I speak to the skylights
of your tender soul
in formless forms
in eccentric accents
aching in aloneness...
when tragedies of footprints
remain a sculptured secret ~
like an untitled nightfall
dressed in denied definitions
avoiding the touch
of perception
for mindfulness mirrors
memories I hoard
within titanium trays
of masked melancholy…
but I long for you to wear
chronicles carved within
my cold conscience ~
a universe layered
with moulded memoirs
tell me how it feels
to be a beautiful burden
to the jinxed jewels
feasting upon
scrutinized skin of silence
skeletons of psyche ~
too complex
for concave light...
let me stay ~ stretched
in the still solitary sketch
of surrealism ...
I am not a vision
of gold and glitter
that wicked weavers
can materialize
but an unnamed sight ~
a breathing mystery
the eyes of unfelt dusk
fail to stroll through…
intoxicated on pain
~ an ecstasy etched through angst ~
to never be tamed
to never be told
We're anthropomorphic beetles on a vine,
dear, unorthodoxical friend of mine.
Into the indigo sky we'll climb,
where the water's warm, my only one,
and we'll shed our skins and have some fun,
as we go a'swimming in the sun.
Tonight, I'll pluck three strings and croon -
so won't you meet me very soon
to go birdwatching on the moon?
The day the hour,
The meat the shower,
Show no oscillating octopus to an octagonal obelisk and eat a Greek tortilla upside down in a second. It is wiser to tread lightly in a miller’s abode. Round and round the turrets go those turtles so mind your footing for shells can be slippery really.
When shopping for an Aberdeen Angus bull it is wise to carry an umbrella as showers can occur from any lengths of tail thus rendering talismans useless and a fruit fly would remark that a plate of steamed rice is simply not that exciting really so now after all that information you can leapfrog over the dandelions wearing a cotton pair of anglers waders and a fish hat with or without fins.
X anthropomorphic creatures X
("Creation Myth - Anthropomorphic Nebula Merit Badge” #65, 2016, original oil)
Rumors of War
War, war, rumors of war,
Whispered on the winds
Screamed from the rooftops.
Who does it benefit,
What is it good for?
I can tell you this as someone
Who has known it in a million lifetimes
Hand to hand, across trenches,
Behind ramparts and within
Tanks and Hellfire missiles,
It’s not the soldiers, or generals
Nor even their countries
Who ever come out on top.
It is simply humanity
Willing to sacrifice one band for another
So the germ can spread,
Steeled in conflict, hardened by fire
Purified in the sacrifice
Like a virgin on the crest
Of a mighty pyramid.
And when it comes to us
Where will we be?
Cheering in the crowd
Or running for the hills,
Or perhaps hiding in the sewers
Laying low
Waiting for the perfect shot.
(11/27/24)
Written: December 28, 2023
Beneath the shades
of velvet shadows
swarms of amber
luminance of daylight
and elusive flits
of faerie embers.
Veiled in jeweled which
rhymed with
Calyx elixir tints
of moonlit hues,
wings of light fractals
of burnished baubles.
Serendipitous breeze
scribbling rimes
of a runic serenade
in glints of jades
and emeralds.
wisps of wood smoke
soft mists of
Myrrh and Frankincense
fragrance of
Amyris and Bergamot.
Life has been beckoned.
by the sun messenger.
In that aurifying light,
crisscrossing balmily
and all at once.
With your shifting cloak,
snail
silver tree,
life is futile
& vain as smoke.
with your beshrews roads
case of curiosity
devoted to
the art of taxidermy,
decorative, restorative
and anthropomorphic.
A canorous dream,
capacious
mellifluous
Hurry past me!
Cassius Marcellus Coolridge
'twixt canines& art made a bridge
With caricature so comique
he personalised the anthropomorphic
Anthropomorphic in nature, I stand
The last of the letters, the final brand
My sharp edges, my zigzag form
Distinctive and unique, a letter born
I am not like A, B, or C
I am not as common, as you can see
I am a letter of surprise
A letter that makes you realize
I am the sound of a buzzing bee
The zip of a zipper, wild and free
I am the end of the alphabet
The letter you can never forget
I stand tall with pride, and I shout
I am the letter Z, no doubt
I may be the last, but I am not least
I am the letter that never ceases to feast
Feast on words, and sounds, and songs
A letter that belongs
In every language, every tongue
A letter that's forever young
Anthropomorphic in nature, I may be
But I am more than just a letter, you see
I am the final stroke of a pen
The last word, the end.
:: 02.23.2023 ::
The miller’s third son was disappointed to inherit a mere alley cat.
He did not realize the trickery and deceit under this creature’s hat.
Puss in Boots could outmaneuver committees, clubs, king and queen.
This anthropomorphic genius was the best present the son had ever seen.
The princess’s hand in marriage was easily given after this wise cagey cat.
Pulled a trick on the king and his coach, that was healthy, tricky and phat.
The Marquis of Carabas’ clothes were stolen, he told the royals that day.
The miller’s third son was amazed when the princess whisked him away.
“Only in his hometown and in his own household is a prophet without honor.” Matthew 13:57
Sometimes, when I go shopping, I meet a strange woman.
