Best Lees Poems
"Broken families beget culprits, and late remorse can never set things right"
~ By Poet.
Scenes reel back casting dark shadows,
Of the fated day I had to leave my home,
Handcuffed and guarded by cops on either side,
Despised by all as one so loathsome.
I had in me, then the heart of stone
All I could think of was my own gain.
Thoroughly swept by the rip - tide of illusion,
I had no regard for another's pain.
‘Drink life to the lees' was my credo,
So, I gambled to make a hoard of money.
Drugs and dopes gave me instant delight.
Initially my days were all too sunny.
But suddenly life derailed from its track
My wallet was like a leaking tank.
All its contents drained out in no time.
Gradually into dejection and despair, I sank.
Eliminated from life by my own misdeeds,
Weary of mind from stress and strife,
Hate grew and hardened within me as a rock.
Once I ripped my rival with a knife.
Convicted and caught red handed,
I ended up in this cheerless cell.
Within these dank forlorn walls,
I shrink like an oyster in its shell.
Everything here is dusty and rusty.
To get some peace as I attempt to sleep,
Marauding thoughts invade my brain.
Like a line of red ants, they listlessly creep.
In my ears fall the sobs of my loving mother,
Now in dumps, orphaned by her drunken husband,
I could never love my father, a true rascal
But I feel heartbroken as I think of my mother so abandoned
“The broken pieces of our heart like shards of glass are difficult to be glued up. It needs great care and craftsmanship to mend it.” ~ By Poet
The night stood,
veiled like an assassin.
Leaving aside the unfinished works,
she curled into bed, tired.
Thoughts once dead,
like spirits, from another world
came to haunt.
They threatened to lacerate her,
in the stillness of the night.
Gagged by those ferocious demons
she choked for breath.
Chained and handcuffed,
she couldn't move.
Should she drink to the lees
the dregs of the bitter potion?
She couldn't wink an eye!
She heard someone asking
'Why should you keep alive
the past in an album
and turn its pages every now and then'?
But...she couldn't help......
Like serpents uncoiling,
memories came.
If she slept, they would strike.
So she kept staring
into the awful darkness broken and wide eyed!
When Madoc roamed these waters,
Aye, fair Madoc of the seas,
I sailed with him, First Mate was I,
We sailed the outer lees.
And to these Emerald Seas we came,
From faroff emerald shores,
To plant our families safe, serene,
For none had come before.
The natives met us naked,
Brave savages for sure!
With arrows fast and spears
They fought, their future not secure.
And thus our arms prevailed
And we took a deadly toll.
Our forts we raised up from the woods,
Our brave lads withstood the foe.
The we vanished without a trace.
No one left here to embrace.
No cunning, blond haired child blue eyed,
No one riding on the tide.
The night stood,
veiled like a nun.
Wherever she looked,
She saw a hooded assassin,
staring at her with eyes like fireballs.
Leaving aside
the unfinished works,
she curled into bed, tired.
Thoughts once dead,
of that fearful night
like spirits, from another world
came
to haunt
her once again.
They threatened to lacerate her,
in the stillness of the night.
Gagged by those ferocious demons,
of fear,
she choked
for breath.
Chained and handcuffed,
she couldn’t move.
Should she drink to the lees,
the dregs
of the bitter potion
once again?
She couldn’t wink an eye.
Like serpents
u
n
c
o
i
l
i
n
g,
fears came.
If she slept, they would strike.
So, she kept staring,
into the awful
darkness, wide eyed!
" Imagine a place where there is beauty, bliss and plentifulness for all. It is nothing short of utopia. Though we are far from realizing it, isn't it thrilling to imagine a version of the world different from the existing one where all disparities will be leveled and happiness and freedom are made the birthright of all? Now such a world is enshrouded in mist. But who can say it won't emerge suddenly from the blue in some distant future"- By Poet
Though, utopia is merely an illusion,
Or a chimera born in the womb of our whims,
I shall take you to a near-utopian land,
Where, peace and beauty blossom like the cherry in spring
And trees grow like the cedars of Lebanon.
