(cheeky p*ss take remake of Whitesnake)
So here we go again.. we all moan
Bazball mode is all this lot have ever known
Like a grifter now our Ashes chances blown
So we've made up our mind just stop wasting all our time
So here they go again…we all groan
Goad only on a road has Bazball ever flown
Need a bifter after tone of what they've shown
So far behind…the Aussies did easily find
Our boys got a pasting one more time
So here they go again.. we all moan
Seeds sowed but seems this team’s never grown
Need a snifter after Bazball so injury prone
Must be unkind coz you basting in your slime
So here we go again…we all groan
Bazball did implode time we forever did disown
Like a drifter seems born to walk alone
Bullsh*t been mined tasting something sublime?
So here we go again…we all moan
Going down like a load of convicts hasting their crime
In quilting class (which meets on Zoom),
I followed the directions,
By cutting, pinning, basting, sewing
All the different sections.
I kept up with the teacher
(Which for me is very rare),
So during “show and tell” I had
A project I could share.
With the pillow insert stuffed inside,
I fluffed it all the way
And proudly placed it on the couch,
My hard work on display.
Turkey in oven
for five hours basting nicely
waiting patiently
Yesterday,
the rustic multicolored foliage was scattered about the ground; basting and glistening beneath the tamed fall sun, taking their rest.
The long days of summer had been harsh on them. For they had entered it, green and lavish; Chorographically dangling from the branches of enormous oaks and maples...and birches, too, perhaps.
But time and temperature had tapered them.
Today, they are motionless.
Dismantled from the spotlight of summer's stage. The ground is cool.
Soon, comes their burial blanket.
And above, jubilant souls shall shuffle about, oblivious of the dancers stilled beneath them, from which their winter wonderlands
were conceived.
openly harpy
and rabbit hippity-hop
runs amok sorely
~
hopping through summer
heat basting trying to find
relief from Sumner
~
harpy unfolds his
wings open up his hands and
takes to rabbit patch
6/16/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2022©
Scary pictures I was basting in my dilemma
No where to go nowhere to stay
Adamant in my involvement I closed mine eyes
For the moment I prized
Still yet I could pray
Don't have to be remembered this way trapped in my circumstances
Still homeless in mercy of the angle of fear
Those whom I decree don't belong here
Yet I still I await for the presents of the Lord
11/7/21
Written by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
Chopping potatoes
Basting the golden turkey
With my family
Magic happens in the Fall
Holidays unite us all
10/22/2021
A THANKSGIVING TANKA Poetry Contest
"Idling"
Cool cold froth
slides across their pages
they whirl their congratulatory comments
like pucks across ice crystal cut sharp and precise
waiting for return compliments
basting their words with oily accomplishment
slick and to strict recipe
baking like fat turkeys
with temperatures
mild and appetites easily
assuaged
How does a person come to this?
They think of words and throw them
to the wolves like sticks
for return
Wolves will take their words
strip all bones ragged of stories
bury them
and then silently,
without a backward glance
never return
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
“Their pooled emotions wouldn’t fill a teaspoon.”
“They sicken of the calm who know the storm.”
“That would be a good thing for them to cut on my tombstone:
Wherever she went, including here, it was against her better judgment.”
Dot Parker
"What Fresh Hell is This?"
"xanny"/Billie Eilish
https://youtu.be/OYyyce8K_c0
"Purgatory is a Poem"/ LadyLabyrinth
I heard humanistic, lonely tapping;
You warned me about the kidnapping;
I discovered the people must have them;
The public planet populating;
I was a blessedness and you an inexorability;
Git on Satan!
The demoniac doxology digging,
my indivisibility, I could not awaken;
It was unshaken, I crave the paramount public;
My salvation doubled;
I was a loyal host;
Had Satan on the ropes;
Git back son;
Somewhat louder than the republic;
warning me about the casting,
With such a passion for fasting;
I was ever basting in the protection of Christ;
Now that He’s here I shall never lose, I’ll have no lost;
My salvation doubled;
I was a loyal host;
Had Satan on the ropes;
Git back son, Git back Satan;
Release the populations,
Get your hands off God’s people;
8/28/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
The Leonard Quilting Ladies
" The Quilt " *
By: Tom Wright
3/6/02
With tedious work at last completed,
mature ladies may stretch and groan.
They've no hand stitches to be repeated,
and no appliqué's yet to be sewn.
Eyesight now, has begun to hinder,
needle threading, is at times a chore.
