Serpent venomous, strike the breast.
Lay me low and leave.
Treasure found inside a chest?
Nightshade to bereave.
Sickle of the reaper grim?
Crater cauldron rim.
Pain in my heart, at the brim?
Light in my eyes, dim?
Slim thy chance, O circumstance.
Demagogue, thy rants.
Fortress mighty, stubborn stance?
Tympani, tyrants.
Destroyed, O sweet future?
You bet, and reason thus:
Stitch, support the suture?
Ornery damned, my cuss.
Poison-flower, trumpets high?
Apothecary, ply.
Deadly chemicals, make supply?
Ointment, have thy fly.
Cry of battle? Battlement.
Hope, thy sentiment.
Gears a-ground down? Where she went?
Said just what she meant?
Fluxion, thy flicker.
Axion, axe to wheel.
Sullen silence? Get sicker.
Wound, heal. Deal, sign seal.
Torn, O my tornado?
The options are but two.
Sell thy soul to vicious foe?
Be with who loves you...
Every time I piss on that little plastic stick I lose something.
An archer struck down on a battlement, a coin from a rich mans pocket, not enough to really feel it but enough to know it's gone. Something is.
Every time I let him cum in me I’m waving my white flag. Even if i ask him to, beg him to, I admit defeat.
To be a mother is to lose. From the point of conception to your last breath, you lose.
Your body is theirs to live in and reap for all they need.
Your thoughts are theirs, on them, or their thoughts.
Your health is in those tiny hands of theirs
.
And your love, your careful, gentle love, now raging red like an overfed hearth, will be theirs.
Whether they want it or not. Whether they take it or not.
It will rip from you and follow them like a curse.
And still, I ask him to, beg him to and admit my defeat. I piss on that plastic stick and hope, deep down, it will be my undoing.
flowers naturally gravitated to this beautiful meadow
they arrived renegade, their seeds transplanted by the wind
bluebells, lilies, carnations, roses and daisies thrived here
the ancient battlement in the near distance was thrilled
he had never expected to see anything this gorgeous in this life
a gift from god, he told himself, and of course, they were
I am strength in battlement
I dress covered and shown created in heaven
Sent I need salvation in time of distress
I am related to New Day hope salvation
I vacation here on terrain planet Earth
My job is purposed by my Father Elohim
I desire God shield and His anointed coverings
1/31/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2023
a Lament poem
We are born we are consciou, we do not possess mind
Mind is a work in progress of life.
It builds through the days of experiencial time
conscious’s right there, right there so sublime
Tabula rasa not more then a lie
A misunderstanding of conscious and mind.
A magical, mystical, invisible battlement
Prove of quantum physics entanglement
A heavenly fairy tail: the gnome and the giant
Or god himself split up in us all.
The mind is for earthly ghosts to devour
The conscious is sacred and ever divine.
We are all but the same, the same in the dark.
You would need to perceive there are forces beyond,
beyond mind and self, beyond mind and time.
Your consciousness would need a heavenly climb.
As long as we dwell in material realm
God will have a human persona, a form of a man.
To understand creation from my point of view
your name needs to die for the truth to shine through.
Like spider silk woven into human form.
gliding in the air as it moves and beckons.
grasping the metal of an old light pole.
Head turning and seeming to look at me.
I ask, if you ever came back to us again,
how annoyed would you be at the traffic?
Would you enjoy our precious cellphones,
or perhaps you'd find them an abomination?
Smiles will shine like noon if you returned;
excitement would make the heart flutter;
but you're a crispy voice of soft whispers
indifferent to feeling, or even breathing.
Whether lost kindred fallen in a great war
ghost of the battlement, forever on guard
kept alive by the memories and pictures
in the album on my Grammy's bookshelf.
3/13/2021
I Remember Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Malabika Ray Choudhury
Within the woods, stood a wall of stone
molded by hands from a distant time.
Though roughly hewn, it had endured.
What narratives could it tell of its past,
this ancient bulwark, built to last?
My fingers traced each pitted wound.
I wondered as to the tragic fate
of one missing mortared rock.
I dared to peer inside the hollow;
the scent of age overpowered me.
A sudden dizziness rattled my senses
with a brief glimpse of a long ago battle
when weapons pricked the rampart's bulk.
This bastion had served as a battlement,
a barricade between differences of opinions.
Was the victory worth the lives forsaken?
Because of it, were families torn apart?
With need to offer words of compensation.
I paid homage to the unyielding wall,
whispering, "Stand strong, brave soldier."
October 6, 2020 ~ A Wall in the Woods
Craig Cornish ~ Sponsor
The heavens scent of layers varnish,
upon layers then grow and tarnish,
like a stockade wrapped with palisades.
A battlement inside playing charades;
as the volume gets louder - louder,
won't turn off or fade. Battering
turbulence that goes on for hours.
You can hear the low thrum plucking
then growing. Breeding a buzz
in your inner ears, like hornets
building a nest in your brain.
By the time you reach your limit
you tremble, shivering
like leaves in the wind.
The plucking, poisonous parrot
won't stop spinning and turning;
it hangs tightly like a ram
to smash down the door.
