Best Grounds Poems
Summer lay lazily over the land.
The languid weight of wind and water
bowing tree limbs, chasing sand
squalls over sidewalks.
Cyclist meander down aisles
of Rose of Sharon shrubbery past
banks of day lilies and Pez-purple
hydrangeas.
Tourist, colorful as the flowers,
buzz through seaside shops in flip flops
the color of Necco wafers.
Their gummy soles making sucking
sounds upon the linoleum.
In gingerbread slumber like fairy-tale children,
they gather in pink, lime-green, and purple houses.
The poor of a Christian God have become
the rich of a capitalist nation.
They hoard their paper-lantern dream.
My heart scans
for a familiar face
through throngs
of strangers
as they scatter
pell mell
around me
eager shoppers
casing brightly lit
sale stuffed store fronts
while seduced
by the siren song of fresh coffee
coupled with
sticky sweet cinnamon buns
suddenly
the bitter fact
swallows me
whole again
you no longer reside
anywhere
outside
of my dreams
The struggle is not between
East and west or
Worst and best, but lies
On a far more slippery slope
Connecting the cold dark, canopy of night
With the light of hope.
The battle rages
Throughout the ages
Like wild fire burning
Grass and trees below
Mother Earth’s sky blue breeze –
Flames flickering in the shadows
Surrounding you and me:
Democracy
Appears to be languishing
Between Her majestic beginnings
And dismal demise
All the while mask faced puppeteers
Pull the people’s strings
And blow oceans full of smoke
Before their naked eyes
Too numb and dumb to question who or
What or why.
As they go the way of Persia,
Egypt, Greece and Rome –
Lost in greed and glory
Forgetting God and home:
Foundation of freedom,
Liberty and dreams of higher realms
Where enlightened men once
Stood taller than eagles dare
And cast their hope filled spell
Very nearly everywhere
People cried, forsaken, died while
The hands of sweet Liberty lifted them up
And filled their cups
With more than blood, deceit and sorrow –
As some gave all they had to give
For a brave new world tomorrow.
What shall we say to those
Whose ghosts still walk
Those all too many hallowed battle grounds?
Will we curse their names to oblivion and shame
Until not a trace is found
Or will we instead, invoke the dead
And turn democracy around?
In time, a faded letter turned to ash,
dampened teak now acrid and abused,
a timeless quarrel's scene, an ancient clash,
one paroxysm fierce, two mastheads fused.
Subsumed in fortune's cast of reel and ruse,
blended masses nursing wounds and fears
ne'er comprehending how it ended here.
What forced each flag to wield its harshest hand,
yet cause to happenstance may seldom look,
wild thoughts untempered, soldiers of the grand,
nostalgia or clean might for pride mistook.
Fair warning to the hungry, e'en wisest book
makes not the calm of vernal noon's delight
worth more than ashen spoils from the fight.
When you ask many rich Congolese
of the East of DRCongo about the reasons
of keeping their millions US dollars
under the grounds.
Majority of them will point the Wars
And some Rebellions
Which are pushing
And supporting
by some Westerners
And Americans of evil hearts.
Rivers and lakes in Congo have more fish
But industrial fishing is not developed
due to few modern fishing boats.
Congolese engineers are the first black
African engineers who made some marine airoplanes
And more luxuries ship of international standards
on lake Kivu and Tanganyika.
Why these Congolese riches don't expand
on industrial fishing for more fish products
And export some raw and cooked
fish worldwide?
June 25/2023
Here lay the cabins, neatly lined in a row. Here lies the forest, surrounding us head to toe as we roast marshmallows and giggle as we eat smores, telling old horror stories passed down from generation to generation. The camp bells blare early in the morning all around the camp grounds signaling us off into the lake, the lake, the lake, the lake. Sounding us off into the dazzling lake.
Form:
He has risen from
the grave of death to lift you
up to higher grounds
the Burial grounds
punctuation. marks. on the walkway of life, an ending
we Thank our friends with Kisses
pretending to sl e e p
quaking with terror as
we s t a r e down the drain
creeping Things on stone s
t
e
p
s whispering
Go Home
An afternoon excursion
Filled with friends and food and art
Takes an ordinary Thursday
And just blows it off the chart.
