In an old-time real-book-with-pages feel in his day,
Robert Louis Stevenson wrote 'Treasure Island',
in his own inimitable way,
and tho' I know I may be wrong,
he could not have been pulling Long John Silver's leg,
as John would not have had a leg to stand on,
for, with his crutch (plus parrot), and I quote,
'He had still a foot in either camp.'
is that which, in 1883, Stevenson of Silver wrote.
Was it black (spot) humour to write of Long John so,
as I dearly need to know,
and it clearly goes to show,
we need much more input,
with that said, putting my best one forward,
it begs the question, 'What's afoot?'
I sleep for minutes at a time
And wake up with more on my mind
It’s not enough to be king of it all
When you see how quickly you’ll fall
Can you feel the weight of the sea
As the waves crash and the wheel weaves?
This silken home can’t comfort the past
The weeds have dug too deep to last
Violence paints a red streak across the walls
It taints our thoughts and beckons our calls
Bits of dreams are stripped and dashed
As shells of humans line the paths
What’s my purpose?
Tell me now I need a reason
What can I stand for?
I feel too weak to stand for something
Can you tell me at least
Am I a man or a beast?
I can’t tell anymore
As we both slam the door
I’ve lost my mind through a lifetime of self abuse
The gaps through my mind leave a trail of excuses
I can’t find a way out of this darkness
A lamp and a map can’t span the emptiness
So I’ll cut off a limb for each mistake I’ve caused
I’ll leave nothing but a black spot on our walls
My last piece of art is left at its best
Your broken heart inside my bleeding chest
Swirling, pulsing, and throbbing through air
came a cloud, not quite black, above my bed,
not closing my eyes and watching in fear,
Death would be easy but the cloud was my dread.
Looking closer, I viewed a darkening black spot
two thirds of the way down the visage's form.
It grew, spun, shrunk as though it were hot.
My head seemed electric as though in a storm.
I jumped from the bed wanting a fight.
The cloud backed away, I thought setting me free.
I grabbed at its shoulders holding on tight,
Saying Death take no one, but take only me.
I kicked the spot with best martial art,
thus causing the form to fold with a cry.
We tumbled to hell, there never to part.
I sacrificed life, and in hell I would die.
Har, ya say it aren't so.
Yer holds a black spot.
Ye won't live to be old.
Grow short on the clock.
We want that, Gold.
Those cobs in a box.
Nice to know ya Munroe.
Pistol shot, flintlock.
have you sinned my daughter was all you really
heard before the figure representing
God declared you unfit to be – anything.
every deed, thought, notion, movement leaves a
black spot on your soul which can only be
erased with a priest’s robe and the rubbing
of a rosary alone in a closet
designed for privacy – but he knows your voice –
you know he knows, and he glares at you
on the playground, reminding you HE is in
control and there is nothing you can do
about it except pray every night
and hope it never happens again. But
hope itself is a tragedy because
it only shadows the true reality
of what could, and probably will, happen
despite all your praying and forgiving.
Written for a creative writing class 1990.
My friend,out of desperation
I need to stick my fingers
deep inside your heart
and pluck out that big black spot
Everyone would be much better off...
You could finally earn that medal
put your humanity on the podium
a halo of gold around your soul
but you won't let anyone get close enough...
so, the black spot grows thistle- cold
cleaves the willow from your being
'till you careen off the soft edge of your
dreams...
THE LADY DOWN THE LANE
I never even knew her name,
The white-haired lady down the lane
And yet I miss her more than I can say.
My walks will never be the same again.
I didn’t see her every day;
Sometimes early, sometimes late.
But I looked forward to the times
When she’d be standing by the gate.
She called me “dear”, I called her “love”.
Now non-PC apparently.
But neither of us took offence;
That’s the way it used to be.
We quietly talked of this and that.
Her garden was her great delight.
She taught me names of flowers and shrubs
How to treat black spot and blight.
Her son and daughter seldom came.
They both had busy lives, she said
They quickly found the time to come
To sell her house now she is dead.
