Dusk finds me
Life settles down
The light
It turns from me
Something stirs below
Darken sky
One eye
Ember gaze
No fear
It knows me
Close calm sure
A familiar shape
Dark wings gather around
Home.
One wing guards them all.
A young soldier, set loose in the real world Initial positivity clouding judgement,
like teargas
Ignorance, blinding like snow on a sunny day
Human interaction;
Like eyes,
a beautiful sight until
you zoom in
Every man for himself,
ignoring the cries of those affected
Isolation,
a savior from the chaos
Happiness becomes like a card trick,
the closer you look the
farther you get
Thoughts become a cancer, slowly corrupting your mind
Refuge becomes a prison,
trapping
you inside yourself
A young soldier,
consumed by his attempts to grapple with reality
Desperately pleading with lost dreams
A realization
Hidden by the dirt, finally uncovered
Peace lies beneath the stone
tiny worm beneath
the soil tunneling spirals
mix dampening soil
~
all accountable
dirt close to being mud worms
ready for fish yah!
9/2/26
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2026©
she drifts where moonlit waters gleam,
her voice a thread within the stream~
each ripple hums her ancient song,
soft as the hush between a dream.
Written: August 3rd, 2026 for a contest sponsored by: Line Gauthier
****************
Sapphire rays glimmer beneath willow trees;
Emerald awnings, swirling in sweet breeze.
A ledge of leaves—penumbral shadows play,
Each kin-bound heart is rooted all the way.
We meet as one, a sole breed growing whole—
Sunlight furrows the branches of one soul.
Beneath the Rainbow Bridge, my little kitten
Washes away her butler’s tears.
You were a tiny kitten resting in the palm of my hand—
A fragile heartbeat, a flickering breath.
And then,
A soft rainbow light subtly leaked through.
I held you in my arms and pleaded:
“Don’t cross the Rainbow Bridge.”
“It’s nothing but a foolish dream, a sweet illusion.”
The little kitten faintly whispered back:
“No...”
“Even so, I still want to taste that sweet illusion.”
The moonlight pouring through the window—
The windowsill trembles in the wind.
At dawn,
Your eyes were already closed,
Your tiny body cold as ice.
Within that warmthless presence,
I face your death and my own grief.
Your trembling final breath pierced deep into my heart,
And in that single moment, my entire life was shaken.
A faint imprint on your tiny paw pad speaks:
“I want to walk. I want to eat my fill.”
“I want to meet good friends and run together.”
“And sometimes, I just want to lie wrapped in my butler’s arms forever.”
I take a drag from my cigarette.
The smoke remains trapped, lingering motionless in my room.
A trad wife boomer woman I know has quietly seethed for almost an entire week.
I had no idea because I am far too focused on writing poems with cool mystique.
I have been connecting with kind new people and keeping my wits sharp and sleek.
But her feelings don't mean anything to me anymore because she is sadly very rude.
For the last two years I have endured her jealousy and her prejudiced, sour attitude.
We would all be much better off if she went to therapy and developed some fortitude.
Your lips, like the hues of a rainbow light,
Your white skin, stained in a milky glow,
Your dazzling hair, swaying upon the meadow bright,
Your skin, softer than the softest falling snow.
The rainbow light, beholding your lips of grace,
Fades away, leaving only a scarlet dye,
While the milky glow is buried in your skin's embrace.
Your dazzling hair shines brighter at the meadow’s silent greeting,
And the winter snow, touched by your beauty, turns to a gentle flurry.
In a midsummer night’s dream,
I met you and became a flower.
Offering all my scent to you,
A petal's kiss, like our very first hour.
Your lips, like a blossom of scarlet hue,
Your skin, stained in a milky glow,
Your eyes, like the falling flakes of snow.
Since all of this is but a passing dream,
Kiss not my petals, I pray,
But pluck me by the roots away,
And plant me in the pot within your room.