Just a stroll throughout the gardens,
So impeccably maintained,
Proves that Nature has the power
To keep callers entertained.
Add some monumental sculptures
And a classy, tasty meal,
Then you’ve hit on the equation
For a day that’s quite ideal.
Circumstances rarely happen
(If they do we have to splurge)
When good health and lovely weather
And friends’ schedules converge.
So today, I’m feeling grateful
For a few delightful hours
With some loved ones, food and sunshine,
Gorgeous trees and art and flowers.
Something's brewing deep within
With steam rising again and again
I'm no drama queen
Just need to harness steam.
So many projects I've spied
Each now I've seen, bears wings, and will fly
Everyone will gain
One vision, we're the same.
Let's cruise, capture, show and tell
From dust to dust, then more as well
Who will simmer it!
Pave for those of service.
*
Form:
showered coffee grounds -
aromatic soiled water
in a clean cup
3/8/2018
Narrative Energies Love Brown Grounds Mating
I lay atop of the earth interment pleasuries;
Beautiful the fruited mounds on her;
Golden tanned brown coverings, energies
Valley’s deep core holds the seeds bore;
Nourish the crevice that holds the trees;
Inserted seeds grow out of the terrain, now full grown trees;
I’ve laid on top of the barren grounds;
I’ve sown the seeds
While in the valley of the new birth;
Now the once barren grounds grown out of me;
For not valid reason but Love from God whom I trust;
From the browned grounds God’s tapestry;
Narrative Energies Love Brown Grounds Mating
Browns, hair colored greens, Browns;
Textured sweet smelling’s grounds;
Narrative Energies Love Brown Grounds Mating
5/08/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
I fallen down beneath
The grounds of hollow
Whispers echo voices
Roman choices
I scream as I rise up
By your cold gray dead stone
Flowers dying
People crying
My heart unfeeling
Why am I so cold inside
I'm only trying to feel alive
My feet moving forward
While my mind pulls me back
Slippin in a crack in the ground
I fallen back beneath of the grounds of which
I am found
I pick myself up and look around and all that can be found
Is dirt upon the ground
Humpal beneath the surface again
With scars upon my skin
The cuts are so deep but it only makes me dance deeper
Beneath the surface
I'm walking in my sins
Sometimes I wonder what it would feel like if I would just wake up if I would just wake up
Sometimes it just never crosses my mind guess I'm so hollow empty there's no room for feelings
I'm my own disaster beneath the grounds of no happy Ever After .
If my tears was to flow
It will be my evil blood
I let go running like the
River and floods of
Tomorrow
The disaster for your eyes peeled off the ground floor
Toss through and open door
I'm so unfeeling
I scream for more .
listen to the quiet in the middle of a snowfall
watch my puppy chow chow leap into my every bootprint
watch a stranger smile and wave at me and say hello
watch me wave back and tell her to enjoy the snow
notice how she is still smiling as she walks past me
notice how my eyes never leave the performance factor of her walk
notice how my puppy chow chow tries to yelp like a big dog
listen to us laughing carelessly while visions of sneaky snowballs dance in our heads
see how the conversation starts the smoothest in the freezing cold as our noses run with glee
i bet we are wondering deep inside....'i wonder what will happen when the sun comes back out'
Clinging on to silence
When there’s nothing to behold
In the mirror of this earthly
Visage growing old
Beneath what now just lingers
In this quieting despair
There lies an open graveyard
Begging for your care
The flowers here are wilting
All the children turn away
And in that I am haunted
There is no such thing as play
My voice sings of confusion
When I ask for your embrace
Instead I speak of lacking
And why it’s you that I should blame
Now alone beside the mirror
This old man is close to truth
And as he fades into the nightmares
He recalls what stole his youth
Stalking through the darkness
A passenger of pain
“It is I that haunts this graveyard”
And then he spoke his name
Awake and overflowing
With the senses I thought gone
The old man in the mirror
Is now a child with a song