Best Conversions Poems
listen ...
do you hear that?
turn off everything and listen ...
it is exquisite - it is precise and pure
like nothing else you've known!
it is what makes all sounds so precious
it is the element that creates the beauty of music
it is the essence of things that give you pause
it spins a miracle from a child's laugh
and a revelation from a lover's heartbeat
it is the sigh of an ocean break
the tremble of the earth's conversions
and the whisper of blood, coursing veins
it is the hush of a storm
the thunder of a breath
the womb of a giggle
and the thread of a gasp
listen ... listen closely
and know well, the wonder ...
silence.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Mid May Premiere Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Sponsor.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Best Free Verse Poem In May 2018" Poetry Contest, Laura Loo, Sponsor.
The Perfectionist is Listening
the rich are committing suicide
and taking us with them
the prosthetic limbed bastards
Fort Darwin tottering on fewer stilts
once the masters of the universe
presently picking through garbage
looking for an Icarus to pilot
some way back among the clouds
their telepathic goon squads
armed with the hard on of God
squat in the darkness of doorways
lightning strikes all around
even their machines were clairvoyant
several thousand watts went up my leg
shorting out the only attention span I own
left me perforated but not lacy
wearing all my masks all the time
fragments of self are selves
in a bulemic deconstruction
where form and content
mud wrestle incessantly for attention
on the crazy train to 3 color hell
the protagonists the antagonists
fornicators masturbators liquidators
pariahs and unlicensed poets
preaching hellstone and brimfire
apparently the ancient gods still rule
in their madhouse heaven
petulant and stupid gods
thought their figures included all the angles
sword point conversions gun point perversions
now their carcasses are steppingstones
what quirk of an infinite being
makes this burning plague village
of a planet so alone and necessary
of course none of this is protection
it's psywar out there kids
better find where they hid your dossier
mesmerized of the world unite
you have nothing to lose
but your failed methods of addressing reality
said his twisting tongue
struggling for ratings like any media
the soul cannot erase it can only go sightless
a phantom trapped in melancholy
when we were built to dance
with the twinkling stars
he finally learned to undestroy memory
being an ascended master of non sequitur
carried aloft in the arms of Mother Goose
his metabolic hurricane of why
an inferno of intrigue and superstition
our embryo-headed UFO ruling class
have me inside their fence of skulls
an investment in diagram futures
the idiots
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
We are in
the breeze
with trees possible
off the flying lake
look for orange cone
wearing silver mask
in front of the office
in back of the park
No back-to-back
or front-to-back
conversations
on old rocky route
where roots are not masked
Dogs wearing masks
are welcome
Humans need to be
on leashes
Rain policy
will be localized
at the park
You can just
show up on
a deconstructing
road to nowhere
Road to hell does not show
up on Google Maps
Easy Rated Go
for Beginners
Distance: 3.23589 light miles
Call me when you arrive
Call me if you don't arrive
Directions:
Go east
0.8 miles
turn when you
see the squirrel
drive off the cliff
fall 0.3 miles
land upside down
on the rocky parkway
turn west
crawl 0.2 miles
swim in creek
pet the alligator
and snake
Go 1/250th of a mile to
parking entrance
to your left
on your right
To the left is an orange
-00000 mile marker trail loop
To the right is a
silver gentle tree man
Bring your own
porta john
& newspaper
All welcome
in the Road
go two minutes
follow the Jaguar
chasing the dinosaur
Play baseball on the Floating Lake
Give away tickets to hunger games
hike in bathrooms in lake's center
Conversions permitted on gravel
Conversations will unravel
Soft is light not seen;
like warm lips felt on dry skin,
that has slept many hours
and has only had darkness for dreams...
Black swirls, waves, splashes of nothing.
Sow sound is quiet that you forget how time is lengthened.
O sweeping light,
how do you peek through my window so filmed by occurring conversion,
that if my finger were to tap, a flutter of dust would glitter the room.
So many conversions...:
"Who was he..."
"Where you happy..."
"How could I have known..."
"What..."
"When..."
"Why..."
"Why."
Why.
My legs stay stiff as the slits of light linger on the ceiling;
watching me lay in this stained bed of quarrels, lust, sex, and love.
How can my head stay so still with all the many things going on inside.
Is this how thinking works?
Memories, questions, thoughts, random visions...not so random visions:
The way hair just sits on top of her eye lid before she wakes
and it flutters open calling my hand to remove it for her.
