Best Justifiably Poems
not in the heart again
for chrissakes it's like Swiss cheese
decoffinated please I'm a yet ambulatory zombie
off his medication as usual
alternatives to logic 101 with Prof. Spike
far too much work for a dead end
saw his only ally the embalmers needle
left his innards spilled in the sand
history in its entirety mocked his comprehension
had the nation in tears and then nausea
several dueling scars graced his genitals
if our perceptions already lie
why shouldn't we
I had to laugh
it was all I could do to keep from smiling
even after a thousand years of AI research
the electronic government was helpless
my Microsoft forehead radiator
absolutely charmingly couldn't get any focus
but the Royal Society of Blind Philosophers
helped me with my little problem
a miracle of recipe repair
because our endorphin soup is a bit thin
the quicksilver cooks ate first and fell asleep
having thrown away their brains long before
in the field kitchen of the gods
after the air raid sirens of postmodernity
can there be too much truth
for an army of blood diamond merchants
now a bit more about para electrics
if only I were at liberty to discuss it
yes imprecision can carry signal
but the place is crawling with dilettantes
wearing their secret butt plugs
it's a guessing game as you can see
petitioning for a visually diagrammatic idiom
although it's a devilish seesaw but let us restart
The Oblivion Ride was the big theme park attraction
my extended family was in the sideshow
justifiably taken for a pack of fools
then the sun went down and never came up again
and we stepped into the stone circle
chanting evidence is preferable
to the moonlit tombstone
good luck with that in your airwaves
broadcast on radio Sarajevo
signal drifting drifting drifting
with minds great and small
and smaller and smaller
the Internet is the yearned for Messiah
there it's done and out and not to be unseen
you wrestle with it while I proceed
dashing among startled commuters
mesmerizing the fact finding committee
their dictatorship of x-ray leeches
tossed him out of several monasteries
apparently the production quotas were relaxed
in a kaleidoscope of normalcy
the style crazed mannerist martinets
howdy do nail in my shoe
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
Categories:
justifiably, how i feel,
Form:
Free verse
Juneteenth… Justifiably they say ignorance is bliss.
No, it’s nothing to be proud of.
Ultimately unaware and unfamiliar, living in Canada
I had no clue about racism.
Naïve with never more than a glimpse of references seen
on bits of night time television.
Epitomizing the slavery era, aired the much acclaimed
tv series ROOTS much to my chagrin.
Truthfully it was the last coup de grace,
the last nail in the coffin of my innocence.
Evil had a face and victims the likes of my idol
Sammy Davis Jr who sang The Candy Man.
Embittered? Supposedly not with his debonair charm,
yet what of all my Motown idols?
No further than in my lifetime, discrimination and bigotry,
the need for a Juneteenth.
Traditional celebrations commemorating the thirst
for freedom of emancipated ancestors.
Heads of parades waiving a Juneteenth Flag of Freedom
while sipping a Strawberry soda pop.
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on June 15, 2018 for contest JUNETEENTH POETRY sponsored by EDWARD IBEH - RANKED 3RD
Categories:
justifiably, america, angst, black african
Form:
Acrostic
The Culling
Happiness is a beautiful smiling word,
That soars the skies like a radiant black bird;
Culling ebony sheen downs from her sable breast
To fluff and cushion the crib of her protecting nest.
Murder and death are conjuring words too;
Sneaking around and stealing your children from you;
And though their bodies pile up in streets and on the bloody ground---
Like trees chopped down when no one’s around, justice hears no sound.
The long arch of justice has been bent backwards to times of old;
The streets have replaced the hanging tree and the noose by a bullet hole.
We now understand the strange fruits stories of which the ancestors once told;
One by one, our little sheep are being justifiably culled from the extended family fold.
While we cannot and must not substitute one tyranny for another,
We will and must protect the seeded child of every black mother.
Categories:
justifiably, allegory, analogy, bird, black
Form:
Rhyme
It burns deep on the inside,
this fire has engulfed my heart
Downtrodden beat beat beat
of oppression
Feeds the flame
of my
righteous indignation
A hot ire,
whose flames
keep ascending higher
and higher
Toxic by-products of hate
brings me so much ash disgust:
Refugee rejection ...
Nuclear fear proliferation
Hard coin slavery ...
Skin separation burns
of third-degree severity
So much crematoria greed
on the rise,
as the glow of compassion
slowly dies
It sparks a righteous indignation ire,
an anger justifiably judgmental worthy
Oh, how it burns ...
to see poor souls, crying
to the heavens,
innocently bleed!