Come on, my Love! Let us move to that land,
Where the sun resurrects anew,
Where darkness gives way to light,
And life renews itself every morning.
It is our dreamland paradise or interim utopia.
Let us go into that Garden of Delight.
Look to the East, my love, beyond those crooked hills,
Where poplars grow tall in line
And a gentle breeze susurrates through the foliage of leaves
And wild weeds hem the edges of pathways,
Where bunnies and squirrels hop and jump
And run around whistling bamboo reeds,
Where the laughing cataract leaps down from the rocks
And flow along in silvery rills
Where the languorous breeze plays upon the leaves.
This place has all the beauty and bliss of utopia.
Away from the tumult, far from the bustling crowd
With the pandemonium of the world hushed to serene silence
Let us walk together to that sequestered glade,
Where we shall sit by the side of a rustling stream
And dance across the flowery meadows.
In this place of perennial greenery and sunlit groves
We shall walk hands locked and hearts singing as one,
Till the bright day gives way to a dusky night,
Inhaling night air in scented perfume.
Under the stillness of a star-spangled sky, we shall roam,
Through moon-blanched woods, enigmatic and mysterious
Listening to the sweet whisperings of our soul
And ‘drinking life to the lees’ from the chalice of love
Oh! Come on, let us not tarry….
Let’s move fast to that Utopia!
It's mid-summer again with its mild and moist morning,
Soon whisked away by the mid-day sizzling breeze.
The gorgeous wildflower drinks of the sun's offering,
While butterflies sip of the lily blossom's wine on the lees.
Mid-summer is a time when love beads of rain cool the air;
The gentle beat of its falling seem a song of beneficence.
Then using the rainbow with his incomparable epic flair,
The Great Poet punctuates this grand verse with elegance.
As the birds are resting from their morning serenade,
They now allow the cricket its course at center stage.
The songbirds are cooling their throats in the shade,
Letting the hot sun with its prickling heat fiercely rage.
As the summer sun begins to appear as sweet red lips,
Like a dessert of refreshing sugared berries before me.
The evening breeze cools and my brow no longer drips,
As my eyes grow heavy and I dream of the new day to be.
How often have we trekked this place,
along its ancient, narrow trace;
to feel the pale sun's trickling rays
that mark the passing of the days.
We trod near timeworn, sentry trees
and drink each moment to its lees.
We hike this narrow, snow-laced trail
as long as legs and light don't fail.
Though chilled this austere shadow land
paints pictures which are still quite grand.
Our reverie among the trees
puts both the heart and mind at ease
How quickly do the seasons flee,
though many we've been graced to see.
From green of spring and summer rich,
to autumn's vibrant, rich-hued niche.
We savor days this crisp and prime
and live for seasons so sublime.
When cold and snow bring icy sprawl,
we're still most fond of winter's call.
I speak native tongue
From the lees heart of
The keg and palm tree
In the kukuruku forest
To be suffuse with
The spirit of Anwu.
Dum dum gbidi gbom
Basks my body in
Drum beats of Egungun
In the black tropical grove.
Talking drum that
Speak words from my mind
With the pulse of Orishe.
I eat only dry meat
That fills the mouth.
Give me oil and salt
To consume my cocoyam,
I shall offer you kolanut
And welcome you
Within the hut of Ndiichie.
I speak native tongue,
The true voice
Of nature imitated by
Amana isôn eyen.
The Tongue of homecoming
And the bond of ancestry!
Awe but man! She is a looker!
Don’t know if she’s someone’s honey,
Or a chargin’ hooker.
She’s struttin’ her stuff down town in her Lees,
jeans so tight,
they’ve locked her knees..
Must be wearin’ all that makeup just to hide the pain,
a price she pays for the attention gain..
Three inch spikes and hopin’ she don’t slip,
Cause them blue jeans just bound to rip!
