Best Garrisons Poems
Goodnight to our Rome with all your garrisons
and your streets that have become
as loveless as empty barracks.
For you I will never weep.
After all,
your Senators
Who made the deals
To keep the last
Last
And the first bored
and lost in ennui,
govern the burning ruins
of the human city which evicted the cobbler
and used the electorate as a weapon
With unforgiving recoil
Which guarantees
that
the bottom will stay at the bottom
and dance to the music of the
midnight carousel.
2
Now that the middleman has been cast
To the prairie grass
With his own middle cut away
His fate was decided over lunch
The legal apparatus has fallen from its hinge
Leaving only the greatest felony
Unnamed.
And who are our neighbors
When we’re sentenced to the
Four year winter hotel?
Will they be the nameless ghosts
Evicted from their bodies by those
Who are afforded the right to escape the tombs
With kept wives in cheap furs
And Upper eastside penthouses.
And in all those apartments
All the beautiful people
Wash down oxycodone with fine wine
While bitching about the junkie below.
“Send the cops to clean up the drug
Problem,” they cry.
“All addictions should come with a ‘scrip.”
It takes a truly trained country
with few alternatives
to put a knife to its own throat
or hand it over
to an orange buffoon
with a poor hair cut
in a loveless room.
He always
lines up his bets
on what con will turn the American heart
into just another dead
theater
where it was all the show of shows.
And when the decision is made
The worst one is chosen.
The decision has certainly been made.
For what other country
Choses a landlord so crooked
All self-respecting cons
Walk past him
Never stopping at all
For fear he will pick their pockets clean
For he is the biggest con of all,
Who now has to do a sometimes honest man’s job.
Those he loved the least
Ignored all the papers
Who for once
Didn’t celebrate
The game of chance
But cried out
With the urgency of a siren
During an air raid
to pick the other.
While he spoke as one of the mob
His heart was that of a landlord
Looking to evict
All his useful idiots
From their lots.
For now he can expect nothing in the end
But to stand on the stairs
Or escalator
When all your Senators approach
smiling
with drawn knives.
“Et tu Sessions?”
Alfred the Great (born Wantage, 849)
Market place; he stands in isolation.
Known for culinary conflagration,
The object of two vandalous attacks –
How scandalous to steal his battle axe !
He burned the cakes and chased the Danes
But what makes Alfred great ?
At Ashdown with his massive axe and helm
He fought the Danes and drove them from his realm.
A firm believer in education,
In order, justice, administration,
He burned the cakes and chased the Danes
And this made Alfred great.
A naval fleet he set upon the sea
And with Mercian and Welsh diplomacy
His armies, garrisons, forts and palisades
Ensured defence against all future raids.
He burned the cakes and chased the Danes
Isn’t our Alfred, Great ?
Devoid of personal exposure to Spring wonder’s iridescence
I thank God for vicarious experience-fluorescence
Enabling me to testify about Spring’s delightful essence
Through technology with varied media’s presence.
Among the four providentially-created seasons
Spring’s the best, anchored upon scientific reasons:
Moderate temperatures offer freedom from winter-prisons
While granting relaxation against scorching summer-garrisons.
More daylight in the Spring allows much work-fulfillment
Ushering toward opportunities for creativity-engagement
Opening to outdoor exercise routines’ involvement…
For natural Vitamin D enjoyment and health investment.
Watching avian influx eases mental distress
Birds’ melodious songs bring joy of serenity-buttress
Beholding baby animals can vanquish stress…
Like bunnies and ducklings frolicking outside their fortress.
As leaves come back, they mitigate urban heat
Flowers in bloom produce “true smile,” hard to beat.
Growing plants provide vital environmental feat
With fresh vegetables and fruits as nutrition-meat.
Indeed, I praise God for Spring delight
Though I live in the Tropics*, upheld by His might
With His blessings of love, light and faith triumph-height
Spiritual revivals** of new beginning’s plight beautify my Spring flight.
*We only have two seasons in our country: the Dry or Summer and Wet or Rainy days.
**Isaiah 57:15 For thus saith the high and lofty One that inhabiteth eternity, whose name is Holy; I dwell in the high and holy place, with him also that is of a contrite and humble spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble, and to revive the heart of the contrite ones.
March 23, 2019
Edited on March 23, 2023
Ghetto people, where ghetto people
North, south, east and west, its ghetto
Ghetto’s and garrisons, we have to live with it
From the cold hearted streets, you got to deal with it
Born and raised in the east side of that London
Hackney to be preside, try and get a job most likely made redundant
Remember 011 when the riots happened
I think that’s only time everyone came together as friends
A brother named Mark Duggan had a gun which was a lie
Shot 2 times in cold blood, left to die
I don’t understand why he was killed in the streets
When a police officer could kill any brother who is black as me
To most people the ghetto is their reality
I’m from the hood were hustling makes up your salary
People say I wonder if heaven has a ghetto
But we have hell on earth, I just try to stay mellow
Ghetto’s, garrisons, hoods and projects
Everyone dreaming of having a million pound or dollar checks
I know sometimes life isn’t fair
But to be honest, it’s like that everywhere
There is always a light a light at the end of the tunnel when you get there
As Tupac Shakur said, even though you’re fed up
You gotta keep your head up
So don’t give up my people
Let’s go beyond greatness, 1,2,3,4 like a sequel
April 23 Relationship to God Bible Meditations Based on 2Chronicles 16-19
Key Verse – 2Chronicles 16:23 Sing unto the LORD, all the earth; shew forth from day to day his salvation.
LORD GOD, YOU ARE MY SONG
Lord God, You are my Song as I dwell in Your perfect will
Thank You for delivering me from sin-death’s penalty bill
In my reliance to You, trusting You as my Saviour, dependent still
Help me not to depart from Your sacrifice at Calvary’s hill.
