OBSCURING THE UNDERLYING FOCUS-
pleasing
inner
senses
stimulate
the
allegorical
previously
overlooked
with
alluded
wordy
motifs
in
nonsensical
imbroglio
of
notions
expressed
in
yearning
devouring
deliverance
of
messaged
parodies
onset of boredom signals we seek change
where the ‘we’ alluded to is ego
which maybe so yet it’s a feeling strange
to nurture cravings we thought we’d let go
but that is not the case as we now know
from the stillness fulcrum we witness this
retiring to heart where we’re drenched in bliss
He served as a catalyst
for my poetic mood
and experimental dimensions
in silent rendering,
with an itch for art forms
be it the appetite
the nectar of a poet
My endeavor to articulate excels
far beyond my perceived horizons
alas jump-starting my muses
heretofore dormant a bit,
stirring me to excavate
a font of ideas
and accelerate with eagerness
to burst forth
from mind onto page
unfurling with words
hidden beneath my tongue
that once alluded me,
I stitch the unsaid into form
before our intuitive tryst,
a better mentor I could not
have hoped for;
British, artist, wordsmith, & troubadour
of empirical and
nostalgic emphasis
With pleasure I dive deep
into linguistic lure,
definitions and display
composing in a harmonious dance
lyrics into wordplay
I breathe life into symbols
older than memory
If ever there was a lauded semantic
who rises like a sentient sign
in a moments demand
stark sensationalist,
quiet, yet quite quizzical
It’s Brian Strand
“I dream of a love that even time will lie down and be still for.”
~Alice Hoffman
The man I love is far away,
does he exist? I cannot say;
perhaps a hope, perhaps a fantasy~
perhaps a fevered dream’s cliche.
If a dream I will stay most happily
beyond the veil in chastity,
the nightmare is the world alluded,
where vaunted knights are garbed in travesty .
The doctors say I am deluded,
that thought processes are occluded
by parabolic stimulations,
and reality has been excluded.
Am I insane to prefer creations
when life is full of corrupt castrations?
The man I love is far away,
can he not see my heart’s pulsations?
Each day he came with a full smile and can-do attitude.
I knew he was homeless, but his other truths alluded me.
Each task I asked of him, whether involved or quick, was
another job he consistently gave his all. His education
was evident, his manners, perfect. Each payment I gave,
saw my money well spent.
One day in mid-fall, while raking leaves side by side,
a perfect moment of shared ease freed my questions.
With no hesitation, my curiosity sought its feed. I
learned he had no steadfast address, no clock or regrets
from any circumstance, but a fire to rise higher towards
bliss. He felt society not only easy, but necessary, to resist.
Smiling, he nodded towards my worn ring of heavy keys.
He shared that in his travels he had acquired three.
The first unlocked freedom designed to find key two
and three; a key to inner peace and the other to spiritual
increase. He spoke with resolute belief, “I know it’s hard
to conceive that any man owns intangible keys, much less
three, but just as your keys open possessions, mine align
by design to unlock bliss.”
Overwhelmed by his beliefs, all I did was mutely fondle my keys
Must we constantly ask ourselves,
" Can we live without being loved,
without being held and not feel cold? "
Have we become trees without leaves?
Without being loved is the scariest notion,
is it our fault for believing in the magic spark
that makes us weak and surrender to passion?
Aren't we afraid of deep silence and dark?
Don't be alluded by unrealistic fantasy,
it'll carry you away to dreamy worlds;
be bold enough to separate it from reality...
keep what has worth, never break promises!
Without being loved is the scariest notion,
no nights under sheets, no sweet whispers;
can we imagine sleeping alone for long hours?
Wouldn't loneliness deprive us of wild passion?
Darling, come closer to me, feel wanted and inspire;
draw near and far stars to us, their brightness is joy:
I am ready to kiss you and make you tremble with desire,
no night is more perfect than this one, it's pure harmony!
Appearing in the night, my dreams lucid in your grasp,
I wonder if you are really there;
Whilst pondering over the appearance of this brass clasp.
In its reflection I search for you, you are my air.
