“This heat clearly
has me beat,'
she said, 'it nearly
knocks me off my feet, and,”
then paused for a rest
long enough I deemed
for what seemed
an eternity
sufficient to warrant at best
a pregnancy
if not paternity test
which put me off my stride
as unable to read
the space between the lines
and in a quandary
not wishing to strain
the body and brain
or neurons scatter
within the grey matter
yet knowing who the boss is
decided to cut my losses
and as discretion
is the better part of valour
to make a confession
I gave up my place plus my seat
picked up the pace
and made a somewhat hasty retreat
We push to stand at the world’s edge,
to see it first, to touch it first, to claim it as ours.
But what is gained by being first?
When being second has a gift. We can share the moment with those who came before and those who will come after.
So I ask: what would you prefer?
The beauty of sharing, a living memory in the present, or the ache of being first, felt alone.
oh
love
i
hear
every
beat
of
your heart
then
let
your
heart
sings out loud
through
every
beat of your heart
BEAT MELODIES
boom boom boom a beating of the drum
include a variety of drums, boom boom boom
rattles as the snake dance
Liken baby rattles play,
ring them bells, idiophones.
these be beat melodies Notable
them de play Djembe, Dundun, Gangan, and them de play Sakara, Bata, Udu Shekere, Agogo, and Gbedu These instruments are often used
boom boom boom a beating of the drum
these be beat melodies
include a variety of drums, boom boom boomin traditional ceremonies, folk music, and more contemporary these be beat melodies
boom boom boom a beating for di drum
dis be beat melodies
8/5/25
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2025©
I feel like a failed organ transplant
In this country, in this world
But it’s deeper than that
In my body, in my mind
A DAY ON THE BEACH CAN'T BE BEAT
written for "Choose One Image Poetry Contest," Mystic Rose, sponsor
Two ears of corn on the sand,
With no sunscreen, they thought it was grand.
They basked in the rays,
In a golden haze,
Till they popped like a snack, so unplanned!
Without a word I slip out of bed
and a thousand conversations
run through my mind
as I walk barefoot across worn carpeting.
Two nights ago, I barely made it home
while driving through a deluge
and water on the roads.
I defied the warnings
and survived
as bolts of lightning laced the sky.
I was the storm.
I was the silence.
Now as the sun pokes through
a thin veil of clouds
the sense of nothingness I embrace.
I must admit a year ago I loved someone.
She said that she loved my humor
my new stories and poems
and there was so much to share.
Now she’s a memory lingering in my heart.
This is my life, I say when alone.
This is what I’ve made it
as I watch a shadow dance on the wall—
it can be anything.
My chest ached the other day
when I bore the weight of humanity
while working at a grocery store.
Customers and I talked and traded jokes
but as the day wore upon me
I longed to be in my time and place.
A housemate downstairs
shuffles through the kitchen
while I sit in my loft and play with words
longing to say what’s never been said.
Beat the heat, beat the heat
You’re on the hotseat
Beat the heat, you’re on the hotseat
Drink lots of water, drink lots of water
You really had ought to
Drink lots of water, you really had ought to
Lie in the shade, lie in the shade
You don’t want to fade
Lie in the shade, you don’t want to fade
Get an overhead fan, get an overhead fan
Extend your lifespan
Get an overhead fan, extend your lifespan
Beat the heat, beat the heat
Pounds the drumbeat
Beat the heat, pounds the drumbeat...
Soft heart can tell the silent dark sky's heat,
Red eyes might grow tough to handle mettle...
That Is how small the mind could be to beat.
Finger might flip up hints to pure deceit,
Somewhat so close to Cain's stunt on Abel;
Soft heart can tell the silent dark sky's heat.
Alcohol could have actualised such treat,
Upon rage within, ever unsettle...
That Is how small the mind could be to beat.
Lust to blood; love to ruin, brace up stunt's cheat-
Cain focused off change, hope cares to settle...
Soft heart can tell the silent dark sky's heat.
Now, regret locks up an endless defeat...
Upon bloody sin, Cain-Abel nettle;
Soft heart can tell the silent dark sky's heat,
That Is how small the mind could be to beat.
My poetry may not be high-falutin,
but sometimes it is rootin tootin;
sometimes it it sweet and sad,
sometimes it is awful bad.
Just as beauty is in the eye...
a poem does not have to justify
itself to you or me,
it just simply has to be.
Dedicated to those of us who don't understand a beat of meter.
Beat the drum softly, and beat it with heart,
Lay down a rhythm that rises from soul;
Small though indeed is the size of our part,
That which it is, we can still play in full.
Loud are the clashes that crash from the street,
Ominous thunder that thrashes from storm;
Myriad pacing of multitude feet,
Let still not chaos be your inner form.
What is the all but the sum of the small?
Who knows what corner shall matter the most?
Stand for a moment before you shall fall,
Honored the watchman that stands at his post.
Beat the drum softly, your rhythm shall stay
Part of the universe winding its way.
True lovers everywhere,
Romance charms in the air,
Smiles from them anywhere,
Hearts beat true, debonair,
Our love, such froth and bubble,
Can ease off any trouble,
Lovers' hearts in diverse shades,
Ever flower in romance glades.
the
three things
that t h r i l l
b e a t d e f e a t e a t
him, him, him
don't
b pse
u or
r y c
his
was the whiskey and the jazz playing
On too many black nights with too
Many lonely women and not a poem
Between them
How many times can you run
From the shadow of the voices that
Surround you
Beating like drums in the darkness
Tasting more of your flesh each time
Not leaving enough for a man to breathe
No way for a man to live
How could the hep-cat jive survive
When my voice can only spit silence
Wasn't a dream left to filter thru
The night worn inside and out and
Bled dry a bottle singing the page blank and life in the hands of
the haves laughing at the broken shadows of the have-nots
There was a club on 34th and Second Ave where the jazzman
swung
All night long beat poets recited Tuesdays' nights and Jack was
always drunk in the third booth
Scrawling poems on paper bags and notebooks
Taking life hard on the chin and after a while not fighting back
anymore
Ain't the road thzt donev Jack in
RAINING HEARTBEAT
My supreme heartbeat.
echoing sweet thunder, as
its cloud, raindrops love:-
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