I drape your darkened night in sheets of white,
Making you shiver under my dense flakes;
To hide your blighted roots from mortal sight,
I pour my drifting crystals in your lakes—
Your whispered warmth in return is all it takes.
The wind I fashion blows with silent chill;
I bury all your tender skin in wool.
Your fun, I shift beside the fireside’s thrill—
Warm drinks I set by your warm hands to pull,
Though I creep cold-footed, still my smile is full.
I hide the tilling of your soil beneath coldness,
And blight in the seeds of your barn I heal,
So that your planting season stands clothed in boldness—
A whispered promise I set beneath your heel,
While from the sky thick drifting flakes I steal.
My mission finished, then I give you way,
For grace in me to meet the gentle sun,
Who dries the sweat concealed in warmer day
And widens paths for open-fielded fun—
But not until my quiet work is done.
Should I have married Jillian?
Could I have slept with Gemma?
I’ve got about a million
of this kind of dilemma.
They crop up in a thrice, of course,
but hang around for ever
(or do they crop up in a force?
Oh, why can’t I be clever?)
I envy those with certitude,
those free of hesitation.
I ‘d love to be the kind of dude
who knows no trepidation.
If doubts exist and qualms are rife,
you, luckiest of creatures,
have found experience in life
to be the best of teachers.
So, if he says he has no fear,
no ambiguity lingers:
he never tried to snuff – it’s clear –
a candle with his fingers.
So plant it on that petrichoric soil in rows
As you bring at my funeral that pure ruby rose
And so? If I'm unable to perceive it's essence
Don't shatter either penalize it in a burst of incense
Then nourish it with spring warm water to lush
And let it expand on more roses to reserve for Mush
Thus let a lover pluck a part of them for his muse
So that I would cherish it's use and you can be excused
So allow it to make my cemetery more graceful in the graveyard
Indeed, my love , pick your favourite and have it in your yard
Let it bloom and thrive in the sight of your field
So that , I can be there for your eyes to be healed
And if you ever feel dull to look at them in the autumn
Rest your heart, dig them up and burry them in the bottom
PS: Palwasha Sharif
Marigold-embellished heart, blood-colored mulberry
Crooning in the shape of crowned blackbird plumage
ensconced inside a darkened, visualized shrubbery
On fully closed lips, a drop of blood-red fluid murage.
Crooning in the shape of crowned blackbird plumage
Scarlet dew on lined leaves, lush but oppressive
On fully closed lips, a drop of blood-red fluid murage
Slave to who I am; the scent of the shackle is seductive.
Scarlet dew on lined leaves, lush but oppressive
guilty of fatal love, star-stained spirit, cool wrath
Slave to who I am, the scent of the shackle is seductive
Lilac petals of a lively Eden lay on my sad death.
Guilty of fatal love, star-stained spirit, cool wrath
As a keepsake of the spots, I decided to trust again
Lilac petals of a lively Eden lay on my sad death
Heavens, this flower melts in deathless pain.
As a keepsake of the spots, I decided to trust again
ensconced inside a darkened, visualized shrubbery
Heavens, this flower melts in deathless pain
Marigold-embellished heart, blood-colored mulberry.
Written: December 11, 2022
a learner I sensed the presence
And relentless fashion
Mothy butterfly
Spring has sprung
Lightning flash
Passion rush
Fashion weather
Wing jet in the hanger
Collecting dust
Technologies nature
Distance relevant
1/11/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2022
I can only live in a garden
where warped talons
of tiger tulip petals mar
unbroken lines of pastel shimmer,
not where silent cerulean lakes
float as though aloft
in frames of polished stone
to tell the cloudless sky,
I'm your offspring.
I smile for blighted statues
mocked by companies of peonies
effervescing in ballet
and the coarse tusk of St Augustine
thronged by emerald dichondra.
I have no business among wisteria's cornucopias
of lilac bounty nor the glee
of summer marigolds.
I tend thorny stalks
of a wild rose that never blooms
and climbing ferns whispering
in shaded corners of spring's
explosive allemande.
I feel only weight of gray misted mornings
when the dank of coming rain permeates
in pale foliage's stag line
where vines creep in distant communion,
ignored by harsh jonquil rays.
.
An old lady lived up a mountain
Fast flowing streams her water fountain
Until a frog one day
Said kiss me quick I pray
Turn into your prince on wedding day
Day arose all dressed in brilliant white
Lifted veil smiling ..oh what a fright
He gave a scream and ran
Rather stay frog not man
She looked like a potato with blight'*
*potato blight makes them go wrinkled
Penned April 28 2020
Limerick contest
... Or Did It?
Should I have married Jillian?
Could I have slept with Gemma?
I undergo a million
of this kind of dilemma.
They crop up in a thrice, of course,
but hang around for ever
(or do they crop up in a force?
Oh, why can’t I be clever?)
I envy those with certitude,
those free of hesitation.
I ‘d love to be the kind of dude
who knows no trepidation.
If doubts exist and qualms are rife,
you, luckiest of creatures,
have found experience in life
to be the best of teachers.
So, if he says he has no fear,
no ambiguity lingers:
he never tried to snuff – it’s clear –
a candle with his fingers.
Has Become Blighted
Could it be that he was conniving
When he said we would be arriving
At conclusion affecting us severely
Out of our minds drive us nearly.
What else about him seems strange
People he does mentally derange
Suffering and things worrying about
We did end up with a lot of doubt.
We prefer someone mentally stable
Strong in spirit and emotionally able
Our great country know how to lead
Not get in way and always impede.
Politics at times is quite preposterous
Awkward like a waddling rhinoceros
With Hillary we have become delighted
Not Trump who apparently is near-sighted.
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
Blighted Happiness
Our love is like a withered leaf
That lies on the brink of the river
Waiting for the winds or the waves
To swiftly be scattered and driven
Or for heavy rains or pearling dust
To be abruptly abrogated forever.
Our love like a withered leaf, bleeding,
May stand firm and clasp together
Or, oh Lord! Inescapably sink
In the sea of oblivion, melting.
Such is our destiny, for tiny souls
Have no rooms where dreams dwell
We walk filled with people’s many
Dreams, desires and fires and still are
Unable to grasp the meaning of being
Together!
Douala, January 14, 2013
Jaafar Sadig El Waad
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