1/22/2019
The art gallery,
Was inspiring and exciting,
A portrait consuming,
Sir Lancelot,
King Arthur’s closest companion,
The greatest swordsman of his time,
A knight of the round table,
Her eyes were drawn to him,
Staring at his picture,
He seemingly stared back,
Handsome were her thoughts,
If only!
Step back for just one hour,
Time seemed to stand still,
She imagined holding hands,
Her heart melted,
The world stopped,
He swooped her off her feet,
Gliding around the hall,
His strong arms
Holding her tight,
Romance and imagination
Spoke every word,
She looked,
Dimly lit candles flickered,
Open fire with huge burning logs,
The structure of thick stone,
The battlement tower,
A fortress fortified against attacks,
She had been transported,
The wish had come true,
One hour they danced,
Or forever in his arms,
She closed her eyes,
He kissed her lips,
The candles blew out,
Into darkness,
She was back in the gallery,
Staring into his dark eyes,
Reached out to his picture,
The aroma of love,
Touching through eternities door.
25/01/2017
These ailing eroded banks collapsed
Through the cracks of a broken heart eclipsed
Gurgling, the harder we try, in oceans of sorrow
Will our cascading love live to see tomorrow?
Courage be the fortified lifeboat
That rescues our wreckage afloat
Carry us through sobs of emotional drain
Flush away all bitter unforgiven stain
Long soaked in cold disappointment
Turmoil smashing jealousy’s battlement
Splashing in turbulence of hurled insults
A sunken love boat the end result
Faith, are we doomed like the Titanic?
The signs tell me I should start to panic
That sinking feeling when you’re lost at sea
Blue is all I can be, blue is all I can see
Julia Ward’s A Deluge - Poetry Contest
Thabang Jan Ngoma
29.08.2016
I built these walls, this battlement, I built it brick by brick
It seemed a moment at the time, but t'was a lifetime to do the trick
I built these walls with care and thought, I built them sure to last
I built them from the sands of time and all the tears that'd passed
I stand behind my castle walls and watch as life goes by
I do not wait for love's return, for love was but a lie
I wait to find a warmth within, a light that burns inside
Without that light I shall remain a heart without a guide
When Christmas come in June
In the heat of the summer
And two moons shine at noon
In the heavens and yonder
When the cock crows at midnight
And birds croon at twilight
When with harmattan comes sleet
And white bears thrive in the heat
When the sea produces water fresh
And the Inferno freezes over
When the reveille sounds for retirement
And in war no one dies on the battlement
When all these happens, it is true
That's when I'll stop loving you.
I've learned to deal with funerals.
They celebrate a history both past and recent,
cementing it with closure just as earth
would close a grave.
There's not much room for victory,
despite the words of triumph in the rite.
But heroes looking at the moment
saw transcendence
at the bedside or the battlement
and drew upon resources
that they never knew they had--
not I, apart, spared from
the crisis, glory-drenched,
that turns good-bye
into transforming art.
Not I, the angel guide
to see the flight,
cold hand in mine.
It is this tiny brittle stone
in shattering
that marks the apex of a pathway
that humanity or other
walks no more.
The confraternity of those
who walked with them until the end,
alone will understand.
~
Trumpet the ethos of these wading warriors with the hollowed bones
of their panygeric prophets,resonating triumphant tones,
to forever honor,protect,& perpetuate the valor,virtue,& victory of this Holy Order,
the irridescent echo seeps from their Father's tombs,
for what extent shall I blaze myself and minions in the arrows path,
so to coddle an intangible hope made of a prayer's dope,
or in a mind where a prevailing vision roams,
nay, to avert that macbre nightmare of having my People's progeny becoming the pigmy
of a teething tyrant who condones the perversion of civilization's tomes,
a coalesced consciousness consummated by the last bastion
with a vigorous vigil on this Christmas Eve,
solemn and sacramental the emotion is which this of our hearts
the Almighty exhumes,
A dispatched soldier ploying as scout,remote, waiting ignorantly to be smote,
a far but not forgotten armored satellite being selfless,
his vanity enemy's threat consumes,
an unbridled but composed offensive of a triplicate terror delivered
by an indefatigable knight ,
an ultimatum presented simply but also strictly,
one at least his assault maroons,
J.A.B. - Part Four -
I Have Dark Secrets,
Burrowing Through My Soul,
Like Death Worms To The Flesh,
Taking Its Merciless Toll,
My Pain Always Bleeding Fresh,
This Death Rattle I Did Willingly Catch.
I Have Dark Secrets,
Assigned To My Punishment,
Like Heavenly Storms Above,
Too Arrogant to Build a Battlement,
Black Smoke Confuses the Peaceful Dove,
Still Wants for the Miracle of Destined Love.
I Have Dark Secrets,
Always Waiting to Leach Out.
Like Sucking Wounds,
Craving Another Suicidal Bout,
Lost Among the Many Shifting Dunes,
When Did My Life Come to Such Ruin?
I Have Dark Secrets,
Keeping Me Close.
Wanting to Highlight,
The Decisions I Chose,
Searching the Dark, For What Is Right,
Heedless To My Screams Into The Night.
I Have Dark Secrets
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