Best Infused Poems
let me feel your rhythm manifest
infuse to my liquid being
your power a seed of desired secrets
mesh yourself deep to my tissue
with each roll of your might
I embower myself with succulent thoughts
each waves shush of sand softly speaks
empathy curling itself over my aching
…Today your turmoil is smooth
…Tomorrow may rage dark against me
still your essence will shine
within the clouds as they kiss your skin
your white foam scrambles forward
and rushes the shore, serene in abeyance
I too await the promise of today
9-3-2020
Brians Choice 3
1st place
my flesh is filled and fraught with foul disease;
offensive is my life to mine own eyes
who sees me sail life's clear and cloudy seas
where faith fills up or empties out our lies.
now here I stand a broke and beaten man
whose love of life laments obscurity
but in the end ambition's naive plan
reached in and stole my soul's integrity.
I am but one who's never been an us:
no flesh - no blood - no break of fast to feed;
a lustful trust once wrapped in omnibus,
ground down and made a graven slave to need.
disgusted as those degradation days
laid waste upon the taste of indiscreet;
my soul a hole of black and blacker ways
confronts chronicity of incomplete.
there is no way to spread the dreaded blame;
excused are those accused or left behind.
I do so love to play the changing game
in every little corner of my mind.
I've traveled every twisted rut and road
that zigs and zags across my mottled map
and every road became an endless load
and every stop became the same old trap.
I've tasted magic mushroom's mellow cure
alongside mystic natives in Peru;
made love in huts to ladies quite unsure
as glitter ghosts played rock and roll kazoo.
I've sat inside the sacred Shaman ring
where apparitions dervish-dance around
but what the Shaman brought I could not bring -
my last was lost - my first was never found.
I'm jonesin' in the center of a city
while waiting on some powdered China-white.
I pray the man can deal a bit of pity
or sick I'm bound to be throughout this night.
I think I see my hero now a-comin'
like a pimp he's dressed in tapered leather
tripping proud with lanky strides and hummin'
tunes he writes but cannot keep together.
I'm watchin' death come walkin' straight at me
and I don't think or blink a cautious eye
but hand the Ferryman Charon his fee,
relieved to leave without a shout "goodbye."
my body's broke and beaten now for certain;
too many years of junk have dried my bones.
I think I see the final call and curtain -
the God who owns is callin' in His loans.
it was my hope someday I would connect
and mesh my flesh with angels of desire
but I deny their lie so they reject
those touched too much by flames of madness fire.
the story of God's glory gone insane;
a genius so sublime in youthful prime
before devoted days with rock cocaine
did steal away the tick and tock of time.
certified a crazy kind of critter
by tested mess I do believe correct
but bitter is the life filled full with litter
where choice is purged by choices I neglect.
but now I'm runnin' full capacity
while hopin' I'm not headin' for a fall
while showin' off my great alacrity
before the reaper makes her final call.
I hope to find a cheap discreet hotel
where I will kick addictions very quick
while risin' up and out of my own hell
affixed to my afflictions like a tick.
I think I'll join a mighty minstrel show
while stretching high to greet the nearest star;
I'll find some truth I don't already know
and see if I have time to raise the bar.
my future vision of reality,
infused with figment fire but never there -
a future framed without validity
as if no soul has ever been aware.
I slip and slide while runnin' in a rut
still hopin' I won't land upon my back.
I'm just a jester with a stuttered strut
who lives to fill his life with what it lacks.
I guess it's time to slip away and leave -
been here and there so now I guess I'll go
and find some new creative ways to weave
some changes to my brain's eternal flow.
one way I know to beat the blues today
is groovin' down to my old boogie beat
but I'm not breakin' any news your way
'cause we know why and where like minded meet.
Rose petals for a broken heart
A sense of peace do they impart
My sweetheart gave a gift to me
Of lavender, rose petal tea
A bottle of essential oil
Organic rose for hearts turmoil
A gift of roses from my daughter
Rose petal-infused sparkling water
My grateful thanks to heaven above
I sip my tea infused with love
Trapped 'tween
adjectives' objections
succumbed to
long-windedness,
snared 'neath an
expanse of circumlocution,
paraphrasing periphrases
buried under layers
of infused technicalities,
all in a day's multiformity
working midst the sublimity
of poetry's madness
Once I was infrequent hard to pass ;
As God's righteous movement in my heart and my chest;
Caught up in mine spirit soul dysfunction;
Captured heart beating in my chest;
Why am I constipated with the world's thoughts;
I believe that I believe beliefs attitudes can't be brought;
Feelings emotions travel through the interstate highways of my mind and yet;
Subconsciously, I am abundantly yet still thinking;
reasoning what is my purpose I know my purpose;
And know I ain't been drinking, don't need no control substances to catch feelings;
There're mine, those of yesterday and tomorrows past through the glass;
Outwardly now I've forgotten;
But yesterdays life past stored, becomes tomorrow lessons;
Free will choices, yet in still you have three voices;
Whose do you hear, which one the quiet quietest ;
How I'm I chosen am I loved I know I am loved;
I'm a three-part being housed in a fleshly shell;
But am I instinct with Spirit soul body praise am I aware;
of the right order
Am I a witness witnessing believer more than with My soul;
But the real meaning in my spirit purpose is it love, it's love His love;
But yet through life's toils all along my body to rule;
When my spirit the center of me, should be the reverence of me balanced;
And my soul surrounds my heart endowed with due process;
I am His Child
Captured heart beating in my chest;
Why am I constipated with the world's thoughts;
I believe that I believe beliefs attitudes can't be brought;
Feelings emotions travel through the interstate highways of my mind and yet,
I fly I'm above in the heavenlies looking down with eagle eyes and I see what transpires
And I fly even higher I am God's child I am loose of this world, I am His Child;
Now I am influent infused filled with Him;
Diarrhea out my sins, been washed and cleansed;
Hung, laid up high on the cross, them there those my sins;
I'm a new vessel, under immediate construction;
Potholes been sealed I am influent infused filled with Him;
11/29/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2022
Within our Father spirituality
Energy released
Never ceased
Increased in power
We stand together
Dreams
Our Lord shown us we have been
God Savior knows
Each forest and road
Showing compassion towards mankind
There is no better time
Love is wisdom
Our world of freedom
Infused with the Door of Hope you will find,
Strength in your darkest nights, strategy in light,
Guided by your heart, ruled by Christ’s mind,
Walk in kingly robes, with heaven’s insight.