Lord God, You are my Song as I dwell in Your love’s settlement
Thank You for filling me with Your joy of salvation-contentment
In my submission to You, acknowledging Your sanctification-fulfillment
Help me not to behold worldliness’ allurement.
Lord God, You are my Song as I stand upon Your strengthening forces
Thank You for leading and teaching me by Your advice and promises
In my journey for Christian service along Your virtuous graces
Help me not to walk along garrisons of evil devices.
Lord God, You are my Song as I wait on You blissfully
Thank You for propelling me for ministry involvement prosperously
In my cleaving to You, seeking for Your wise approval patiently
Help me not to join affinity with what is against Your truth biblically.
Lord God, You are my Song as I live by Your Word’s instruction
Thank You for fighting for me toward holiness with Your compassion
In my clinging to Your security midst trials and affliction
Help me not to fall into carnal enticements for my testimony’s destruction.
Lord God, You are my Song as I pursue after Your divine venture
Thank You for upholding me to be steadfast with righteous posture
In my enclosure within Your lovingkindness’ gesture
Help me not to behave along pride’s dictates of distress-torture.
Lord God, You are my Song as I take heed to confess and forsake my iniquity
Thank You for dealing mercifully with me by Your authority
In my humbling down to You along meekness’ sincerity
Help me not to neglect Your charge as my leader of supreme sovereignty.
April 23, 2023
I thank the Lord for the glide of day
And the kind provision of bread;
None has a debt with the sky
That he may claim his right to be fed.
All depend on the Lord's beneficence,
His mercies and immense compassion;
All amenities found in His garrisons of munificence,
And His inexhaustible archives of love!
Why was Jesus a Leftist? please extrapolate.
In John 2, Jesus overturns the money-changers' tables
In Mark 11, and Matthew 23, He cleansed the Temple of trade
He got to the City, took a left turn, not right to Roman garrisons
Jesus made a left, upset trade, earned his stripes as a LEFTIST.
Smith Wigglesworth, on the Bible, the only book he learned to read at 23: "When I read the newspaper I feel dirtier than I went in. When I read the Bible I feel cleaner than I went in. And I like feeling clean."
...Through the woodlands the riflemen did steam,
reinforcing General Greene’s second line,
the British pressed on, still on the attack,
but they had quite the devil of a time.
Marching through forest that broke up their ranks,
while Americans poured on musket balls,
the dead and wounded kept piling up,
they paid dearly just to advance at all.
When the British threatened to turn the flank,
the patriots all fell back to the main force,
the Redcoats were bleeding from the losses,
and now only faced the prospect of more.
But onwards still they pushed the assault,
with their artillery joining the fray,
then in the chaos some guns were misaimed,
and blew some of their own soldiers away.
Forwards and back the two sides kept surging,
dragoons dismounting to fight on their feet,
but Nathaniel Greene was a thinking man,
and ordered his soldiers to all retreat.
He knew as long as his army survived
the King would have no victory in the south,
so he marched away, and Cornwallis faced
some big questions about what to do now?
Because as he counted up his losses
more than five hundred were wounded, or dead,
a quarter of his entire force…
the realization echoed in his head.
He had not the numbers to go on offense,
and the rebels had escaped mostly unscathed,
Nathaniel Greene’s army was still intact,
could still attack and devastate large swathes.
Cornwallis moved his men to Wilmington,
to resupply, reinforce, and fit out,
but the ‘beaten’ Greene did not wait for him,
in fact his army reinvaded the south!
One-by-one they picked off the garrisons,
freeing both Carolinas’ back-country,
driving forth until the British were left
holding just some small cities by the sea.
Cornwallis had not the numbers to challenge,
like Pyrrhus he had ground his army down,
so he march north to await his comrades,
at a small, seaside village called Yorktown…
like waters for words...
The morning sun, taste like yellow-foul run?
Her voice smelled like warm caramel candy corn;
The music sounded heavy as the winter winds torn;
The color green feels like emeralds…
Aster-flowers
The color red tastes like Kool Aid™
Without sugar…
Midnight ran is bitter a garrisons;
The wind look as calm as spacious;
Seeing him walk was like hearing the locusts;
Tasting the nights dinner was like watching silent black N white television;
Hear her cry was like tasting lightening;
Smelling the gasoline was like touching a busy sticky-bee hive;
Touching her dying father’s hand was like seeing the gravel and rocks cry,
like waters for words flowing floating and rolling...
8/13/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2019
Written for project North Omaha Writers Group (NOW) assignment
In isolation mull the severed links,
chain corroded thoughts as keens the winter chill;
though shines a sun, strangely cold;
this mind sculpts only cognitive ice.
With rodent greed the hemlock grief it drinks,
stagnant pools of ancient rain lie still;
their primal fears recoil, grow old,
removed, reincarnated once or twice.
Feasting on the hand me down concealing,
filtered through the caverns of a heart;
they marvel at the monster they created,
his tears never shed, nor ever cried.
Only I know garrisons of feeling,
beaten and chastised and chained apart;
miss her more than they anticipated;
something in me died…
In isolation mull the severed links,
chain corroded thoughts as keens the winter chill;
though shines a sun, strangely cold;
this mind sculpts only cognitive ice.
With rodent greed the hemlock grief it drinks,
stagnant pools of ancient rain lie still;
their primal fears recoil, grow old,
removed, reincarnated once or twice.
Feasting on the hand me down concealing,
filtered through the caverns of a heart;
they marvel at the monster they created,
his tears never shed, nor ever cried.
Only I know garrisons of feeling,
beaten and chastised and chained apart;
miss her more than they anticipated;
something in me died…