to comfort others,” denoted.
, I am 6 , “I like to we uplift, share, and give advice, and they adore family. They’re I am very honorable, and they make great friends.” Sixes are poised, nurturing, unselfish, artistic, romantic, devoted, and sensible. “They came here to be the parent, the provider, the nurturer, the organizer,” noted. “They, I am here to be of service.” , I am 6, sixes are, above all, focused on the experience of lovenumeri logically affixed I am 6,
Challenges: “Out of alignment, can be a perfectionistic, may be very critical, idealistic to a fault, and self-righteous,” “May meddle in other people’s business, may constantly counsel others and giving unsolicited advice.” Sixes may also be marked by indulgence and self-absorption.
, I am 6 , “I like to uplift”
8/6/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2024©
Help me dear Lord, when I'm transfixed,
when something else - I am affixed.
Snap off, tear down, that sinful thing,
that in your house, I dwell within.
Help me when I am cast astray,
made easy to this worldly prey.
Wear Christ's armour, and bare his skin,
that in your house, I dwell within.
When hardened hearts, do stop and stare,
I turn to you in gracious prayer.
Be my help, my strength, my brethren,
that in your house, I dwell within.
So cleanse my thoughts and cleanse my heart,
and make each day a brand new start.
So that each moment, I begin,
that in your house, I dwell within.
03.15.2023
It's not a dessert-worthy treat
But something disgusting to eat
If not rightly mixed
Pin-rolled and affixed
Your pie crust will taste like concrete
.
In all uv lights
save
The Moon's
her cinnamon tresses
the longest halo
mine ever
known
Hern pretty lays
'Gainst the stone
affixed it's cold
hern gem
glisters
Her mitt's painted digits
claw
Feet lift
the nymph's
torso tall
Visage flat
the castle's wall
her
hot
breath
crystalline
her wink
(((Click)))
To the one who sat here so very long ago
Rooted, I daresay, with so many things to sow
Your needlework is etched upon the faded fabric
Where the story you convey, is interwoven magic
Between the struts and arched divide
Your back you laid, with a family by your side
Each picture on this chair depicts a child you had
And a smiling husband that made you feel so glad
As years move on and life succumbs to change
No longer babes, they're all grown up and in the adult stage
When ceased your work and time you have
To craft upon the chair, those pictures sewn with love
Baby's boots upon the pins, a granny you'll be soon
A time to dress those tiny feet, count toes and really croon
But happiness and loss will at times go hand in hand
Those tears of joy are certain to make the grief disband
You sit and stitch upon this chair, your work so fair and neat
Now the story on this fabric is ended and complete
I wonder at this chair I bought, to see myself sit there
Content with thread and needle, affixed to this old chair
A man called Jesus, worked and taught hated for no
Reason, gives me thought? Betrayed by those He was
To save, the men of cloth spat in his face, He was tortured killed and placed in a rich mans grave.'
A squad of roman soldiers made, security sure
That Truth be known to me and you' with temple guards
And a seal affixed, once the stone was rolled, to halt
Any tricks, despite their measures The Lord arose upon
The third He placed His old clothes; neatly folded the job
Was done, the dead awoke to walk, and the gaurds did run
He met His followers, He taught anew; such messages
Have travelled over many a pew, He's calling still He builds
In grace, indeed, no' He was not of the cloth.' Yet He owns
This place.'
I swear, I don't know,
Nor do I care what this is,
But I like it,
And feel it,
Body and soul;
Though hard to define,
Boy, it feels divine!
Could it be
The gentle squeeze
Of your hand?
The way you run it
Through my skin?
The enveloping warmth
Of your smile? Or is it
The twinkling stars
In your ebony eyes?
Whatever it is
That you do,
And the way
You do it to me,
Inexplicable!
Did I mention it all feels divine?
With each touch,
You implant
A joyous song
That keeps on repeating
In my heart,
And everything broken
Within me is magically affixed
Once again.
We all collect something
it is natural to collect
the greater one's purse
the more varied and
abundant his verse. So~
even divine poets literally
not immune
a puddle, a shallow indentation
gathers
a sea, a basin of immense fill
greater renown – we all collect something
drips and drops, torrents of collecting!
Everywhere bloating affections abound –
stamps, vehicles, baubles of glitter~lightning
to wear and flash around
God and the Devil
competing for souls
everything collects something
even collections seeming magnets
for thieves
and dust
pitting and rust
polishing of sorts
affixed to all our lust
we all collect
stuffing our hearts full
until finite hearts bust
the final verse
a new universe
free from collection
my hope
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