Best Expunged Poems
Written: July 24, 2026 for a contest sponsored by Brian Strand
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Note: This is the Open (organic) VERSE created by Brian Strand and using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols; the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' (intuitive cadence)& so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond, thus making this enigmatic form a two-way interplay & interpretation unique to the moment
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wordless
sanctum
portals
cleaving
anchored
in
invocations
shroud-bound
effulgence—
vellum
&alabaster
fluttering
guising flesh
in
a clean slate
fettered
by
silence
ghost-scripted
expunged
orisons
canvas
bloom
weathered sheen
of
tether-tint
a
nailing soul
interlaced
exhumed
unbegotten
ebbing voice
forgotten
in a
breach
of
canonical hours
as
seeds
sprouting—
sky etched
wave-washed
sentence
retribution
under
a dust-turn
of
ink
& oblivion
Woo oh oh oh
All that I am
I am living proof of a loving God
Woo oh oh oh
All that I am
I am living proof of a loving God
Been through such, so much
Perfect peace, been released
Flowing from my Father’s cup
Been allowed pangs N pains
Been through a lot of strange things
O’ I am, I am, living proof of a loving God
Hallelujah
Even in my mess, never the less
I am ever blessed my sin in whole, expunged delivered an forgiven
I was a mess, now a forgiven sinner saved by grace
OH! All that I am, I
I am a living proof of a loving God
3/17/25
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2025©
Dark clouds drift slowly across the leaden sky.
The air is stagnant, still, heavy with promise of the tempest to come.
Standing, abandoned, forlorn, on the edge of the abyss I wait.
Tears of anguish course down my cheeks, vanishing into the dust.
My head bowed in grief as if in worship to the god Aeolus.
The sound of my low sobbing a mantra to his approach.
Dark clouds drift slowly across the chaos in my mind.
The old fear has brought forth the fruit of despair as it was ordained.
Sounds of thunder arise, the harbinger of the furore to come.
Thoughts of what has been lost, expunged, from my view overwhelm me.
Memories, so many memories so many colours all turned to grey.
The moan breaks free rising with the wind, a sirens song of futile love.
Dark clouds drift slowly across the ruin of my soul.
The sky is lit with bolts of white light joining heaven and earth.
Scars of wounds long healed reopen, I bleed for each friend lost.
Terrible is my lament as my head rises and I turn to face the gale.
More than heart can bear, the pain, the grief, the loss, my true friend.
The crescendo of sound and light is reached, the edge of the abyss stands empty.
"Christmas"
I’ll stay with you
towards Christmas
those 12 days
and beyond
a strange few days
we meet in the nether
and hold on ...
like there’s no tomorrow
while the gryphons
try to work out
which side their
mind and body is on
12 days
gifting partridges
their pairs in trees
hidden in the myst
Christmas is
as Christmas does
its extremes and sublimities,
its oh so ... immaculate mess
I’ll stay with you
towards Christmas
those 12 days
and beyond
rocky road
devoured
and trifles
expunged
cherry ripened
cheery
hearts
are us
I’ll stay with you
towards Christmas
those 12 days
and beyond
‘cause,
Poetry
is
Us
isn't it
magic?
'cause
Poetry
is
Us?
Love
to you
wherever you are
never alone
my beautiful one,
there is no ugly
here today in my
heart -
for you
at Christmas,
alone
Love to you,
'cause
Poetry is Us
I’ll stay with you
towards Christmas
those 12 days
and beyond ...
'cause
Poetry is Us
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
at Christmas, 2023
By the time I was a score and four
I was retired from overseas duty.
Was husband to an American beauty.
Had smoked at least ten years or more.
I was hep...... Cool Hand Luke the fool.
John Wayne, all my idols puffed weed.
The movies, sports, all planted the seed.
Be a cat, a lover, all the things so cool.
Smoke, you fool, that’s the golden rule.
Oh, I quit a thousand times. Not really.
But it went from the sublime to silly.
What I needed was a quitting tool.
Nothing came out for years, but proof.
If you smoked you would die early.
It would put you in the grave girlie.
They convinced me it was no spoof.
Then about ‘80 came the gum to chew.
Nicotine substitute with a doctor’s care.
Even so, you had to first declare
Ernest intention, a desire to be through.
I bought mine in May of eighty four.
Made up my mind I would like to quit.
The first few days, I was a nervous twit.
I thought “Lord help me, Please, no more”
The secret for me, beyond the Nicorette,
beyond God’s help, and the family grim.
After thirty seconds the want was slim
and I had gotten by with no cigarette.
Enduring thirty seconds at each twinge,
minute by minute, day by day until
my body expunged, the habit was nil.
There was no need to think of a binge.
After a while there was no more want.
Time passed, now nearly thirty years.