Categories:
justifiably, anger, emotions, self, spiritual,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
SONNET TO A WORDLESS BLIND GODDESS...
Happiness is a beautiful smiling word;
that soars the skies like a radiant black bird;
Culling ebony sheen downs from her sable breast,
to fluff and cushion the crib of her ever protective nest.
Murder and death are conjuring words too,
that stalk and steal your children away from you.
And though young bodies lay in the streets and on bloody ground---
like trees chopped down when no one is around, justice hears no sound.
The long arch of justice has been bent backwards to times of old;
the streets have replaced by the hanging trees, and the noose by a bullet hole.
We now understand the strange fruit stories of which the ancestors have always told;
for one by one, our little sheep are being "justifiably" culled from the extended family fold.
And while we should not and will not---substitute one tyranny for another,
we will and must strive to protect the seeded child of every black mother.
Categories:
justifiably, allegory, america, black african
Form:
Sonnet
Can't stand the word society
Provokes immediate anxiety
Same thing with psychiatry
It's the opposite of variety
It infuriates me justifiably
Makes me act defiantly
Almost all wrong entirely
I rebel against compliancy
Then I'll sit and have a quiet tea
September 21, 2016
Categories:
justifiably, anxiety, culture, people, perspective,
Form:
Rhyme
Oooh, foxy lady!...You make me:
Woozy,
Guzzi
(Will you be my Valentine?)
And OH, how you use me, Ms Tams!...Gettin tired of being mere eye:
Candy,
Mandy
Well, SORRY if that got you angry and stressed...Relax! Have a warm glass of:
Brandy,
Mandy
Again, Ms Richards: As a movie buff, I'm sure you've seen the 1962 Japanese classic:
Hari
Carrie
What? You haven't seen it?...Well go down and rent it! Why do you:
Tarry,
Carrie?
No wheels, huh? (Sigh) Looks like once again I'm gonna have to drop by and:
Carry
Carrie
(to town to rent her movie...Lord!)
Daver's last name reminds me of a recent trip to Texas where I got hoplessly:
Lost in
Austin
As for the English chap across the pond who invented this form, I can just hear:
Brian
Sighin'
(and shaking his head in disgust)
You're still an amateur-O!...You're poetry remains un:
Proven,
Ruben
YES, you're talanted Ms MacMillan but you DO go on at times and can be rather:
Windy,
Cyndi
(You're not gonna hurt me AGAIN, are you Cyndi?...Ruben has already severely injured me and now you too?)
A rumor is circulating that Team PS has (perhaps justifiably) been accused of being:
Souper
Snoopers
(Ouch!...et tu Brute?)
Okay! That's it and why are y'all so GROUCHY today?..
Categories:
justifiably, funny, me, me,
Form:
Footle
Robert Frost...A Reflection
No matter corporeal essence
of Robert Frost bid adieu
from temporal plain approximately
five and fifty plus years ague,
his rediscovered spiritual
omnipresence suffuses anew
mine gnarly feeble exegesis
denounce-able, deplorable,
and despicable hue
Morris legacy of Robert Frost, who
nonetheless (auld choke king aside)
doth rank as irreproachable amidst
pantheon of deceased
great poets, you
would agree, unless familiarity
already yar aware
how the New England vantage point
(approximately three quarters
of a century) in the past
his (WMGK) magic doth blare
infusing and injecting
a much needed cheer
full dose of dare...
ring ling lee, (I spout
je nais sais quois)
in my attempt
to be poetically debonair
(the only French known to me)
in an effort to endear
homage Robert Frost,
he whose flair
with words defy accolades
and brilliance doth glare
with blinding profundity here
to fore lamentable, impossible, and
feeble attempt to emulate,
a immortal one man brand
amidst pantheon of
August American poets,
the depth of,
his writings doth expand
lovingly justifiably ineluctably
historically gently fanned
this nonpareil poetic king,
whose status grand
which feeble, ignoble,
and laughable attempted hand
(spurred by facilitator
at "All Poetry" website) island
did this impossibly
elusive task, thus admit
admission aye feel duff feet head
to write letting words flit
to and fro, hither and yon,
that bind like true grit
with that esprit
de corps cerebral impact
that doth gently hit
ice suppose said task
would be a breeze to an Innit
where he/she,
would immediately synchronize
unlike myself, who whiz
not up to this task,
as yukon up prize
thy dog gone ruff hewn effort -
no (Chuck Norris) lies
attested as wretched - to by
any gallivanting guys
hence aye desperately axis allies!
Categories:
justifiably, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Elegy
Xerox copier sounds raise my eyebrows
wondering if he’s photographing unclad organs
like another time?