Squeezing into them must have been a trick,
Now to peel and pry them off,
She’ll have to use a stick…
Sure got this fellow to lookin’! Can’t say that I ain’t !
Wow! Is there such a thing as denim colored paint?!!
Where is the love? Where is the hugs?
It's a family meltdown, disturbingly so.
Adult children who think life is all about them.
Pent up emotions, anger and frustrations,
Petty disagreements, throwing away one another
Like paper products thrown in the dump.
Preferring a hug from their pets than each other.
It makes me sad to hear so many families feuding.
But today, seriously, give family your love and even a hug.
Communicate softly and listen to each other's view,
Even when it's hard and still healing from the hurts done.
Let's not allow another family member to pass on without forgiving.
"Talk is cheap, communication is priceless"
Quote from Patricia Lees
Feelings of my heart, pouring like a foss
To the queen goddess of Pothos and Himeros
Before her alluring reflection I’m nak’d
My bones, flesh consum’d and spirit possess’d
With a fuddled heart fallen out of ease
Drunk of love like palm wine to the lees.
Omosi, pretty woman, daughter of Anwu
Me, none of the women of all climes do
Make sojourn ten seas and vales by heart
In one day and yet not a single step far,
The mystery of your nature to know
If beauty a mask worn and love a shadow.
What’s this desire for her that’s prisoned me
That bitter herbs turned sweet honey?
Her whisper is music divine that diminishes
A host of Angels echoing Gloria in Excelsis;
Her embrace’s elixir for life’s incubuses
And I’d forget my worries in her embraces.
Sweet love, sweet sweet love making
The body swings, the heart ever longing
To eat of her forbidden fruit and so
Be drown in sensation as deep as the Congo
That ever more takes freedom and innocence
From me and leaves a heavy heart thence.
Is’t by fate my heart be ever restless
For her? Or predestined to be I guess.
Though beauty fleets, love an illusion pass
And the acid test of time makes her carcass
She’ll rouse my heart and my manhood too
To refute the norm that makes a taboo.
She’s my heart made to be ever forlorn
To our love that’s worn a crown of thorn
By them who never know or can tell
That the pangs of being denied love is hell
With consuming regret, desire and endless sigh
And that’s all there’s, nothing else beside!
DIE THE DEATH!
(Dona eis requiem sempiternam)
Die the death and transcend vanity
O poor vernal flesh and bone,
Waned out of this primal valley
And sink like the moon beyond the coast.
All expectations, ‘tis the greatest
Reclined at the backdrop of the heart’s throb,
Relegated by mortal necessities in crest
Clouded by mist as the shrouding robe round a knob.
Farewell thee, to vanish from eyes.
Fear not, minds still shall keep thee
Though a while, less a bother to human plight,
The dire need for yen, companion and spree.
The undertakers trades fare supreme
And mourners sonorous rhymes are music prime;
Downing the lees of wine to spike faces grim
With throbbing drums, jigging feet and chime.
Great the awaited moment to close the eyes
And farewell the world with all her bother.
A descendance is paramount than to rise,
To die to live than live to die is best order.
Great ease is the last prize to pay
And refund the muck to its source beneath
Nothing else abide but merry mongers sway
Over nourished ordure, once a breath.
Why not sadness at the joyful tale of birth
And merriment at the woeful news of death?
Onward would be to the backyard of earth,
From incubi, toil and deformed breath.
Night veil drawn over our visibility,
In twinkle the pupil dilate a life span’s knell
Wedge in limbo, shrouded by mystery,
Knowledge only worms and flies can tell.
What need of life, fun, food or friendship?
All but a three episode script of dharma:
Ignorance precedes pain and then comes sorrow,
As circadian sculptor pruned our feature.
No mint can purchase back days gone by,
Neither riches to reverse a twinkle;
For a lifelong tie earn a profound sigh,
A spot on shoreline washed by sprinkles.