My lungs are clean, eased are the fears
wife and children had, their faith I flaunt.
© Jul 14 2010 For Dane Ann’s “being trapped” contest
RED SUN DAWNING OVER THE NEW EMPIRE
The dawning sun raises bloody red
Over the traffic clogged streets
And noxious polluted air
Of the capital of Imperial America
The sun with its bloody red glare
Reminds me of all the people who died
This last year in Emperor's Bush's Three Wars
We are the American Empire
We are the power, we are the power
We are perfect masters of the universes
And will remake the world in our image
In the so-called war against Evil
The invasion and occupation
Of foreign lands
Because our leaders say
They might, someday be a threat
And the old words of ancient Rome
Comes to mind
Carthage must die
Baghdad must be destroyed
The heart of the evil empire
Must be invaded
And the evil of Saddam must be expunged
So our great and glorious leaders
Proudly proclaim
Every day every moment
On the conservative media
Now owned, operated and controlled
By the powers that have taken over
The shadow government that runs
The New American Empire
And soon the entire world
Will be under its sway
We are the American Empire
We are the power, we are the power
We are perfect masters of the universes
And will remake the world in our image
We still have some freedom left
Some space to rant and rave
And grumble
But soon, oh so soon
This paper and that paper
And this internet site and that site
And this TV station and that TV Station
Will be shut down
In the name of national security
We are the American Empire
We are the power, we are the power
We are perfect masters of the universes
Doors
How fitting that the band’s name derived from Aldous Huxleys’ treatise
‘The Doors of Perception’ that purely aesthetic philosophical story of
life through the window and door I suppose of psychedelia and drugs
In a marriage of heaven and hell ‘Baby light my Fire’ perilously casts
a shadow of what became when he hatched through the final portal
unhinged wasted high as an angel the one and only Jimmy Morrison
‘This is the End’ the final curtain which Jimmy painted in words when
brilliance and despair talent and all those voices in his head were laid
to a final resting place and conclusion of a life pruned and cut so short
The end underlined the movie ‘Apocalypse Now’ in its brutal reality
in a world that does not need reality shows to distract from evil in
which Vietnam and the Holocaust are forgotten and history repeated
Jimmy’s father had been an Admiral in the forces and my father a
General had thought that years on the Russian front could be expunged
by joining NATO’s Cold War delusions fighting for Peace with ready guns
My own rebellion has been quite mild rather mellow but I wonder
how close I have sailed to the wind resisted the calls of Baader and
Meinhof have not bowed to the needle avoided full blown opposition
No comparison in talent for sure and I believe that Jimmy suffered
psychosis and I got away with depression but nevertheless in truth
it is the world that suffers from schizophrenia seems to dabble with
Mescaline induced decomposed compositions when true colours are black
‘This is the End’ and ‘Light my Fire’ misunderstood when genocide beckons
gluteus maximus left and right half moon cheek
re: byte size buttock
attached via usb (uniform firm behind) to this freak
with bowel movement incontinence + gas filled gut
evoking contortionist frown stretching to lowest peak
perched upon porcelain goddess where elimination did jut
held captive hostage atop toilet seat for many a week
exertion to expel rock solid turd required utmost effort
to force jammed bowel movement free
inducing excruciating abdominal cramps that really hurt
plus sharp jabbing spasms within high knee
innards rent asunder from obstruction as BB size PELLETS did spurt
from lodged fecal matter refusing to budge from me
caused by severe constipation whereby prayer a waste
delivered only increased sphincter muscle to scream
for rectal relief this mortal man faced
a worse fate than death, he would deem
since demise would allow alimentary misery to cease
versus remaining in this impasse for what might be years
unless perchance some **** lubricant or special grease
would bust loose abominable constriction in arrears
finding me unable to pay rent or renew lease
best prospect of remaining stationary with words to wax
poetic found a glimmer of luck
when a kind wildebeest delivered this message via fax
to help attend male in dire per situation get poop unstuck
with outsize mug of exlax
to help unclog rectal muck
access to get expunged to the max
but once expulsion occurs DO DO PLEASE DUCK!
a storm is brewing
dark hordes bristling to descend
dissenting thunder
coalescent scouts
in tentative teams essay
sun-parched earth awaits
sizzle of drizzle
pheremonal petrichor
harbingers of hope
cool breeze in the air
their work done, drops sponged, expunged
the deluge follows
Written 15 April 2016
First line changed from "storm clouds in council" to meet contest requirements.
All that is left is scorched earth,
no future, present, or past.
For nukes have expunged Man's birth,
lost in the flash of their blast.
Intense heat melted the gold,
leaving only blood and gore.
And burnt the treasures of old,
nothing was spared by the war.
An eerie glow, worn by night,
now accentuates the dark.