Beware zealous dismay from your justifiably
Quickly vacating nervy, kinky gentlemen!
written November 5, 2021
for "Alphabet Soup" poetry contest
sponsored by William Kekaula
Categories:
justifiably, humor, writing,
Form:
Free verse
that delightfully delicate desert rose,
that same alluring adenium multiflorum bearing the wondrous pinkish-fuchsia petals & white outlining angles
brings with it the death-sap used by hunters in africa,
that which in a barrage of many poison soaked arrows
will slowly kill a giraffe as it tries so desperately to
get away from its
trackers---
as the magnificent animal
of gorgeous sepia, sienna, amber & saffron
treads closer to the ground with every step
as the cardiac glycosides fill its body through its bloodstream at an extreme
toxic
level,
our minds run rampant with horror
our hearts gush red with a disgustingly hypocritical sense of
“compassion” which
stares at us back from the mirror of
time,
laughing at our own self-corruption,
as orwell in shooting his elephant,
fleeing the body before it had actually passed,
not able to watch what he himself had caused the death of,
hearing only later that it took the beautiful creature
a half hour to die---
with this same thirst for beauty,
we ourselves approach the objects which operate with a thin skin
holding a vat of toxin within themselves
ready to explode
the moment we ingest them physically, metaphorically or whatever you claim to be
“spiritually,”
if you believe in such idiocy---
regardless,
we all pay the price,
walking for hours, maybe days
in the desert &
choking,
while our fellow humans,
the trackers, follow,
like the grim reaper’s own paparazzi
ready to report back
as to how our whole story played out,
sickly & stupid as we were,
seeking sweet nectar where there wasn’t even a taste &
justifiably suffering the
consequences.
Categories:
justifiably, life, body,
Form:
Free verse
She exudes the struggle of acquiring autonomy from her “faux mother” charmingly characterized. dramatized, and energized by Jamie Lee Curtis. The ladder reputable, suitable and quantifiable role as Doctor Tess Coleman transfixed at the larger than life superb therapist.
Despite the countless unflattering run ins with the law (sans, the emotional travails regularly broadcast afflicting the particularly mid/late twenty year old Lindsay Lohan), this chap can empathize, realize and sympathize mental health issues.
A substantial proportion of thine lviii birthdays counted from this anonymous fellow experienced profound anxiety, obsessive compulsive disorder, panic attacks, and as an added bonus schizoid personality disorder.
Thus, as the media hounds ferociously, meanly and vicious tore into the private antics of a starlet supposedly plagued with mailer daemons, I lamented the constant besiegement of popular culture craze to glean scads of disheartening, demeaning and daring to lambaste (who I presume to be) an exceptionally beautiful, justifiably gainful, and opportunistically lustful questing toward worthwhile peacefulness, stillness and to remain anonymous amidst the madding crowd.
No ulterior motive incites this astute, destitute, and glute (joyful my poop site works) tea us Maximus (palm pilot size) chap to cast his commendations in regard to one personality who found a figurative soft spot within the bosom of this beastie boy.
Categories:
justifiably, absence, addiction, appreciation, beauty,
Form:
Narrative
One of my relatives, at my mom’s funeral viewing, I can’t remember who
Told me, in a feeble yet vivid voice, how my life will be much easier
Now that my mom is gone and that I can now concentrate on myself, for a change
And I just brushed it off, like how I brush, dusts off of my shoes
Because I knew that she didn’t know me very well, justifiably
Because she has never seen how my heart can open up, like a faucet
Because, she has never seen the depths of me with my passion
And how, in a good day or maybe even, on a bad day
They just, come, pouring out of it,
Come pouring out of me, like raindrops off of my eyes
Like trickles of tears from the murky clouds of the heavens
Like rain on a winter’s night
They are unstoppable
They have a mind of their own,
And they just naturally, come, as they please
And forgive me because I’m just a newbie at this myself
A baby who finally just learned how to appreciate the beauty of each drop
It’s funny because, I’ve always considered myself an artist at heart
Even when my heart has no such novelties to show for it
I’m that singer who can’t sing
I’m that dancer with two left feet
I am that painter who lacks paint
I am that writer who’s afraid of words
I am that poet who writes for no one in particular
But somehow, it just dawn on me like an eclipsing of the solar moon
That I am an artist because I believe in the authority of love
I believe in the language that all artists can understand by heart
And that my mom has always been inside it
She is the poet-extension of me
She’s my muse as well as my fuse
And so in regards to what one of my relatives once said
I really can’t contest any of it now
Because maybe she’s right in some form or another
But not because of my mom being gone
But because of how I feel every bit of my mom essence
Flowing inside the artist in me
December 20, 2015
Categories:
justifiably, art, heart, love, mother,
Form:
Elegiac Lyric
I'm stuck all inside my head
So tired of being dead
Left wandering in my rhymes
Poet's usual seductive time
I'm justifiably happy
Poetically sad
Forevermore in thought of
Rainy days and trees that sway
Mockingbirds and broken hearts that hurt
Stuck inside with erotic rhymes of
Explicit times
Profane life's of illicit wives
Provocative words spread
Naked on my virgin page
Poetry struggling for release
Thoughts tear at the membrane
Of my mind like hungry beasts
Screaming
Pleading
Biting and clawing to be free
To bleed in ink
To converse in sync
Picture perfect words of love and hope
Lies painted realistic
Mirrored events turned poetic
lovers raging with savage hearts
Old friendships torn apart
My thoughts are of another time
Romantic kingdoms grown wild
Brighter bluer emerald skies
Emotions refusing to die
But in moments of fleeting time
my thoughts flirt with desires of
You and I
A soft crashing of passion
Silk flown love and maybe
A flying dove
I'm stuck in my head
At least I can say ...