Poison, sickness, circadian effect and accident
Are final returns wherein all expectations lie.
Rather in life, in death is its fulfillment
And no further businesses have I but to die!
Mum’s courteous sprinkles denounced delusion cowardice.
And demented a destiny Willenhall to Bethlehem for life price.
But hallelujah brought my children forward for hallucination.
My partner mended her menopause to hale hammada action,
Harangue lumps machinations to overtrade a human slice.
Israel a stone heart land death flags a fear of attack or terrorism,
Lord Jesus Christ, a Jew, no Christian, who denied not spiritualism,
Jerusalem a market of God religions fried portions of innocence life,
A stone wall divided God’s death and birth in hands of criminalism.
How religions equal educationalist never spoke about are defaming crise?
My spirit walked with truth and faith to agree to pray for World Peace,
To plain problems to seed love and needs to iron religious crease,
The mountain of sands were pouring dishonesty and greed lees,
A sea is dying and remind ‘Death is certain’ Oh human why you tease?
The dungarees I used to wear
Were Levis, Wranglers, Lees;
There were no upscale denims then,
With fancy pedigrees.
They hugged my hips and fit real snug,
With bottoms flared like bells.
I wore them ‘til the hems were frayed
And then said my farewells.
Today I cleaned a closet, finding
Jeans in every shade –
Light ones, stonewashed, dusky blue,
Enough for a parade.
Some are baggy, others tight;
Most have legs quite straight.
Several hit the thrift store pile,
Sorely out of date.
As I tried them on, I thought,
I wish that I had kept
Just one old pair of dungarees
From days gone by, except…
You cannot resurrect the past,
So what would be my goal?
The girl who wore those Levis out
Was strictly rock and roll.
I still love rock but also jazz
And Mozart, I admit;
And sad to say, my current jeans
Seem like a better fit.
On the anvil that’s the dorp
The noon-day sun beats down.
So between twelve and two
Life in the place is suspended.
Doors to the stores are ‘toe’
And in their dusty windows cheap
Mannequins sleep with open eyes.
The air is still and heavy.
So in the sparse foliage
Of small pepper trees
Feathered creatures perch,
With beaks agape,
And wings spread wide,
Trying to beat the heat.
At the door to the bar
Of the ‘Royal’ Hotel,
In a sliver of shade,
A mastiff lies panting.
Inside the trade is slow.
Manne on barstools
Nurse brandy-and-coke.
House windows are closed.
In the darkened interiors,
Hidden from sight by
Slatted wooden shutters,
People flop on chairs,
Avoid all movement, in
Attempts to beat the heat.
At two a slight sputter of life.
It is ‘government’ employees
Returning to work.
The magistrate and two clerks
Dawdle back to the court.
The post-master and staff
Re-enter the GPO.
It’s still quiet at the ‘Royal’ Hotel.
With no shoppers the doors
Of the stores remain closed.
Under the shade of pepper trees,
Outside the shuttered Co-op,
And alongside the ‘Prokureur’s,
A bakkie and tractor are parked.
The ‘garage’ is deserted
Save for its two Caltex pumps.
From all sun-baked surfaces.
Hot, dry, and dusty air rises.
So every now and then
The wind-pump in my yard
Creaks as it turns a little.
In school classrooms
Pupils slump on desks.
Teachers no longer teach;
“Lees jul voorgeskrewe boek.”
Two-thirty! At last!
The school-day’s over
And also the worst of the heat.
Now en masse
Pupils scurry out,
Head for home, then
After something to eat
It’s back for athletics
On a grass-free track, or
Tennis on concrete courts.
Eventually the glowering sun
Sends streaks of colour
Across the western sky
As it slowly dips out of sight.
Then when twilight is over
The moon is bright and bathes
The town in silvery hues.
By nine o’clock
It’s cool and still
Save for the flutter of moths
Around the outside lights.
And I lie on a bed
Outside on the stoep
With my dog at my feet.