15th March 2020
The Lady Down the Lane contest
Sponsor - Craig Cornish
blazing hot summer
a black, bad asphalt wallows
melts into dry grass
bugs get stuck dry-up
frozen in heated black spot
burnt alive dead stuck
what is it left but...
chard, burnt amber drops dots
blaze burn up insects
melts into dry grass
a black, bad asphalt wallows
hot summer blazing
8/25/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2019
The smile that decorated my cheeks when you see me;
Does anyone know where the smile has come from?
Yes ! There is a rumour that a pearly white cloud
tried to hide the little black spot in the dazzling moon.
There the smile was first born.
You brought that smile down to the earth to adorn my cheeks.
Let my smile touch your feet.
The black widow weaves an intricate web
And from her silken thread she promises death,
Not to just other insects passing by
But to the male who cries ‘she betrays me, martyred by love’, then dies.
She eviscerated her love of all his blood,
Left his empty shell to decay and rot,
Surely this black widow on her heart has a black spot,
If she beckons you into her parlour
Then you are surely lost.
Shreded,remains secret,
First love bloomed with in,
Still resides in heart,
As black spot never revealed.
Melted never down,
Frozen white pellets.
Pampered never enough,
Baby lied in cradle.
Stabbed lines darkness,
Rested back in source.
Elation crept,frosted
Scampered away to holes.
Sipped flies,nectar,
Moments blured,mind,
Floated flairs,obscure
Like to shed it away...
BLACK coat with a black scarf.
A black street with a black spot of gum.
A black cat CROSSING.
A black wall, a black man posing against it
Black on black CRIME.
CAMOUFLAGE is the name of the game.
It hit the fan.
It stinks the same.
Black cop walking the beat.
Camouflage, hidden from the scheme of things.
Somebody got hit by a car while crossing the street.
A sheet covers his dreams.
No contrast just blending in
The angry heat melts the black tar.
Maybe it'll be just another rainy day,
And the BLOOD is washed away.
SIGHTLESS eyes walk on by.
BUT......
SOMEBODY DIED ON THIS BLACK
SUMMER NIGHT
Political killing is really bad
Very unfortunate, through the struggle i take it with a pang
And forget with much difficulty after a decade
But police killing? A Heinous crime
A blot upon democracy, a black spot on humanity
I abhor I detest and will never forget before a century
But killing someone
On the basis of collective consciousness?
Holy Lord! Never! Never! Until the civilization has not been destroyed .
It floats through the air effortlessly
Wings beating at high velocity
A navigational marvel instinctively
It's amazing with 5 stages of puberty
With a 4" wingspan it's really impressive
Every one tries to catch one for their collection
They fly every which way in every direction
Stunning beauty seen upon closer inspection
The monarch is king of all butterflies
the rest pale in comparison
Flies from Canada to Mexico
to the fourth generation.
It's an amazing creature with one
distinguishing feature
You can tell the male
by the black spot on the tail.
The complete metamorphosis from one
form to another.
Reminds me how we too can change
from one thing to another.
From selfish to kind,
from hateful to loving
but we must make the choice, as
we are free agents,
free like the butterfly
but without instinctive
wisdom we need help from above.
John Derek Hamilton
December 13,2015
So Fleet, The Monster's Retreat
It manifested a dark form surprising
great fear in my heart thus rising
Resting against the mirror stand
ghastly in color, with deformed hand
Something bad did then seem amiss
this creature strayed from the abyss
Invading my secluded and small room
reeking of vilest stench and doom
I flinched back as it read my mind
probing with deceit and curses unkind
Curses, the accusations of its soul
pain inflicted was real, took a toll
My desire was to fall down and cry
Yet I firmly stood not knowing why
Closer it eased to touch my face
heart almost burst as it did so race
Suddenly light charged into the scene
brightness showed a face so very mean
Next a cry as light touched its skin
gone in a flash, never seen again
I fell back sick and soaked in fear
its darkness still felt far too near
All lights I then swiftly turned on
just to make sure the beast had gone
There where it stood was a black spot
clean it up then I would dare not
Next morn the spot was glowing there
A reminder of the night's ghostly scare
Robert J. Lindley , 05-16-2015
A dark one, for the kids to ponder...
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