Please tell me it will be okay,
Where shall I go, you are all that I know
Please tell me you know the way,
Where shall I go, please take me home.
I see I love you in the word forever and a day,
Why does forever seem like a tailored bet.
Though the word forever has gone astray,
I miss your tailored vest on sundays rest.
It is something similar to 1960’s dance.
I guess it is something much like a trance.
The creator stepped back from the painting
realizing that he had shaped
something outrageously perfect.
Slowly he understood
that all else now would be
just a prelude or a footnote to this.
There would be no sequel.
His elation soon led to gloom.
What was he thinking, drinking, or smoking,
when perfection bloomed under his fingers?
He tried to replicate that magic moment,
but that inspired instant always alluded his grasp.
In the end, he let the canvas and the light
take the credit,
he was merely the hand that held the paintbrush,
but what held his hand?
After much meditation he dropped the brush.
From: Now That She's Alone
Story of a Man's Wanting
( the mention to play glissando
and to sing aria)
Do you know what to say
does it make you
wanna just walk away
seems it's clear to me
something more
obviously
maybe it's all in the song
those glaring melodies
something for ee
I swear it alluded me
Villainized by it's potential
scammed to be exploited
all in the attempt of bragging
such is easy for some
to ignore and
I sort feel
they wrote it like a song
maybe it's in the song
It's gotta be in the song
Stand dominates
it's all so complicated
sit down to see
the bright blue sky
the puffy pretty clouds
watch as they go by
when I stop my ponder
get my mind right
and understand
looking to my woman
reaching out to hold her hand
Keeping my lady Happy
Ya'll know I don't wanna be wrong
stop to read the lyric
Maybe it's in the song
Maybe it's in the song
Originally written in Italian
interputed into English)
He ate a Yankee Pastromi sandwich with
Russain dressing running down his cheeks.
Wordsworth wrote, in 'Splendor in the Grass,'
about the glory that can be found in the flower.
He alluded to a love that had long since passed,
like clock hands tick off each second and hour.
He was saddened when taken from his sight,
was the radiance of a great love he once knew.
His world had been filled with splendid light,
but then darkened in shades of gray and blue.
He wrote to tell readers they should not grieve,
for a love that has been lost or left behind.
But that poet's words I am unable to believe,
for I consider them callous, no truth do I find.
I wonder if Wordsworth had ever shed a tear,
or had his heart broken or hardened to stone.
Did he ever lose a love that he once held dear?
And in his hour of pitiable grief, did he cry alone?
Wordsworth may have been a bard, a poet grand,
but in his 'Splendor...' quote, he has clearly shown
the falsehood written with ink quill in his hand,
for I have grieved for lost loves... I have cried alone.
someone somewhere awakens
shares insights of wisdom realised
he addresses the mind of our soul
ego prefers data weighed and sized
canvas contorted, truth is distorted
what was alluded to remains unknown
lost in serpentine labyrinths of symbols
seeds of a nebulous religion are sown
if we’d know what does not come and go
in as the absolute truth transcendental
we need to tip toe into pure heart unshod
our eye nonjudgmental and touch gentle
Nocturnal clear skies secluded
Antique rose blizzards included
Winters Emerald black canvas alluded
That's all life's pyramids uprooted
8/19/22
Written by James Edward Lee Sr 2022
Natural clear skies secluded
Antique rose blizzard included
Emerald black canvas alluded
Zest for life pyramid uprooting
1/8/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2022
Nectar clear skies secluded
Antique rose blizzard included
Emeril black canvas alluded
Zest for life pyramid uprooted
11/17/21
Written by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
Finding the marks indented on a rock
Exciting curious thoughts and insight
To peep into the facts of concern erudite ,
Construe something that might pleasantly shock
Or add to the inept thrills , though fallible ,
The scholar persuaded, and deduced at last ,
That it alluded to a remote ,and glorious past
Despite the inscribed symbols being illegible
Much time, labour and resource was spent
To excavate and pick any stray object, hoary
Or in tattered form and in scattered state ;
Great surmise , concoction and undue fancy lent ,
Brought forth a fain , puffy, padded out story :
Yet nothing worth remains to claim it great .....!
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