Two houses sit side by side on a quiet residential street.
In one, lives a man with an unlatched gate,
always ready to pause his lawnmower
to ask how your mother is doing,
offering a spare hand when it appears one is needed,
or leaving a basket of fresh tomatoes and cucumbers on the porch step
just because the harvest was good.
In the other lives a shade-peeker, a shadow behind pulled blinds,
who measures his property line down to the inch,
grumbling heavily under his breath when an autumn leaf crosses the boundary,
starting his car engine, revving with an intentional roar,
building a higher fence
out of a quiet, lingering spite.
For years, the coldness attempts to stake its claim,
trying to choke out the light with petty grievances
and silent, harsh glances.
Yet bitterness only locks a person inside their own small fortress,
leaving them alone with the echoes of their own noise,
and barring the door from the inside.
When the real storms roll through,
it isn't the tall fence or the sharp words that hold fast.
The stubborn, simple kindness wins out every time,
outlasting the cold
and leaving a light on in the dark.
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.
I know no amount of time can buy back Your blessing
When sins are getting ready for barring
Though nice and godlike is my dressing
But time at will, to call shall soon define my bearing.
I know no dancing steps can win Your attention
For You see beyond heart in its open pretension
Unless mercy arise to raise keen intervention
Lengthy time; a waste cum sins' prevention
I know no beat can attract Your ears
It is not to conformity; the drum cheers
For you won't get thrilled easily like my peers
Who will not get body loosed like they've taken beers
I know no rhymes can awake Your humor
Hasty news we care about being rumor
Is not just only a little bit more bloomer
But makes You not our all time best consumer
Rays of a warring star where the eclipse
Trying for his dune by the sands of the lighter eye
Kaleidoscope into which the opus
Right into night the stallions of colossal strike
And among the night lovers
Between the prismatic mare
A small trace to come to render
The array of less than fonder tears
For the belly of the sun is most in leisure
Where the velvet cast upturns the rain
Utmost to the lifting homage
The barring of the telling tie
Very close as comfort would hurry garnets in the snow
A feline so mystique where dreams collide with night
So nature along all boughs of love
For smitten in the shadows of the day
Within our homes, what really matters,
Barring the décor,
Is how we feel, despite some tatters
Or an aging floor.
For if we’ve made a cozy haven
Where we can unwind,
The stress or tension we’ve been savin’
Can be left behind.
Each hand-picked tchotchke, rug or table,
Photograph or lamp
Creates a space where we are able
To imprint our stamp.
Our rooms reflect what makes us smile,
Chosen for ourselves.
If others do not like our style
Or what sits on our shelves,
It doesn’t matter even slightly.
We just do our best
To please the ones who, day and nightly,
Share our little nest.
Time was when three wise monkeys
lightened the world with their deeds.
One covered his gentle eyes,
barring all evil from sight.
His name was Mizaru
and he taught humanity
the quiet strength of restraint.
Then came the second one..
Kikazaru, his name.
He heard no evil,
hands shielding both ears,
spreading the fragrance of righteousness;
he sat there like a saint.
And then at last Iwazaru arrived,
bearing the bright gift of optimism.
By closing his mouth, he spoke
no evil, no negativity.
So long they guided the world,
casting their soft, wise light.
Then a clever human merged them..
and a strange new device was born:
no see, no hear, no speak.
Holding it, we think we grow wise.
In our pockets, in our purses,
it makes the world so silent..
Mizaru, Kikazaru, Iwazaru reborn,
their wisdom compressed into a soft glowing screen.
Pomegranate
Careful, tentative and delicate tips shiver over the forgiving skin
Shell barring the bloody body of the fruit
Only condemned to,
consumption
Bruising without protest
Its sweetness not asked for - only expected
Though some things are more beautiful broken
“Restoring beauty from decrepitness
fulfills the heart with treasured happiness.”
_by Poet
Decrepit was a table we once owned,
part of our living room so long ago,
left in the home, my Dad, in time, had sold.
