Best Ernest Poems
Born in Ireland in eighteen seventy four
He was a remarkably brave explorer
Three times to Antartica he did go
To that barren wilderness of ice and snow.
Once with Captain Scott and twice on his own
And it was on his third visit that his bravery became known
The expedition was to reach the southern pole
For all the great explorers, it was the ultimate goal.
The Weddell sea was freezing and tightened its grip
And crushed the Endurance, the expedition ship
The crew saved all the equipment and food stores too
They were stranded on an ice floe there was nothing they could do.
But the floe breaks up and on the sea it floats
So the order was given to launch the life boats
They set sail for Elephant island in the southern ocean
And with worsening conditions approached it with caution.
It was a temporary move, they knew they couldn't stay
Shackleton had to get help, there was no other way
Except for five crewmen all the rest did remain
On the island for four months with its inhospitable terrain.
South Georgia was the place that they needed to get to
From there they would be able to launch a rescue
Eight hundred nautical miles they had to row and sail
Through gigantic waves with snow, ice and hail.
Stromness whale station, it was their goal
But on their boat the harsh conditions had taken their toll
South of the island they had to land on a beach
Thirty six hours north was help, they needed to reach.
Three of the crew were taken ill, no more could they take
So Shackleton and two others, a long trek they did make
They trekked in conditions that could have caused harm
But they reached the whale station and raised the alarm.
The three sick crewman were rescued, thankfully still alive
And the twenty two on Elephant island were struggling to survive
Penguin and seal meat was what they had to eat
But they kept their hopes up not admitting defeat.
On August the thirtieth in nineteen sixteen
A Chilean navy ship on the horizon was seen
It was Shackletons fourth attempt to rescue his crew
Their ordeal was now over, but hell they'd been through.
Written 9th January 2018
who encourages who
in regard to the depths
I stagger forward
half aware
swathed in cloth
weighted
yet still I could float away
I look to trespass
wander too far
deliberately take unsure footing
& tumble -
catch the gasps of the onlooker
spontaneity becoming momentum
risk being the blank stare in the water
reflection as religion
a self-formed masterpiece
that can eradicate itself
with subtle magic
breathed in & out of existence
until on the other side
fabric clinging to me
no longer seeking warmth
just looking to repeat
those first few seconds
absolved through abandon
& truly held
A bright young fellow named Ernest
Went to med school to be an internist.
But the sight of insides
Gave him really bad vibes,
So he took up accounting in earnest.
A shifty young lawyer named Stan
Came up with a devious plan
To avoid paying taxes
Through complex finances,
But was told that his plan wouldn't stand.
A beginner in fencing named Perry
Was finding that swordplay was scary.
"Not to belabor
But it's defective, my saber!
It thrusts but refuses to parry!"
An anemic young lady named Madeline
Became increasingly maudlin
When she came to discover
That her boyfriend and lover
Would sleep through the day in his coffin.
A lady tourist named Lisa
Fell from the Tower of Pisa.
On the way down
She thought thoughts profound
And remembered to renew her visa.
A deadbeat gambler named Owen
Ran into the guys he was owing
Who, with style and with ease,
Broke both his knees,
After asking him, "Hey, how's it going?"
A big rock-and-roll star was Ben,
But now just a 90's has-been.
The girls and their aunties
Would throw him their panties,
But now no more groupies has Ben.
("What's in a name" contest entry)
With loaded gun...he gave up!
Dust never settles on my back
Nor does rain on my nose
As the demands of the day persevere
The quietness of the night strengthens my soul
Pain is a stimulus of sorts
A constant reminder of my work still to be done
Time has indeed served as a mirror of my mistakes
Yet I persevere until the battle is won
Visions of Heaven delight my heart
The heat from Hell has changed my ways
Neither mediocrity nor hate shall enter my house
For the pursuit of wisdom marks the rest of my days
As angels do not sing me praise
Nor shall I hang crucified for my wrong
My life shall stand as my judge
My life and faith shall be my song
(Poetry Form: Divine - not included in list of selections)
The clock stood still in shock, refused to chime;
an old alarm designed to warn,
as sneak thief scrambled through
the window frame.
He thought he'd planned a perfect flawless crime;
they caught him in the early morn
when armored men in blue,
the coppers, came.
I am the master
of my fate,
I am the captain
of my soul,
Shackled and bound
naught pensive mood,
Errant thy mind
unique ahold,
Gift naught against
thy solitude,
Further addressed
words oft betold,
Thine wounds convey
said blood doth shed,
Thine consequence
freedom commit,
Inscribed in blood
their conceits fed,
Thy testament
thee naught submit,
Thy body broke
thy skin be bruised,
Thy dogs licked wounds
thy name tainted,
Yet, albeit,
chose naught be used,
Nor to be
manipulated,
Annals of time
should fortune find,
Sorted soul
of true conviction,
Should paths be crossed
be thee unkind,
Thank the gods
thy valediction.