Barefoot,
dressed only in a garland of dried flowers and an old sheet stained with bird droppings,
with last year’s nest on the head and ecstatic glint in the eyes,
she gets up on the pallet of tinned peas
and makes a speech.
I wonder who she is.
Another one crazy goddess of Walmart?
An older Ophelia the shepherds saved and smuggled oversea to the States?
Or, maybe, she is an anthropomorphic metaphor for the knowledge obscure to mere mortals?
She seems to be upset that people can't figure out a word she says.
I understand your feelings, metaphor:
even a small knowledge seems great to the ignorant;
the great knowledge seems to them madness.
08.11.2019
Last Year's Nests Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: craig cornish
The Secret of Emotional Mist
Evincing nothing, she remained mute
To nuanced intimations of intimacy.
There was nothing left to conclude but that
The greatest prison is boredom,
The greatest torture --- betrayal.
Thus we parted in the concrete now
Leaving behind that nebulous separation
We had shared almost as if a secret,
Venturing towards precious.
Just as an ill-fashioned keystone
can splinter upon contact if
timing is precise...
Why is it that Time seems to know just
When to strike?
Always.
Leads me to believe
That if Time is not anthropomorphic
it is nonetheless prescient
No. That can't be right...
Time predates and outlives all
(has already outlived us all).
Romantics claim other yet I
Dare gainsay them each and every
Spirit can be broken
like glass
Love become mere bagatelle,
Children, still tuned to magic,
laugh at us as we follow our own
Shades to the underworld of
Wonderment and wonder
How did I ever believe
The intangible was not frangible?
Sometimes I can be really insistent: standing on one leg, brining my hands in prayer, dressed only in the four sides of the world, I remained silent and a nutmeg was my only food. Centuries passed, the lake on which I stood went dry and filled up with water again, ants erected an anthill around me but I kept staying focused, thinking of him. That’s how I gained his blessing. One fine morning, tired, anthropomorphic, he finally showed up and asked me:
why did you call me poet
what is you desire
and I said I want nothing
And there’s a Charlie
A character curiously cartooning
One of the Charlie’s careening and in crusade
Maybe someday he’ll be in a Macy Day parade
Charlie Chicken 1942 anthropomorphic chicken
And there’s Charlie Beary, a big daddy bear
Charlie of the Chocolate Factory, making all those chocolate candies
And there’s Charlie
A character curiously cartooning
One of the Charlie’s careening and in crusade
Maybe someday he’ll be in a Macy Day parade
Chuckle Charlie Finster
Picture always in the funny papers
Charles B. Barkin, was a dog, who went to heaven
Come eat with me play games for free
Chuck E. Cheese
And there’s Charlie
A character curiously cartooning
One of the Charlie’s careening and in crusade
Maybe someday he’ll be in a Macy Day parade
Old Charlie Dog little orphan Airedale
Charlie the Tuna fishing sooner
And there’s Charlie's stop curiously cartooning and careening with me laugh out loud
What’s with all these Charlies now?
12/28/18
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.©2018
IT is, is IT?
If No, then forget about IT.
If Yes, then what is IT?
A fundamental question.
Multiple fundamentalist answers—
Formal and or Functional?
For most of us IT is anthropomorphic
Some believe that IT is present.
Thus, IT may be immanent and or metaphoric
Others think that IT is absent, though IT is;
That is to say, transcendent and metonymic.
IT may be language itself.
Maybe IT works through language
(as for Lacan and Derrida).
Some are believed to have seen IT
Or heard IT.
It is also claimed that you are IT.
IT may be what one takes IT to be,
Be it One or more.
We are all participant-observers,
And sciences attest it.
Thus, IT is highly complex.
But what is ironic is that I wouldn’t share
my food, shelter, property or love—
even with my sibling.
Yet I am all too eager to share all about IT!
***
What would an alien look like?
Would you see an alien standing next to you?
Why should an alien look anything like you,
with arms, legs, head, eyes and ears?
Most aliens out there are different forms of life.
Invisible to the naked eye.
Perhaps not organic, based on water and carbon,
But invisible, totally foreign, undetectable.
"Who are you to call me an alien?"
"Anthropomorphic bigot, that is who you are"
"We've been here all along, on our earth, in our solar system,
living our own lives in peace, undetected by you guys"
"Ignorance is bliss, be content that you do not know"
"What would you do anyway, if you knew we were here, right now?"
-----------------------
12 April 2017
Vibrations of a visionary vivarium is a notion best perceived by a motionless cuckoo clock. Now carefully wind the handle and watch as the bird emerges to shout. Wow. Fantastic isn't it? It is a monogamy of a monorail that keeps a mongoose entertained. Wild whale whisking wafers. But a nice symphony orchestra could arrive to the tunes of the wind. And a charismatic pickle placed in a sandwich could charm even the most Kitagawa mitigated circumstance of an ancestral framework. Circumference then. Oh it is a square not a three dimensional triangle. Neither is it a robotic rhombus in a car held up in a roadwork. Roadside duodenal rhododendron. Pickle not a very small grapefruit then. Ha ha the cloud is watching television today with the storm. Hahaha oceans going to the cinema today. Hahaha eel pie with toasted waffle. *** anthropomorphic anthropology. Xxxx pathologically z.
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