After my Mom had passed, he let it go
with other matching pieces, later sold
by the new owners, barring this one piece
left at the curbside, mixed with other trash.
I saw this, and my heart could find no peace.
Dilapidated, shabby, and decayed
our antique table, which my Mom adored,
was left unguarded in a leaky shed-
abandoned and exposed- so poorly stored.
I placed it in my trunk and drove away
to meet a friend with fine restoring apt.
I knew he'd make it look as good as new;
decrepit to a polished look, adapt.
It soon appeared as I remembered it;
restored into a lovely work of art.
I do embrace it as my mother's gift.
This heirloom has returned to never part.
Hurricane Trump when made landfall
The commotion spelled heavy toll --
His big-ticket orders
Flashed red on the borders,
Watches he in triumphs
Wickets fell around stumps,
Sure, warming was ne’er more global.
_______________________
Happenings |36.01.2025| humour, USA
Note: On the very day he took presidential oath, Trump signed a slew of executive orders: exiting WHO and Paris Accord, national emergency on southern border, visa curbs, barring asylum, et al. He almost issued a global warning, and the warming never looked more global.
So sorry I’m late, honey … I was busy barring the unforeseen
the world a playground
parents arms our nest
school was fun too
barring the weekly test
measles and mumps
mother tended with care
flame of love vibrated
heart vibrant and aware
our fontanel was open
we communed with God
but when we shared this
we but got a careless nod
we knew then we are soul
encased in body-mind
it took time to realise
to truth others were blind
counselled by elders
light of our soul became dim
taught to be street smart
God called but we forgot Him
looking back we now see
it was as meant to be
even though we seem bound
our soul is always free
Frozen cold blizzard storm raining;
Icicles prism form changing;
Winter breath caresses heat is gone;
nature's present thawing adjoin;
---Barring snow flakes torn
~
Climate change such relief when gone;
3:00 pm heats rises amidst ascension;
Shorten are those days light levered long;
Blizzard storms white lights concentration;
---Winters rain snow storms
1/5/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2024
I used to think about the times we had.
I would dwell on it and then end up sad.
Because those days were one of the happiest of mine.
But you know what they say, everything good leaves with time.
If it was meant to last then you would have stayed.
Because God’s plan is perfect in every single way .
As long as I live I’ll look fondly on my past.
Enjoying the memory’s, knowing life moves on so fast.
Because before I know it I’ll be old and turning gray.
And I’ll look happily on this moment remembering today.
For what happens today will be a memory tomorrow.
So I will try to stay happy and forget all my sorrows.
This life of mine always moves along too fast .
Making my happiest days only something of the past.
For as new days come barring smiles and hugs.
The yesterdays go leaving only memories of love.
When the pain of betrayal is laid out
for the perusal of the world:
reality devastates dreamers,
as it sinks in.
Love cannot be granted:
it can only be accepted or rejected.
And there are no simple answers
or shortcuts: past the pain or shame
love may leave in its wake: if it moves on.
Truth confronts lies and false hopes
in their totality;
with a broken heart.
And lust's empty promises
roll off the tongue,
as they drift quietly into memory:
slipping into oblivion without making a sound.
A wounded soul is slow to heal:
for forever feelings, fester,
within subconscious dreams.
You may come to grips with your fear:
however, the pain lingers.
And so, you wall off your heart:
barring love from ever entering it again.
"Nobody favors a share ...
for sins I bear,
no one cares.
Now that the appointed hour pines faintly,
I stand in lights grace, a shadow no more,
barring lives in my wake and none before.
My cup did run over, right into me,
and spilt nothing,
and as I saw the empty cup,
I prayed.
Do tell, 'What does absence appear to be?'
Shunned by God as a void cataloged life.
Does it take some sordid form?
If so, be it horridly misshapen,
and be there a face that pulls night's veil,
luring darkness to hide its shame,
thus causing sleepless nights forevermore.
A son and brother were I and then a husband,
later, a father ... a family's man, thought I?
Benevolence accommodates me naught,
for charity had tipped over its cup.
Hopes I join with lives once shared,
those times when I was happy."
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