The old season fades, a new path begins,
Key choices made, will lead to the best,
Treasures await on the path as journey spins,
This is progressive era, where favor does rest.
Enjoy life, embrace each moment with glee,
For even in the dark, He will be your light,
Favour will be your shield, for all to see,
In this Door of Hope, you will take delight.
I can’t breathe
I struggle to find my breath
Under all this intensity
Of fogginess mixed with pain
Lost, without a thought
As none but gruesomeness
Comes out of my brain
I lift my head with a silent scream
It hurts, I say with passion
No-one around to plea
A terrible round of timeless
And sleepless bouts of pain
Crossing my body
All at once gripping me
With a force unforeseen
And never had I experienced
The trauma of delirium
That follows this blast
I waver with dizziness
Speculate what will happen to me
If I lay here dying
What will my last words be
If I’m alone
Russell Sivey
The cymbals create,
A mesmerizing sound
Reaching their brass highs
I sit listening to the blues come alive.
The music is guiding me,
Reminding me of sounds and sights
We've infused our vibes, our lives
In our tune's beat, making it sound all right!
I stroll down the streets,
I can hear the Musicians Nine
They're blowing into their tin horns
Enticing everyone around them to listen.
Tiny Foster is there:
Effortlessly strumming on his cords
Making enchanting melodies on his
Beat-nick guitar; he records.
People are passionately sitting,
They started reciting in their poetries
Speaking their lines in rhythmic rhymes
Talking in verse, laying out some lines.
Representing themselves profoundly with articulations,
In the beauty of prose, it was best that I mention
An atmosphere that leads on for hours, contemplations
You can get lost in it if you give in to an elongation.
Roses are red, vodka pours clear,
I need words bled, and high proof can steer.
Shot after shot becomes tumbler til Tumblr
As I wanted, unless I fumble words and become a bumbler.
Violets are blue, but whiskey is brown
For my words to be true, I need a little to drown
Because a sober mind hides and finds it easy to smile.
Because sober me confides in me whose been drunk for awhile.
Sunflowers shine yellow, as does drink of agave roasted
And for me does mellow, until I am toasted.
But it drinks like water, and can make my pen stroke.
Smooth to me, though others it does choke.
So roses are red, and vodkteqwine too is red,
Maybe I should slow down with what I’m being fed.
Call spades spades, stardust will still be infused
With liquor until the pen and the page are amused.
Bestow on me an incorrect
3 leafed clover ephigy of
buttercup due early spring May
With I meandering through a maze
of cotton wool field lost
Trying best to avert the gaze of
the virile bull's with Horn's poised
Whilst listening to the joy of piercing
ringing mandolin string's and trooping
drum's in both left and right ear's on
my head
Eminating from the Yee Grand Old
Antebellum Plantation guard house
Adorned with a lushious overhanging
archway on either side of it's giant's
causeway
If you dare imagine with Jacaranda Blue
and Cherry blossom infused on a sunset
pink hue nude muse
Instantaneously ushering forth a vision
of Scarlett O'Hara vivacious locks
Gone with the wind like a kite upon a
hazy shimmering warm summer up draft
Augusta Georgia R.E.M night-swimming
aftermath
What I the things
I choose to write about
Come through my pen unto me
Out of seemingly nowhere apparently
So even I myself seldom do not know
The places where my imagination goes
In order to fetch and find them from
Is often darker than the deepest
Color scarlet congealed and cellular
Blood vein viscus red ink
That flows throughout and from my sanctity
Mind body soul heart head to toe
Best described as like a donation or transfusion
Alluding to reading again to this conclusion
Is the ink my thoughts and words
Merely simply just an illusion a trick
I play unto myself but prefer to share with an audience
For the sole benefit of placating me
Rather than supposed to being
Of hopefully some use and help
To someone else suffering in need out there
Who unfortunately feels can relate and sees the world
As I do both them as well
Poetry is an art form of blood letting
But although words are a rallying cry
A way or means to an end
Words not backed up with meaningful actions
Then becomes inconsequential and superfluous
Both worthless and demeaning no descript
And a sure fire sign that the undersigned author
Writes for no other reason than
To do so for the sole benefit of pleasing themselves
And my heart bleeds for them also as well
As they are the unfortunate kind and likes of people
Who will gladly and willing steal others
Pennies out cast into a wishing well
And yet still somehow be able to
Sleep soundly well at night
pure scalding water
soon aromatic leaves steep.
the brain is infused
To live a life infused with meaning
~ We spend one-third of it dreaming