Best Shoots Poems
A
circle
on the pond-
then another
one-
one
after
the other-
merging into
a
ripple-
the surge
overflows the
dam-
a
flash flood
saturates
the yellowing
earth
and
subsides-
awakens
the comatose
seed
white blanket recedes
soft streams begin their journey~
life awakes from sleep.
sunshine warms the slopes
tiny rivulets now flow~
earth drinks deeply now.
green shoots sprout from soil
whispers of sweet spring at hand~
winter's grip undone.
a gentle farewell
to the quiet, freezing world~
nature's sweet rebirth.
shoots a laser gun
at rows of quick aliens - -
they invade with ease
for Gwendolen’s Video Game Extravaganza contest
Photos taken
Are precious and wholesome
View them, share them or simply keep them
Smiling and teary-eyed sometimes
But even smile and laughter exudes
As we preserve them
In any way we want, be it in albums
Or in CD’s, PC’s and camera chips
As these are sweet nothings
Priceless, likened to a cherished heirlooms
For a life time sake.
Single or group pictures
Photogenic or not
But the best pose is with a special someone!
when doubt hurt anger
rise between us
when the and in you and me
may change to versus
then love smiles first
and asks questions later
The Moon shoots us angrily each night outing
her arrows come furiously in our direction
but only lands on us as shadow’s fingers
When I go out with my cutie in the forests
seeking for adventure foreign to hotel rooms
to hear whispers of nature in wilderness
and listen to music sang by throats of forests
the Moon looks at us with envy of a rival
shooting indiscriminately with all jealousy
We have decided to confuse the envious moon
the more she shoots at us in wilderness
the wilder our intimacy grows and expands
she does not know that by her actions
she lights up the quiet world for romance
deeply buried underneath our panting souls
that the law of nature needs her wild actions
By attacking essence of our adventurous being
that lie helplessly on grass of imaginations
she gives us one possibility- romance in style
our lonely souls shout silently to her in response;
“Shoot, jealous moon shoot; shoot us so softly.
The more you shoot with rage the more eventful,
and perfumed our forest adventure becomes .”
Inquiring of my grandparents to explain love,
Teasing grandpa said, "Togetherness alone pays."
I asked him, what's kept you together all these years?
"Tethers do not work, the secret is frequent hugs."
In short, what do you credit your long marriage to?
"Tough love means you don't always say what you're thinking."
Interesting, Grandpa, how you shoot from the hip.
The ball's in your court now; Granny, you have your say.
"Imagine love's like ball games, you win and you lose.
Teamwork means that each player has a job to do.
It's never about winning every single game;
There's those times when you win by losing, so it seems.
Indeed, God says, love others as you love yourself.
To place your partner in front of you is true love."
In retrospect, both my grandparents made their point;
They agree: love puts others first unselfishly.
August 20, 2022
Men defend
their mental status quo
even through a mortal neglect.
But here,
a rare deed
emanates from a girl’s heart.
She plucks
the puppy
from the crow beaks that carve death.
Resisting
the pessimistic voices around,
she tends to that stray animal hit by
an auto rickshaw.
Her virtue is buttressed
by her brother and friends.
Confidence illumines hopes.
The flickering life
gets steady.
Let these shoots of virtue
grow
in the parched world.
Inspired by a news clipping about the four children - Varadha, Vasu,
Ema and Aryan - who brought a wounded stray puppy back to life.
Hybrid seed planted on rocky ledge
Shallow shoots baring tomorrow's dreams
Sunny vistas lure fragile roots to the edge
Clouded visions hover distilled with availing streams
Prevailing winds scour surface, growing strains hedge
Cool, night air shivers; a paring frost rends fibrous seams
Blighting fears preen stalk but fealty's sustenance cannot dredge
Morn's warming rays on your fortified residual gleams
She also dies
to be reborn in hallucination.
Her spouse’s corpse
is wrapped in a white dhoti.
She makes everything
safe within the walls, slamming
the windows and doors.
Bacteria perform the post-funeral rites
before the burial.
A smoldering Frankincense gulps down
the fetid smell.