2020 February 02
Howmanysyllables;
18 lines x 8 syllables per = 144 syllables total
Await them in town, to arrive from sea
Those who glow amidst war misery
With minds like mine, sure there are more
Yet honest tongues are few
Mocked once for passion, ridiculed
What's insane to you, to me is true
Born too soon, attract anger from many
They act like they don't want it too
From '49 to this here day, justice has always slipped away
I'm still here, eternal
Look in the moon
My darlings I was just like you
Ignorance was what left me for dead
I still see it now, in a hate filled few
Until they leave I cannot rest
Peace is my one last requisite
Last orders for me shall remain unheard
Until they change their views
In Nashville, all those tourists visit Broadway every day;
They buy those Dolly Parton posters there;
But the record shop of Ernest Tubb won’t seem the same no more—
Sing “Adios” to Ernest Tubb—he used to walk that floor.
Inside there’re old brown photographs displayed upon the wall
Of Jimmie Rodgers, and Roy, and Kitty Wells;
On his radio show he helped some kid name of “Elvis” get a chance—
Sing “Adios” to Ernest Tubb, and his Western-Country dance.
Across the street is Tootsie’s Lounge, where beer and memories flow;
Nearby, the Grand Ole Opry used to play—
Where “E. T.” helped Loretta face that famous microphone;
Sing “Adios” to Ernest Tubb—he’s the best friend Nashville’s known.
He was Lone Star lean and lanky, with a voice like Texas sand—
And he used electric guitars, `way back when;
Instead of wasting tears tonight, let’s everybody sing—
Sing “Adios” to Ernest Tubb…he made that dance floor swing.
Papa ...
Why build your walls so thick?
Did you fear the world would tumble in on you -
Find you as vulnerable and discomposed as the rest of us?
I think your TRUE battles - your wars - took place within
An Id so ambiguous and at odds with itself
That you drowned it in substance and sin and mortality
The edge of a knife too jagged for shrewd application
Visceral impulse, your fine compass
Those paths and bearings felt the prow of your words
Perchance the movable feast was NOT Paris
But rather the light in you - Paris as you lived it, in the rain
You and she, shining, in tremulous unison
Tapping keys with the lethality of your favorite rifle
The point of your pen invasive as any needle, poisoned
Ravaged and gored by the demons of night
Yet passed untouched by the bulls of Pamplona
Your world was raw on the half-shell
You, with Tabasco and a paring knife
Beauty found in muddy fields and mustard gas
As deep and compelling as a Caribbean sunrise
More taken by the grainy texture of a pear on your palate
Than by all the gods of humankind
And THAT, that easy allure -
That sublime simplicity ...
Is why ... I love you.
Written and submitted on November 24, 2019
For the "Your Favorite Artist" Poetry Contest
Chantelle Anne Cooke, Sponsor.
Old man hands, rope-bitten, tough as reef—
Cast out hope with each line’s heave.
Dawn broke red over Gulf Stream bone,
The sea, she whispered, leave it alone.
Tug. A jerk. Then nothing but weight—
Like pulling on the edge of fate.
It ran deep, godless, cold and true,
A thing too big for a world this blue.
Reel sang like a drunk in pain,
Salt in my eyes, sun on my brain.
The boat spun slow in its quiet fight,
While silence grew from a vanished bite.
I lost it—yes. Not just a fish.
It took something a man can’t wish.
A piece of soul with silver scales,
Gone where the dark tide never tells.
I lit a smoke. I let it go.
Hirsute's been my inclination,
beard, and mustache too,
I've never liked to shave my face
since I was twenty-two.
Call me vain, I love my visage,
even though I'm turning grey,
Hemingway had nothing on me,
even though he paved the way
to be a model for my kind,
though l can't be that man,
yet I'll strive to look like him,
and emulate him when I can.
Adventurer, a big game hunter?
activities I don't embrace,
the closest that I'll get to Ernest
is the hair upon my face!
the stillborn baby, gone- then mother too;
wrapped arms 'round my unborn child.
This is a story of a man I didn't know;
I just bore his last name so;
He was my fathers' father and he looked of African;
When I first saw my paternal grand father;
was the summer of 1969 ( I believe I was around 14 years old)
Never saw him until then;
His statue was of at lease 6 foot 7 seven inches
An old sticky-man
He was a grave digger (No for real)
In a town called Mounds Illinois
First time that I'd be there before
Told many of the towns people " I'm gonna bury ya all some day"
Had a shovel in his hands the first time I met him
(Yes! we were at a cemetery, that's another story to tell ya)
I was a teen then upon first meting him
My second cousin laughed and said give the boy some money
So he reached in his pocket and gave me a {quarter}
everyone laughed out loud, really?
I guess I should have kept it
that was 50 years ago in June
Never, ever saw him a second time nor ever again;
They said he lived on nothing..Had money in his mattress
Family members stress this
He was so old he was here before my second cousin was (both born of Mid-Wife's
My second cousin was maybe 98 to a 100 then
Neither one had birth-certificates?
So Grand Pa Lee had many marriages, you see
but guess what he was never married really
Those younger women and family members rumored said to have robbed him blind
Guess that's sorta
Perceived as out of order
To this day we yet laugh out loud grand was an original hoarder
Guess I should have kept that quarter
True story of a very old, very tall man.......you see
His name my paternal Grand Pa
Grand Pa
Ernest Lee
9/16/19
written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
we go to great lengths to win ~ and in the end find that we've won nothing