For I shall offer all my sweet perfume
Unto you, and you alone—
So cast away all other scents you’ve known!
Beneath a strawberry moon in sapphire sky,
on last limbs, spirit torn and weathered
Merciless passerby’s malicious lies,
mud clings as ancient as memory.
Shards of ice lancing, piercing,
in darkness and in profuse silence
Each frayed root carries burden
each stain, the wind proclaims.
Rotting bark leaves its prints into earth,
she lifts her last bating branch,
towards the abyss of emptiness,
her last redemption, salvation.
What had once been plush and whole,
had learned the language of stones,
the patience of cold rivers,
the stubborn song of survival.
Even the torn edges strand erect,
uprooted, plucked from soulless soil
The winding tree takes its last breath,
beneath a strawberry moon.
soft dawn awakens forest air
the hush of morning everywhere
old pines remember what we’ve lost
roots hold truths untouched by the frost
above them, plants grow in splendor
what we’ve lost old pines remember
the river hums its ancient tune
a silver thread beneath the moon
silent songs come from silver tongues
its ancient tune the river hums
beneath, the melody prolongs
from silver tongues come silent songs
bush and heath, give a cooling sheath
the melody prolongs, beneath
through shifting light on leaf and bough
the earth still keeps its patient vow
the operating room waits in a pale hush
metal holding its shimmer like a vow
shadows gathering themselves into still corners
the air hums with low mechanical dreaming
soft pulses threading through the silence
as if the room keeps time for the living
gloved hands move with practiced, quiet grace
shaping unseen pathways in the air
preparing the body’s hidden journey
the lights rise into a slow white blossoming
illuminating the table like a threshold
where flesh and hope lean toward each other
anesthesia drifts like a pale unfolding tide
smoothing the edges of awareness
carrying the patient into gentle depth
monitors whisper the first faint awakenings
life stirring back through muted circuits
as the room releases its long-held breath
Beneath the lake’s dark skin, a lantern drifts, breathing light into the deep.
Fish pause mid-silver flicker, sensing secrets rising where no footsteps fall.
Some say the glow remembers us—calling back whatever we leave behind.
Under the shade of trees, we need to be
to veil the sun, invite our shaded bliss
with lonely hearts and nowhere else to flee
we'll satisfy our love with every kiss
held in the soft luminous hush of light
possessed by the gifts that love can render
we carve our names on warm walls of delight
and drift through dreamy realms of surrender
we'll feel the depth and breadth of love's allure
that warms the cooling shade's enchanting brew
in the mists of your eyes, I find fervor
to fill this hidden haven with what's true
Oh, could all moments gather into this
When each measure of time becomes a kiss
I hid a firefly,
its wings beating against the low strings
like a secret refusing winter.
Your “I love you”s are no longer words;
they have taken the shape of tiny silver fish
crossing my nights, leaving behind them
a trail of crumpled moonlight.
I gather them in a chipped cup,
near the window where the rain writes
alphabets no one can pronounce.
The last notes never truly die.
They simply change their calling:
some become stardust on sleeves,
others keep watch over the lighthouses of sleeping ships.
I answer with my silences,
those transparent birds nesting in my throat.
They know your name better than my voice does.
When dawn unfolds its nautical charts,
I find your refrain beneath the skin of my fears,
in the hum of weary streetlamps,
in an orange forgotten on the table,
in the tiny heart of ordinary things.
I love you too,
not like a promise,
but like an underground river
that keeps singing far from prying eyes.
The night opens its ancient, silver door,
wind threading its low song through desert stone.
Shadows drift like spirits across its floor~
the dunes transform beneath the moon’s throne.
Wind threading its low song through desert stone,
it braids the dark with whispers no one keeps.
The dunes transform beneath the moon’s throne,
the sand shifts softly in its restless sleep.
It braids the dark with whispers no one keeps;
shadows drift like spirits across its floor.
The sand shifts softly in its restless sleep~
the night opens its ancient, silver door.
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