And then I watch for a moment as she smiles with eyes closed;
her thank you, and then my eyes closed satisfied.
My eyes are open now,
but it does not see the face it usually peers at
and the hand stays locked under my head confused.
I do not search though...for I know...
With all that just happened,
How can I make this just another day...
December Paris
Winter Paris pavement cafés vacant chairs and poor sparrows look for
baguette crumbs. Artists had gone to their loft conversions, in bed with
their models and plates of goose liver pate, waiting for a better time.
I came across a posh bistro people inside wore silk suits, doors locked;
invitation only. A famous philosopher came out, said something deep
about peace- in broken English- then asked where the camera was.
When he saw I wasn’t a journalist he said: Merde, and walked back in.
At the bookshop Shakespeare, academic tourists had assembled they
looked through books of famous writers, thought of saying that two of
my poetry collections were there, but they looked so educated, wore
capes of superiority and poetry workshop shoes I lost my nerve. Rain,
found a bistro at a side street, had coffee with an Armagnac, thought
of the days when Ernest Hemingway scribbled away here, other writers
too, when Paris was not so haughtily conscious of her artistic status.
I once met an atheist
You know I never saw her smile
She relented and I had time
So we talked and walked for awhile
The world and its actions were against her
How can dreary perceptions be through beautiful eyes
Her hope was in the money maybe fame
A house of cards built on why's
To my amazement she offered up an open mind
And as we neared our conversions end
I asked if she might consider some advice
she said yes, so I introduced her to my friend
His name was Jesus Christ
In the Garden of Gesimine He bled
Burdens of the world's sins upon His back
Died, ressurrected so we might live again
Encoding seven binary digits in length;
Of so these sequences;
All 'dim ones and zeros'
Bits, radices conversions with divisor two;
An electronic device for storing and processing data, typically in binary form, According to
All 'dim ones and zeros'
Instructions given to it in a variable program.
Personal computer or other Wise,PC, laptop, netbook, ultraportable, desktop, terminal;
Makes calculations, especially with a calculating machine
Of so these sequences;
Encoding seven binary digits in length;
dot-dot-dash-dash
More complicated than that
all 'dim ones and zeros'
An electronic device for storing and processing data
Does it really matter
The man who invented the home computer was
Steve Wozniak, known worldwide as 'Woz'
all 'dim ones and zeros'
Woz
The man who designed and built the first Apple computer
10/04/18
My Pain creates the more meaningful words, and sometimes I have enough pain for the world
I had been waiting but didn't know I’d still be waiting
We talked about the future and goals only for those conversions to stay in the past
Sneaking away to have private talks without the worlds thoughts, late night conversations of feelings looking for answers
I felt safe for the first time in a long time, numbers without meaning because the late nights meant nothing, time spent was wasted, patience and attempts, true love was exempt
You seemed perfect but just up and left without saying goodbye
Do you remember our time in which we captured precious bliss with every step?
Because I do
You left without a reason leaving me to reason with the unknown
You walked out of my life and I wasn’t ready to let go
You were just another heart breaker after you told me it wouldn’t be so
I fell in love with your words instead of letting my heart follow actions to show
p.s. why did you leave…
foot tracks foot prints in
in the snow boundaries shown
harnesses patterns
~
of trail blazed shoes worn
"Timberlands™" conversions runs
runs atop the ice
~
snow tracks giant feet
steps, -my eyes sees he's fallen
now I see the shape
~
of an angel on
the ground indented shape of
heavenly body
12/8/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2022©
Do we still belong together,
long to compassion with each other
more than against?
Do we still believe
Earth is more of a regeneratively developing memory
than a degeneratively unraveling lack of cherished experience?
Can we still distinguish between
organic becoming
and autonomous mechanical being
despite over-heated and windy climates
of migrating left/right change,
global west/east
and U.S. nationalistic south v north
and non-communal ambiguous faith commitments
to commodifying capitalism and communal communion of saints
and sinners,
and anti-win/win compassionate parenting,
and not not disassociative anthropocentrism,
and chronically stressed win/lose egocentrism...
I don't believe I have,
and you have,
and They have one right answer
to this question of compassionate solidarity's
true and trust potential.
But I do have active faith
we could create a safe discussion
for ways we do still feel win/win healthier together
than win/lose apart,
and ways we do not,
and in-between do not not,
yet unresolved polynomials,
networking interdependent paradigms
toward healthier wealth.