Arthritic fingers make hands tender,
yet in love, they stitch one more.
A work of art is each quilt finished,
basting done leisurely, at a balanced pace.
Though years, their desire is not diminished,
a labor of love, done through God's grace.
These neighborhood ladies can't be beat,
for in each hemstitch, God's love is shown.
Each day's endeavor leaves them replete,
to the one, satisfied, with what they've sewn.
a basket run with twenty six cigarettes, an acorn accordion, and of course a dew bud is often akin to wellying a giant fish. Yachts are brilliantly lit at sundown but showrooms are not really ideal for holding baby showers or sunbathing. When the flock of hooded birds fly gracefully from left to right it is not the time nor tempo to ignore a fellow shrine goblin,faery, or elf. Perfectly mystical cues held in open air to give omens. To grant oneself an inner sanctum is to give essences to orbs. And to place with great care vaporised auras it is to be said that the dawn riders are preparing a militarisation of a field. Yellow yawning yang and a large laughing kettle. But kettledrums are neither a noon or a moon and similar potions are equally prevalent in a very spotted snake. Take not a mottled morning fish to a sea bath. Hahahaha and now fry salad in a basting. Hahahaha milliseconds *** z
Seventy two millimetres of giant oink isn't a mild fashion statement. It is a hook and curve with two crevasses. A creche in a canyon jump is a dramatic effort of tree construction. A limpet lump can bring much luck to a tulip who smiles in a breezy field. Whilst free forming a piece of pie is mostly equivalent to a large vibrating fridge freezer whose legs whirl in a tinted air of colony. Oh look a basting vest. Vehicular movements. Peak of a partridge beak. Yellow yachtsman yapping yeast. Directional orbital flow. Flights of officialdom. Narrowed in broths. Fashion a fish favourably as it is driving a lorry. *** ha and eat 600 portions of porridge with one hand and electric toast with your foot. *** hahahaha *** manifestation ***
Mingling multiplying minnows marvel masterfully and jaded hooded jalapenos race to the scene. For a pretty fortress is unveiled to a mass highway injection. In a timed spring curve heap hats. In a basting tree wear a nice vest with some heels. As a storm passes remember that a nine inch dome bowl is often a domesticated chatter box and holds vast amounts of information and instructional words to many a passing mouse. So always put leaves in a soup. Wear a spade and trowel. Mix a temple with a house to form associations of a flowery day. Snowing is great fun for those pickled and pins can win in toboggan competitions in world wide juxtaposition. Is merely a global push. A capitalist catapulting cavey. An orchestra of a self shrouded mission bomb. Swooping swerving swimming in acres of grasslands. Timelords. Tinkering. Tinkling. Tin. Tan. Ton. Tone. Dare to cross a washing line of over 800 metres. Balance on a scone. Sit on a sandwich. Or swim in a broth. Cavity carnal caves creating clapping dance. 3% of an oceanographic octopus at a grand ball. Oh how quite exquisite. Punky puffing puffins. Opulence. Orifices of domestic fishes. Cinema of calibration. *** moonbeams
As snows gently coat the land
Breezes softly brush it into peaks.
Candles glitter and flutter in windows
Deep shadows flicker in their light.
Enchanting dazzling gems sparkling
Frosty branches dress the clearing
Garnishing the white landscape
Hark! hear the sleigh bells tinkering
It's Santa delivering the presents
Jolly Ho-Ho's ring out as he passes
Kicking the reindeer speed onwards
Leaving a sparkling trail behind them
Maples trees majestically line the path
Nightingale's sweet tones ring out
Over the snowy valley echoing
Partridges plump and fat basting
Quail are turning on the spit
Roast potatoes crisp and golden brown
Simmering vegetables steaming
Toasted marshmallows all gooey
Utterly delicious as they melt on tongue
Victoriously the bells peel out
With great Joy announcing the birth
Xylophones cheerfully join in
Yearning hearts beating in tandem
Zeal fully they meet and mingle
The smell of turkey fills the house
and the mind and tongue are consumed
with memories and scents of holidays passed.
The aroma is so familiar with images of Gramma in the kitchen
basting that succulent bird and all the sides
as it tingles taste buds with unbearable anticipation.
The feast most promising with recaptured pictures, football games
and stuffing, biscuits, cranberries, and mashed potatoes
made with tender care and love to await family gathering.
Those days seem long gone now, lost to past celebrations
but the mind and heart remain full forever
with laughter, joy, love and those heartfelt memories
at Thanksgiving.
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