And it lures me with its light,
past shadows empty and stark.
As this light restores some sight,
I'm amazed by what I find.
And realizing my plight,
I pray that death will be kind.
While all my hopes fall apart,
a plastic Jesus greets me.
And though its light lifts my heart,
it's clear, I'll soon cease to be.
(Quatrain)
1/8/2016
Expunged upon each breath,
freezing accusations
sealed your lips,
and like a snare, retribution
closed its choking grip.
I had seen the flush of blush
upon each cheek,
when casual touch
lingered just a little too much,
for what is flirtation
but prelude to conquest,
with me a discarded after-thought.
Excuses like autumn leaves,
twisted in my maelstrom,
they were nothing
but a future medium
for growing better lies,
and I gather shining images,
spliced together with fantasy,
projecting this movie
onto the blankness of my fears.
Coincidence brings coffee to a table,
over-sweetened with honey words
and schoolgirl-like smiles,
this innocent rendezvous
that taints my blue sky,
is nothing but a grey cloud
of twisted imagination,
and self-flagellation.
Untitled 5
“Her anger left marks on my skin; beauty transformed to fury and rage- my heavenly angel became an angel of death. With each word she broke the fibers of my being; she plunged her hand into my chest and commandeered my bleeding heart. Yet with every squeeze of my heart she breathed new life into me; like a god she commanded the my universe to shift its landscape- the collision galaxies rattled my spirit with toxically addicting love; she was a dagger in my chest, a black hole in the infinite space of my soul. If I expunged her hand from my chest surely my heart would be stolen away. And it was- I forced her out of me- her carcinogenic love left me hollow and aching; now I stand in this nothingness calling her name, hoping and praying that she plunges her hand in my empty chest and returns my heart- I wish on a thousand souls that she grants me her toxic love afresh.”
~NC
"Don't dabble in my apples,"
said a voice one day.
"Don't dabble in my apples,
heed the words I say!
Don't dabble in my apples
up in yonder tree.
They aren't worth the hassle,
listen unto me."
"Don't dabble in my apples,
they are not for thee.
Don't dabble in my apples,
this I have decreed.
Don't dabble in my apples,
or you will have to leave.
So don't dabble in my apples,
Adam and Eve."
"Don't dabble in my apples,"
boomed the voice from high.
"You can share a plum or pear,
there's many fruits to try.
Don't dabble in my apples,
the reasons are mine.
Just don't dabble in my apples,
and you'll be fine!"
"Do not partake,
or see the snake,
don't seek the asp,
that's all I ask.
You wont be pardoned,
and this garden,
will be withdrawn,
expunged and gone,
-wait a minute...
somethings wrong!"
"Who dabbled in my apples?
Who partook the prize?
Was it Adam, was it Eve,
Who disobeyed my cries?"
"Who dabbled in my apples?
Who has doomed mankind?
To close the gates and seal the fate
of all in paradise!"
"You dabbled in my apples,
but somehow, it makes sense.
For you are all my blood and flesh,
made in my own image.
You dabbled in my apples,
but you're still my children,
whom I love with all the love that I can give."
A distant dampness wrings the air.
A weight most profound presses chest
as indrawn breath holds silent;
in the stonehedge of overwhelming gloom.
So, the mighty have fallen
auguries of a mortal doom.
Without missive,
bluestone bones, stanchions silhouette
onto a plane of pastel sky.
Gargantuan, they rise, a tomb.
So, the mighty have fallen
auguries of a mortal doom.
Brittle brown blood expunged
by millennium three,
the still, symbolic, oak forest rises.
Frozen sarsens, five, forming an open grove.
Megaliths beaconing a golden eastern dawn
So, the multitude will rise within the circle
without earthly substance, soul;
through green grasslands loam
ashen augury of a different tome.
Can’t seem to unearth any Connection,
On the mound of Black, In the tempest of Blur,
Can you distinguish the sounds of my subterranean Frustration?
Bringing up the rear contact with all living Forms.
{Realisation}
I’m out casted in the black Nothingness
Absent from the airborne Kisses, With the towering hugs in Lead.
Was it a helicopter my bonfire Missed?
Just get me connected I Plead...
{Panic}
Utterly Now, I’m contracting undulation in the exterior World,
Where the entire is right is Wrong.
Here is where trespassers are Hurled:
I’m rationally the only impostor in so Long.
{Acceptance}
This modest internet Icon,
Is sited with a never expunged X.
Can’t you hear my screech with my mic. On?
All my necessitates is a contrivance with a solitary Text.
{Searching}
This lost connection swimming in the Whirlpool;
Whirlpool of nerve Wrecks, Downpour Darkness, Polluting Love.
I endure a metamorphose for the soundless night of Cool,
As I am still the dusk obscurity in leather Gloves.
{Disconnected}