I do have active hope
we could choose to hold us win/win wealthier together
than autonomously apart,
More resilient than further win/lose fragmentation
of a healthy civil democratic
liberal arts and sciences informed
by original multiculturing wombed resonance
great turning away from further degenerating
our climate woundedly fracturing
disempowering futures apart.
A lifetime of win/win conversions
comes down to how we everyday ask
and every breath and heartbeat answer
these questions,
Do we still belong together,
long to compassion with each other
more than compete against?
a pastoral piece (free verse)
He works hard to write of the evils of sinning.
then sneaks home with Playboy to read after supper.
He preaches wrong habits week in and week out but
those same habits are alright when his sun goes down.
He's split between knowing his tight from his loose;
and has yet to distinquish his white from his black
A very dull clerk runs his office in daytime
but at night, he finds her quite bright on a barstool.
Nightly x-ratings range in sight on his TV,
knowing a penchant to keep some things hidden,
Can he learn to reconcile his night and his day?
Will he ever settle what's light and what's dark?
When fear turns to flight will he think he's won?
When his bark comes to bite him, will he think again?
2
slithering world serpent through the ocean of air
impunity by nature , to understand thee thy dare
infiltrate , dominate , conversions at will
wooing the masses , lies , poisonous they spill
masters of craft , art , they have built
architects of time , vaults filled at their will
institutions of power , early monarchs of earth
treachery and greed , impregnated gave birth
systems of government , religion they've controlled
usurpers of power were quickly dethroned
ancient houses of regents , predetermined by blood
created confusion , unenlightenment by flood
waves of misery , waves of dark history
waves of slavery , waves of atrocities
emotions attuned to human tragedy
sacrifices made to garner sympathy
death incurred , monumental price to pay
wealth accrued in an evil way
white rose of life , black rose of death
checkerboard symbols , a mean game of chess
the world at large has been in constant check
checkmate is the purpose , by whom a good guess .
Maybe we're subjugated to
certain subjects and
I revolve around you
while you reflect on me.
Maybe we are light
and part night.
Energy and passion
overflowing; amassing,
Oceans of surplus
maybe your touch unmasks me
while mine
has the opposite effect
covering you.
Maybe we undress
clothing ourselves
in one another.
hot and bothered
and our lips haven't
even performed
acts of sedition yet.
Deep conversations
cause soul conversions.
Our tongue's
provide unbelievable
submersions
holding your breath
innumerably
while I breathe
a good word
upon you
indefinitely
Inhale to your exhale
making love with
the movement of air.
Giveth yet Taketh Away.
She created being for me
young meant lucky in that
overnight she admittedly disappeared
without a fight and no rapacious thoughts
Hidden away in the hills eloping with the free
mammoth conversions taken aboard
as she climbed, surfacing and
conforming unyielding for an eternity of reasons
Crying out, craving representation of
a part of the source
knowing somewhat pieces missing, blueprints unfinished
so distractions from such emptiness and anguish
few i had, more i yearned with glowing affections
Haunting visions, nightly
how i perceived you
as i didn't know
would it have really
killed you to send one photo
Oh how do you
just forget the existence of us
of me and what was
supposed to be our puzzle and our pilgrimage
Awakening spirit finally within you,
willing love, becoming vital once more
Open hearts had and did come
from many angles
succeeding in forgiving
partly failing in forgetting
The flower blossomed
she became my best friend
we now travelled a path together finally
Morbidly over time her body failed her and
pulled slowly and frustrating
this child of christ into
a warm safe place
pain, aching and desperation
lifted from her shoulders
to be freed to suffer no more
now she was yet
I had lost my smile
my piece to the puzzle
again emptyness stayed by my side
as the nile was flooded with my tears
until mine was the drought
Kneeling, begging the sun to rise
needing life after becoming practically defunct
in my grief and melancholy
That day did appear
dont question how but
taller i stood moving on apparent
She blossmed still my giving flower
just not in physical ways
a precious place in my heart
held only and always
for her
My Creator
My Mother
A Brother's Love
Hey! brother's you are strange creatures...
Brother's are the people in the world who tease their sisters ongoing none stop...
Hey brother's, with your cunning ways and actions so often, misunderstood not by purpose or otherwise just misplaced...
Brother's with your strong, dominating form of consideration like reflections of thoughts, observations, transformations, modifications, conversions, alterations, revisions of thoughts...
Yes, I call you brother...
Brother's are like lemon & lime, bitter sweet with that tangy twist, of unforeseen wonder, carrying the aroma and fragrance of mystery and enigma...
Deborah Vines 3/31/2019