On birth, the first thing on this earth ye did
Was ‘cry and breathe’, as every single day…
But had ye won her heart, cared for her need,
Would she be in a state so dire today?
Had ye truly pursued what ye profess—
That Mother Earth’s beholden to no man,
It’s he who is— her own son lacking grace,
She’d not be weary as is, weak and van.
She never was, nor is now in hurry,
Her nature ‘tis to do what needs be done,
Had ye shown even a wisp of worry,
She won’t have gone green to grey and barren.
If every day a true Earth Day had been,
Would ye find on your face such silly grin?
______________________________________
Sonnets |14.06.2023| earth, environment
Poet’s note: Every day that dawns, dawns thanks to Mother Earth rotating around her axis. Who’s this man allocating a single day in a year to her and pretending that he’s doing enough for her? If every day had been an earth Day, would Mother Earth be in such a mess? This sonnet takes a dig at man’s affront.
He was casting lots determining the will of God
And holy times in mid Eastern Bible times
Allocating lands, determining duties, assigning guilt
Select the individuals for responsibilities
Cleromancy
Cleromancy
He was casting lots, casting lots
Cleromancy
Is it modern day man's comfort in psychology
A materialistic dependency leading him to clemency
Or is it a form and fashion of idolatry
Cast out lots let's say so humble spirits where in heart buy into something dig up evil
this we must not negative modern day cleromancy casting lots?
5/19/08
Written words by Carmen Lee Brown Lee & James Edward Lee Sr © 2008-2022
i'm a scarecrow in a viridescent field
i observe ideas, yet can't exploit them to yield
unable to move, allocating inattention
i'm filled with concepts and hypothetical intentions
i watch as the dead grass falls from my arms
wildfires don't scare me, but crows trigger my alarm
the crows, they think they are worthy of maize
they live in the clouds, but don't see the haze
they're all the same and they're never afraid
so i watch the field, wishing it was ablaze
i'm a scarecrow in a viridescent field
it's pretty and fertile and sometimes i feel
a flower at my foot, but i realize it's a dream
'cause the air is poison and the crows always scream
i watch the rows form a complicated maze
i'm so lost and confused, but i've never even raised
a foot to walk; i've rarely ever moved
and now the crows are here, so again i'll lose
i see this mystifying place, through this expanding haze
it's pretty, but it would look better in flames
and so would i, 'cause then maybe i'd make
the crows afraid
finally afraid
A merry band to profer hope in the land
A lute, fiddle, drum to make brigandry grand
A staff, bow, arrow to strafe the noble strand
A sworn oath to lawful king; a sword to gentry's overbearing hand
A pruning staff to fleece corrupt shepherds, who saintly flock's fodder have panned
A bow and arrow to poach servile game from royal tableland
A fealty to nature's law; a license the privileged class to brand
A Kangaroo court dispensing arbitrary justice to tenured gentry in the lowland
A pauper's lease, tattered remnant to expand
A squatter's right, doled penury to remand
An opportunistic syndicate confiscating hoarded supplies to reduce growing demand
A marauding troop of mercenaries liberally sharing their contraband
A providential broker, allocating pilfered alms poverty to withstand
How does a mom feed her triplets?
By getting some kinda griplet
allocating teat to liplet...
….I guess. Seems the math
suggests that this path's
more suited to bats.