I'm left to be with the company
Of my poetry.
( Crow Cries)
Categories:
justifiably, poetess, poetry, poets, writing,
Form:
Blank verse
...Poe brought us detectives on the page,
and creepy tales that defy age,
Melville’s whale, in fine fashion,
taught us the danger of obsession.
Twain brought humor and jumping frogs,
dialect, humor, and raft logs,
while Hawthorne peered into the soul
and saw the contradictions unfold.
Can’t forget the Romans and Greeks,
creators of drama, philosophy,
who warned us of defying fate,
and showed the depths of a man’s rage,
taught us how to study our lives,
and ask how best a man survives,
wrote the histories of their time,
giving us an unbroken line.
Dealing with the very same flaws
that to this day cause flapping jaws.
And all of this is just the prose,
not the folks who made poetry flow,
like Frost, Longfellow, Tennyson,
Virgil, Coleridge, and Milton.
The war in heaven, by Milton made,
Tennyson’s immortal light brigade,
Virgil’s tale of Aeneas’ lost,
striving on a sea wind-tossed,
Albatrosses hung by the neck,
Evangeline dying heart-sick,
even the road less traveled by
came from a man pale to the eye,
In truth, it seems our very words
were first forged by these men in turn,
to ignore twenty-five hundred years
of stories, studies, joys, and fears,
because the writers had light skin…
I don’t even know where to begin!
You’d be better off just growing up,
Listen to those who’ve seen enough
to know that wisdom has no shade,
that it’s by truth and trial made,
that it’s justifiably insane,
to reject it based on the claim
that if they do not share your hide,
they cannot speak to you inside.
Such nonsense you cannot afford,
not when it closes useful doors,
better to start cracking books again,
and get to reading those old ‘white’ men.
Categories:
justifiably, culture, education, how i
Form:
Rhyme
There’s an aborted child at the gate in heaven;
WHO AM I
He’s just been murdered because the woman and government has the RIGHT
Now…
Just
WHO AM I
Knowingly, justifiably
Fulling unrighteous choices
And where are all those aborted voices
Here standing under the tree;
Here beside God and Jesus in
Heaven
Fifty child molester, murderer;
Whom am I to judge?
The final judgement, the final call was
Did he repent did God forgive him
Though his victim was young
One thing for certain he’s gone..
The child has been recited by the master
He’s standing beside Jesus and the Master
WHOSE AM I
Knowingly, justifiably
Fulling unrighteous choices
And where are all those aborted voices
Here standing under the tree;
Here beside God and Jesus in
Heaven
Wife abuser, striker;
Hit her once to often;
Now she’s in a coma;
You said you loved her;
But love, true love doesn’t hurt;
She finally died;
You’re a murder, wife abuser unrighteous man;
An adulterer, your new woman you’ve burned;
So the authorities after you;
You too need repentance and forgiveness too;
He you stand on death roll
On your dying breath you were told
You heard a still small voice in the air;
As you cried and ask God for, forgiveness….
It’s not up to me to judge?
Maybe, just maybe. Like the thief on the cross
Next to Jesus his last dying words we’re lost
In paradise he too shall be
He repented gracefully
Knowingly, justifiably
Fulling unrighteous choices
And where are all those aborted voices
Here standing under the tree;
Here beside God and Jesus you and me in. . .
Heaven
6/19/19
Written by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
Categories:
justifiably, abortion, abuse, analogy, character,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue