Double-dutch ropes slap the sidewalk -
snap - snap - snap -
braids whip air,
girls jump in, counting
uno, dos, three,
feet flick like drumsticks.
The ice cream truck jingles off-key,
icy lady shakes paper cups,
piragua man shaves ice into snow -
his knife scraping the block awake.
Pastelillos pop in hot oil -
spit, sizzle -
plastic cups clink with rum and cola,
congas crack, maracas shake salt in the air,
horns blare like chisme in heat.
Heels click-clack over concrete -
punctuating each spin,
each swirl of hips.
Whistles split the air -
one from the lifeguard at Jefferson,
two from the men on the corner,
three from abuela
when the coals are hot.
Somebody throws meat on the grill -
ssszzzz -
smoke climbs windows,
neighbors bring foil trays -
yellow rice, ribs, roasted corn -
each dish a downbeat.
Kids yell cannonball,
water smacks back,
lifeguard’s whistle cuts through splash.
Old heads tap dominoes on tabletops -
crack, slap, smack -
hands older than the stoops they sit on.
The block fills itself
the way music fills a drum -
the street hums under bare feet.
Tonight,
the moon will smell like charcoal
and sweet ice.
Why does he need the pain?
Can't seem to write a word without it
When negative thoughts and emotions
Pain and anguish come flooding in
Thats when the words won't stop
But now the pain isn't just buried
Not contained, repressed, or controlled
Its gone as though it never existed
She wiped the slate so clean
Even memories cant bring back the pain
She's the reason he can smile
Not just fake it for all to see
The reason for his heartbeat
And why the days all seem so bright
It feels like she's saved his life
She's wiped the pain from every verse
Every word put to the page
He knows she deserves a chapter all her own
A whole book, even a collection
But as he sits to write it down he can't
Why does he need the pain?
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water bucket release!
I’ve never been a writer, but when I have the time.
I try to think up some ideas to write a random rhyme.
Sometimes it works and I think up something new.
Other times I just scratch my head, as I haven’t got a clue.
Now I’m staring at a blank screen, unable to think.
And my brains just like a pen, that's run out of ink.
Analogy's a great theme, I’ve not done that before
Already hit a brick wall, as I can't think of anymore.
Should I write about a dream, romance, or secret fears?
Looking for inspiration, but still with no ideas.
I try using my imagination, so I write down a few lines.
Then look for other words, to try and make them rhyme.
My plan was to create a poem, with poise and eloquence.
But everything I write down, just simply makes no sense.
So, to spark creativity I recall something from the past.
Ideas come and go, but the moment doesn't last.
I suppose my brain is scrambled and running a bit too slow.
I attempt to write something meaningful, but nothing seems to flow.
I guess writing poetry is not as easy as it looks.
So I admire all those poets, whose work is published in a book.
Have you not wondered why we close the door,
Why silence wraps the ones we used to crave?
Not out of spite, or pride, or keeping score
But just to stop the heart from being brave.
For if I see your name, I start to reach,
My fingers trace the hope I try to hide.
An anxious heart, no logic it can teach,
It runs toward fire, even as it’s fried.
The photos, texts, each one a quiet plea,
A ghost that holds me fast in aching place.
So blocking you sets wounded spirit free,
Not hate, but love that knows it must give space.
I do not block because I wish you pain,
I block because I won’t survive the strain.
BLANK PAGE
a blank page whispers,
ink spills like a timid stream—
where have the words gone?
Valley dried to dust
The beasts of earth drowned by drought—
Summer rains return.
silverware tarnished
forks absent some teeth
plates chipped at the edges
set of cups incomplete
the table wobbled and creaked
like them, sad and bleak...
down the block from prosperity
of which they hadn't a peek
BUILDING BLOCK
Temporal they are higher power,
unveiled to me who are temporary obstacle
that's temporal derailing me for abating power
If this be meant to be compliance unequivocal
God has the triumphant power
Always to turn around man's power
For humanity strong tower
Will fall
When El Shaddai calls
Governmental bricks will fall
6/11/25
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2025
I don't have questions
Nor the answers to them
I don't ask
Because I don't know
I don't have love
Nor the definition to it
I don't ask it
Because I know fear
And it gets in the way
I don't choose the muse
the muse chooses me
but when I need her most
then whereabouts is she
abandoned and self-mocked
not word one could I pen
with writer's block
my fate cast to the wind
but if the wraith had knocked
as does opportunity
I couldn't tell
on the other hand
her silence rings a bell
so left to my own devices
of weft warp and weave
forged in fire ashes to ashes
dust from the stars
I perceived is what we are
and word-weary all I could conceive
~ O grid of
boundaries ~
graffiti b l
e e
d
s from half-spoken lies
r u n
n i n
g cold with trending
mind-games
digital memes, caught in white-noise
as fingers ~ trapped in electric taps ~
ghost binary t h r
e
a t
s …
Loss for thought and words
Where do I start?
My thoughts become a depart
Memory usually serves me
But not today
No one seems to understand
I am trying to compose
But no suppose
It seems Alpha Letters have no idea
I am thinking fear
No idea in how to preserver
Trouble near
Writers Block woes
For the first time
I need to relax and reserve my energy
Later think
For now, let me take a restful wink.
writers block.
Stare at the clock.
like the rest of the flock.
writers block.
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