She’s one among the multitude who
can’t see *Mangalyaan
landing on the lap of Mars.
No one can alter
the earth’s flat shape in her mind.
Her peace feeds on the
scraps that a pretentious priest drops.
Her lips rain mantras,
yet shoots of life don’t sprout from the shroud.
She waits
within a circle of illusion.
There’s a meaning
in meaningless waiting.
*Mangalyaan – India’s first Mars mission
Poetry Nook Weekly Contest Winner
Not a soldier of war
MIA'S Caught up in a family of no one cares just drive by
MIA-Mother's Involvements Always cries
Raising infant, toddler, teenaged boys alone what for
Cousin Charlie sitting on the steps
Not even knowing it's soon to be his last breath
You better run
Drive, bye...
Coward points a gun
Run
Somebody
Dun got loose
Shot brother Bruce
Better run
Shoots his next victim
Run everyone
Someone got a gun
Bullets left the chamber
Everyone in front of point range in danger
Dragnet and rage, shootings all weekend
Friends turning on friends
Neither a battle, now a war
Killing, maiming and wounding our men and boys
Black boys and men being killed just because they can
Not greed nor material things or money just drive by
I can pull the trigger and run just because I can and run
No concern about life, just like a roach you step on
Run everyone
Someone got a gun
Bullets left the chamber
Everyone in front of point range in danger
Just enough running don't look up, comin by your hood
Just ridin, a good day for a ride, comin by your house.......
Bullets just don't Drive, bye
Nor like rainfall down from the sky
Run everyone
Someone got a gun
Bullets left the chamber
Everyone in front of point range in danger DRIVE BY?
9/9/17 original write
6/11/20 added revised verse
by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2020
Bamboo shoots
I am at peace in a land of dreams.
The creatures of nightmare may scream,
But I am serene in my bamboo garden.
Waterfalls, wooden instruments, whistle their winding calls
And all attune are the birds of Eden.
I have never found love in this place of pure Earth,
And rockeries, but no broccoli please.
I only need pretty flowers to see,
For I am no vegetarian.
I am finding it hard to care again,
But here I sit with the peace within,
My garden.
The bonsai trees and fallen leaves,
And little streams which flows like dreams,
Forever winding in any direction
And at the end their resurrection.
Another dream is reborn once more,
To take me away to another world
And all is well as I stare into the bottom of an empty well.
Waiting for water,
Waiting for another story,
There is always more to tell to her,
But she is not here to know of her glory.
So I will speak, for I must…
I DO NOT TRUST!
I will tell in the hope that one day,
I will be able to find myself again.
(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
T R A I L
B L A Z E
W H I L E
S H E E P
G R A Z E
This epidemic re:
murderous love affair perfervid
with gruesome morbid
fixation allowing, enabling
and providing terrifying
trappings, whence went Pandora out the lid
anger loosed maniacally gun down
(in S-L-O-W mo) recorded by hid
madding crowd, each person
locked in crosshair grid
source (perhaps pathetic plan
premeditated) employing did
da ding from flying bullets,
a coterie upping the ante vis a vis bid
ding fare thee from odious
loading incendiary fiery clips.
Trigger happy homicidal maniacs slake thirst
to take aim in billeted soiree
with deadly precision, and spray
with pump posse city,
a congregated engaged groupon
of people), with egregious pay
shunt and methodically
mowing down, a slew - nay
re: doth unsuspecting
victim aware - delivering may
hem to this anonymous
American citizen as well
family and survivors, who lay
down their sorrows,
which bring revulsion and gray
obsolescence of faith in mankind to fray.
Death be not proud,
nor ought airtime allocated to these
heinous cavalier avengers
foe tee eight-hour special (proffers
twitchy finger itching to squeeze
especial easy access
to sophisticated high caliber compact
offspring doth please
manifesting those prize pride
killing machine owners never freeze
rapaciously with so much ease
lethal gimcrackery cutlasses
even a lil whippersnapper kite runner
unleashing whipping cords
lacerating more so than ropes will ever do
necessitate strong control
to stem violence as disease.
Imagination's
Innocence
Tender shoots ~ Protect!